Black Death, V. 37 (and counting)

I know writers get asked this a lot (even though no one’s asked me yet. C’mon…you know you want to): where do you get your ideas?

I’m not really interested in being a sinister sister here, but as the world succumbs to panic and terror and self-quarantine, I smell opportunity. The opportunity to isolate and concentrate on sucking down as much of this mood of doom and despair as possible. Then channeling it into my writing.

I am willing to lay money on this: a year from now, there will be a new crop of zombie books, a resurgence of horror as a genre, and a general writer-cashes-in-on-trend of doom and gloom and plague. And I, for one, intend to join that swell.

The enforced isloation from others, and even from all sorts of pleasurable activities, and the atmosphere that’s being cultivated by this pandemic panic will fuel the writing, fuel the supernatural horror, and fuel me to finish the first draft of Fixit: A Supernatural Legend. Hey, that’s not a stretch to say, since I’m currently writing chapter 11 out of a projected 13.

Which is good, because between me hearing that the Dow took a 3000-point face plant and my day job trying to find excuses for me to still be employed, a book deal would be just spiffy, thank you very much.

Where do I get my ideas? From the boundless depths of my own anxiety. Join me in the well, but don’t forget your tinfoil hat.


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