• Failure At 25 •

I remember reaching my 25th Birthday and being completely devastated. Not because of my age, long gone are the days of my teenage years. Thank goodness! But, because I had failed in a personal goal I had set for myself.

Dostoevsky had his first book published when he was 24 years old. Me, the ever competitive against famous dead people, had set out to do likewise. I tried. Oh, sweet mercy, did I try. I had finished the next great American novel. Oscar Wilde, my muse at the time, cheered me on as I deliciously weaved prose, words, and satire all in this masterpiece. This book was the unicorn that was going to take me to that glorious finish line.

Naivety got the better of me, I'm afraid. Oscar Wilde bid me farewell, as I was left to reality and the dreadful query letter.

I never reached my sought after goal. I failed. Dostoyevsky still was the reigning champion and I was left with an inbox of rejections. Well, said I, perhaps the public wants something else. If witty satire isn't the popular flavor, perhaps I should try something more gruesome.

Hello zombies!

I had dabbled with the idea of writing about zombies. But of course! How silly, death and carnage is what American's want! Move over Mr. Wilde, embrace me George Romero. I became a zombie writing fanatic. In my 25th year I had three published short stories.

Population: Zombie
YouTube: Punching Zombie
Big Game Hunting: A Zombie Short Story.

I laughed at my dead friend, Dostoyevsky. Take that! You may be the father of existentialism, but I am the mother of brain eating monsters.

George Romero and I waved goodbye to Dostoyevsky and Wilde. Toodle-oo! As we merrily skipped down the blood splattered road to publication.