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.

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? It means 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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