Not too long ago, I let my daughter watch Night At The Museum for the first time. She was really enjoying it, but about half-way through, she turned to me and said, “You know, mom, it would be more interesting if there were creatures trying to eat Ben Stiller.”
I was so proud. And I had to agree with her. So for the rest of the movie, she started suggesting zombies in the Egyptian exhibit (“Mummies would be too predictable”), undead cowboys in the Wild West exhibit and werewolves throughout.
“Werewolves go good anywhere,” she claimed. Frankly, I found it hard to argue with that.
I shouldn’t have been totally surprised. After all, this is the first grader who, when asked to draw her family at the start of the school year, included a werewolf. And being the exemplary parent that I am (seeing as we were hitting up against bedtime on a school night), I told her to just tell her teacher it was a dog.
It’s times like these when I wonder if my career as a paranormal novelist hasn’t influenced the child just a bit. She still wants to be a cashier when she grows up (hopefully somewhere I can get the employee discount) but it’s amazing what she picks up just from hearing me talk to my writing friends on the phone.
Or perhaps it’s in the blood.
On the way out the door to school, she hugged our dog and then me (in that order) and said, she had a new book idea for me. Zombie poodles. I’ll let you know how it goes.
(*Oh and for the record, when I went searching for a zombie poodle image - they're all over. Amazing. Who knew, right?)