I'm a writer. And I'm weird and neurotic. And if you're a writer, chances are, you're pretty weird and neurotic too.

Fight against it all you want, but it won't help. Even those writers on twitter and facebook with awesome looking photos, where they look all put together and not weird or neurotic looking, are pretty weird and neurotic. They're some of the worst. I know this for a fact because neurotic people tend to hang out with other neurotic people and those people just so happen to be my friends.


I mean, let's break down the definition of neurosis shall we (Signs and Symptoms taken from Wikipedia):

anxiety, sadness or depression, anger, irritability, mental confusion, low sense of self-worth, etc., behavioral symptoms such as phobic avoidance, vigilance, impulsive and compulsive acts, lethargy, etc., cognitive problems such as unpleasant or disturbing thoughts, repetition of thoughts and obsession, habitual fantasizing, negativity and cynicism, etc. Interpersonally neurosis involves dependency, aggressiveness, perfectionism, schizoid isolation, socio-culturally inappropriate behaviors, etc.

Anxiety? What writer out there doesn't feel anxious. What if I say the words QUERY LETTER--don't tell me your heart didn't skip a beat or two. Now top that off with the revision process, waiting for feedback from critique partners, beta readers, your agent or editor. That's a whole lot of anxiety right there. Do they like it? Do they hate it? Do I suck? I suck, don't I? I knew it. I knew it!

Sadness of depression? We've all been there, probably several times over. The rejection process itself can place me in a funk for days. The whole road to publication is a wild up and down roller coaster ride. I've been up, real high up there--my novel on the desks of editors at major publishing houses--only to be dropped real low--when my agent decided to quit the literary business. Talk about depression.

Mental Confusion? Where do I go from here? Give up? Keep going? Should I self-publish or trudge back up the hill of traditional publishing one more time? Am I even any good at this? There are SOOOO many writers out there, how in the world am I to even compete? Should I even bother? I'm so confused.

Lethargy? What writer hasn't been lethargic at one time or another. Crap, I feel lethargic right now. I sit at a laptop for hours. Sometimes I can even write a sentence or two. Most of the time I just look comatose. I've even bought a fancy pair of exercise clothes to use as pjs so that when someone shows up at my door at three in the afternoon and I haven't bothered to dress or shower, I can at least pretend I look like I've been productive.

Habitual Fantasizing? Okay, I think this shouldn't be a sign or symptom for writers. So ignore this one. We are writers, for heavens sake! We fantasize ALL DAY LONG. It's called using our imaginations and creating new worlds. So this part of neurosis I embrace. Fantasizing is awesome.

Negativity and cynicism? Many times it's hard to remember the great aspects of being a writer and why we do it--for the love, because we're compelled too. It's easy to think of EVERYTHING that holds us back from achieving our dreams, everything that stands in the way, the statistics of successful authors to that of authors who publish but never sell more than a handful of copies of their novel; book stores closing; publishing houses not buying anything; agents quitting. I have my share of cynical days. Crud, all I have to do is pop on twitter for a couple of hours and see all the writers trying for publication just like me and I become a cynical cuss. Competition is tough and the window of opportunity small. Glass half empty, folks. Been there, done that.

Perfectionism? This is the part of my neurosis that just about does me in. I could edit forever and ever and ever. I could never publish a thing because I know myself. I know my work has to be as close to perfect as can be. I also know that perfection could never be achieved, yet I will always strive for it. I get hung up on scenes in my writing that need revised and I can't push past it until I do. Perfection cripples me.

All I know, is that every writer who is hoping to get their work into the hands of readers who will enjoy their words is a basket case. From the time of conception, our novels weighs on our mind, our characters sit perched on our shoulders, shouting out stage directions and plot design. You sleep, eat, breathe your novel, every minute of nearly every day. Even when it looks as though you're doing nothing but staring at a blank computer screen, or look as though you're actually listening to your significant others words, you are writing--in your head. Plot holes plague you to the point of insanity. Stupid plot holes! If only you had a moment of silence, you're CERTAIN the answer would come to you. You're positive. Just give it a second. Don't talk to me while I think. AND to top it all off, as a writer, you never know if what you write straddles genius or stupidity. If someone says you're a genius, you think them a liar. If someone calls your work stupid, you think they're too dumb to know anything. Bunch of idiots.

I know I'm neurotic. I get it. I woke up last night at three am to write on my zombie book and fix a section that I worried I would completely forget once morning came. Then I woke up this morning, looked at it and thought, "What the heck? Who wrote this crap?" 

I could sit at my laptop, all day, writing and hanging out with my characters and be a very happy person (fictional friends galore). I like caffeine and lots of it. Multicolored sticky notes, in various sizes, makes me giddy. When my copies of The Writer or the Writers Digest come in the mail, all life stops until I have read them from cover to cover. I can go days without cleaning when I'm writing a rather emotional scene and showering . . . ha,ha,ha, forget it. When I hurt a character I love, it really pains me. My novel Desert Rice really caused me emotional strife--I hurt my characters a lot--and I had a hard time separating myself. I think I even cried a couple of times. I don't think non-neurotic people cry over fictional people.

