Fuck "cozy" ...

I chose to write when I retired because I was bored. Because I was desperate to do something, and because I was looking for fulfillment of any kind.

It was a bit of a shock when I started writing and realized I had a knack for it. Oh, my punctuation and grammar were atrocious, but I showed potential.

I have written half a dozen short stories and exactly one unfinished novel (working title: Zombies, a Novel) in six and a half years. Most (five) of my short stories were written, complete, in my head. When I sat down to enter them into the computer, they went word for word out of my pointy little head and into the Scrivener file. At least four of them worked; three worked quite well.

In longer pieces, scenes and even whole chapters are written in my head. What an advantage to have when writing …

Fast forward, and I have had a developmental edit on my novel. The resulting edit was a shock. More shocks were to follow … when I explained this remarkable talent to my editor, they said, “That’s probably why it reads like a manuscript for a TV show or movie. There’s no depth, almost no character development; often it’s just talking heads in a white room.”

What?! Holy fuck. The scary thing is I had noticed that and thought I had fixed it.

I recently read Never Met an Orc Who Wasn’t Moody by Sherry D. Ramsey. It’s labeled as “a cozy fantasy.” I have seen this type of label before, yet I never knew what it meant until I read this book. FYI: I loved the book and highly recommend it. Afterward, I did a search regarding what “cozy” means—it emphasizes comfort, low stakes, and happy endings. And, importantly, it’s often focused on character development.

So, what does all of this mean? The seeming leap to the epiphany I state below may seem a stretch without the full details—but trust me it tracks. 

What it all means is: I wrote a fucking cozy zombie story. Minus the deep character development.

Fuck.

Let us hope the rewrite earns the gravitas of the title it has worn for some time: EXTINCTION SPECIES.

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