I probably should take medicine. I mean, I meet a lot of the signs and symptoms of a neurotic person. Anyone else who wasn't a writer who suffered from the above would be on meds. But if I took medication to ease my anxiety or lessen my need to be perfect, I risk the possibility of losing the little voices in my head that compels me forward. I love my voices. AND, I may do something stupid such as self-publish a piece of my dribble before ensuring my grammar is in check and all plot points have been completely covered. That would be horrible. Shivers.

Ahh, maybe being neurotic is a good thing. Maybe, as writers, we need to be somewhat neurotic to be successful. I'd like to think so anyway.

What do you think? Do you embrace your neurosis? If you do, then let's totally be friends :) BFF's

Click the play button after a few seconds to get you in the country mood.

I’ve always said (okay, not really but I’m saying it now) that in another time and place, I could have been a cowgirl. I love me some cowboy fodder and every once in awhile I listen to country music. As I sing, I have been known to throw in some southern twang. I can sound genuinely hick.

I love horses. They’re just like big ol’ puppy dogs to me. In another time and place, I’d own several—a Red Dun, a Black Stallion, a Strawberry Roan, and maybe even a Dapple Gray. Oh, and a miniature horse too. Just for fun.

I’d slap on my cowgirl hat, strap on my chaps, and mosey on down the trail into the glowing sunset. Can’t you just hear the clippity-clop of the horse hooves on the trail, the jingle-jangle of my spurs, and the wind rustling through the tumbleweeds? Giddy up, Widow Maker, giddy up.

Yep, I’d make a mighty fine cowgirl and if you say otherwise, be prepared to meet my Quickdraws. (Just kiddin’. I don’t own no Quickdraws. But I do have a Nerf gun and darts).

Writing my zombie western romance novel has been a hoot—writing the twang and slang of the wild, wild west cracks me up.  And, in my research, I found some wonderful resources to help me to decipher our normal day verbiage into western idioms.

There was a point in which my male MC dresses up kind of fancy and I wanted to say something more than just, “He looked nice in his fancy clothes.” (That’s telling not showing by the way, and I would NEVER do that). I was able to find a website that said fancy clothes were called, “Best Bib and Tucker.” Oh, I snatched that up. That’s a good phrase right there. And, back in those days, a handsome man was called a Thoroughbred. That’s nice. So what the heck, I implemented the two. It worked.

Of course, I have to be careful not to add too many western phrases into my novel. It could come off over bearing and creepy. Besides, a few are impossible to understand. Someone would read it and be like, “What the heck?” But a few here and there to provide a more western feel and make it more authentic is mighty fine by me.

So I thought it would be fun to give you a few slang terms and see how well you do in defining them. Oh, let’s make it a contest! Yeah, that would be fun!

First, we need RULES (I’m making this up as I go here):

1)      Follow my blog. Just click on the join this site button. So easy to do.

2)      No cheating. No looking it up online. Okay, you can look it up online, but it would be a lot more fun if you didn’t.

3)      Leave your guesses in the comment section.

4)      The one who gets the most right, wins. (In case of multiple winners, a name will be drawn from a hat—a ten gallon cowboy hat).

5)      If you tweet this (and why wouldn’t you?), just tell me you did, I’ll believe you and then TWO of your wrong answers will be made right. Like extra credit.

6)      Make sure to include your email so I can get a hold of you.

7)      That’s all of the rules I can think of. No point to make this technical. This is just something dumb, yet fun to do.

PRIZES: You have to have prizes. Hmm…not sure what kind of prize to offer. It should be something cowboy related, right? If I sent you a bottle of lotion, that would be weird. Shoot. I don’t know.

Okay, okay. I think I got it. How about a gift card for you and a friend to go to a movie theater in your area to see “COWBOYS vs. ALIENS.”  Not quite zombie, but pretty darn interesting none-the-less OR a Barnes and Noble gift card if you’re just not that into cowboys (Shame on you. Shame. Shame).

Here we go (I gotta make this hard):

1)      Adam’s Ale

2)      Milestonemonger

3)      Dough Belly

4)      Paintin’ his nose

5)      Get the mitten

6)      Texas Cakewalk

7)      Windies

8)      Rod

9)      Fice

10)   Amputate your timber

11)   Doxology Works

12)   Belly Wash

13)   Hay Seed

14)   Rot Gut

15)   Sheepherders Delight

16)   Texas Butter

17)   Fiddle

18)   Horn

19)   Roostered (I use this one in my book)

20)   Honey-Fogle

Good Luck ya’ll. I’ll post the answers this Friday, May 20th along with the winnerest winner of this here contest.

Normally, I write here. At my desk. Yes, that tissue covering, medicine holding, cough drop containing space is my desk. My writing desk.  Notice my laptop is nowhere to be seen (It’s on my bed, where I’ve been laid up since last Friday).  

My writing space is looking sick, reflecting the way I feel. I have my glass of water, my tissues, my books (Stephen King On Writing and The Forest of Hands and Teeth and my book club book Expat).

Then there is my meds. Sweet, sweet drugs of wonder. They haven’t made me feel any better, but they make me sleepy and so I nap—a lot. It’s better to live in a medicated fog while trying to recover from cold/flu symptoms. It is. It really is.

AND in the background—Alias, season one. Good stuff. Not sure why I never watched it when it was in syndication. I like the spy stuff and the idea of a skinny girl kicking the trash out of every huge male that comes her way. I still wonder why they had such a crappy clothing budget though. Because poor Jennifer Garner always had to wear shirts that were too short and showed her belly. If they had a better budget they could have added four more inches to her shirt and she would have been warmer.

When I’m better, I will clean off the desk and get to writing my last chapter of my zombie western romance. Just one chapter left for a completed first draft.  My head’s just not in the game right now (See above about medicated fog. Lovely, glorious medicated fog).

My nine-year-old son for his last birthday received an onslaught of Nerf weapons—all sizes, all shapes.

He hardly plays with them.  His birthday, just as a note, was last October. They normally just gather dust.

But as I sat at my trusty pink laptop last night, scanning Twitter and searching blogs (because that’s what I do instead of write novels now days), he decided to pull out the Nerf guns and spongy darts. Then he decided to involve his younger sister in a game called, “You’re a zombie/ No I’m not.”

It kind of went something like this:

The boy: “You’re a zombie.”

The girl: “No I’m not.”

The boy: “Come on, please. Just chase me around and try to bite me.”

The girl: “I’m not playing”

The boy: “I’m still going to shoot you, so just do it.”

The girl: “Why do I have to be the zombie?”

The boy: “Because I have the guns and you don’t.”

Girl moans her frustration (much like a zombie, hmmm). “Can I really bite you?” (This is the part in which a good parent, an observant parent, would have stepped in and put an end to the game. Sadly, I’m not a good parent. I’m just so-so).

I didn’t hear too much more conversation going on as the game got under way. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, running around, up and down the stairs, the dog chasing after them while Nerf darts littered the house. They seemed to be having a good time. A real good time.

That should have been a clue right there as well. (Again, a more observant parent should have raised a brow. These two children don’t tend to play well with one another. Not for long anyway.)

Next thing I know . . .

The scream.

“She bit me! Mommmmmm, SHE BIT ME!”

Yep, the girl sunk her teeth into the boy. Now, playing the devil’s advocate here, I did hear the boy say, “Chase me and bite me.” (See above transcript of thus said game).  So in her defense, he was kind of asking for it.

Me: “You shouldn’t have bit your brother.”

The girl: “But I’m a zombie. Zombie’s bite.”

Me: “I know. But you’re not really a zombie and so you should’ve just pretended to bite. Like this,” (I go on to demonstrate how a fake bite should be by fake biting her arm).  

The girl: “Then I don’t want to play.”

She’s a stubborn lass. She really is. But I get her point. She has two older brothers who terrorize her on a daily basis. I had a brother (have, he’s still around) growing up and given a free pass to bite him, I probably would’ve. I would’ve sunk my teeth into him and made him cry and beg for mercy (You don’t know my brother. Don’t judge me).

But now was the time for me to step up and be “Super Mom” and instill some kind of moral-like wisdom and advice on my dear daughter. “Don’t bite your brother,” I said.

The girl: “Why?”

Me: “Because I said so.” Sorry, that’s all I had. Moral-like wisdom is not my strength.

Off she went, the problem solved. (Just to clarify, the boy sustained no visible injuries. Lots of salvia, but no blood or teeth marks).

A while later, these little zombie hunters of mine came creeping into my room, Nerf guns tucked into elastic waist bands of their pants, a clear see-through rifle shoved down the back of my son’s shirt, both of their hands clutching mini Nerf pistols, and proceeded to pelt me with sponge bullets. They had reconciled their differences and found a new target—me.

“Get her!” The boy yelled. “Get the zombie queen!”

A queen? I could get used to that—even if it is queen of the zombies. (Dang! That would be an awesome Twitter name @zombiequeen . . . Dang! Just checked. It’s taken. I’m gonna go follow that person).

So I played my part and chased after them. They jumped on the sofa and called it their “free zone” to which I replied, “There is no free zone. Zombies don’t know what that means.”

They squealed in delight as I blew raspberries on their necks and bellies and tickled them all over.

A fun, yet disturbing kind of game, right? I know what you’re thinking. I do.

Here’s the thing—I’m writing a zombie western romance. All three of my kids know that.  Do I read it to them? No. Do they watch zombie movies? Heavens no. Do they know about zombies? Apparently, a little too much.

But it isn’t all my fault, folks. Scooby-Doo has them. Even Barbie (YES, Barbie) has them. Zombies are everywhere.

Was this my best mothering moment? Probably not. But I can tell you, playing a pretend zombie game with my children probably won’t be the worst thing I do to them either. I’m a so-so kind a mom, so I’m sure I’ll screw them up in a completely different way.

Horror and guts just ain’t my thing. I don’t tend to read much of it and I sure as heck don’t write it.

“But what about the zombies, Angela? You can’t possibly write a zombie western romance without some horror and guts?”

Okay, you caught me. Maybe I do write an itty-bitty amount of horror and guts, but NOTHING like Stephen King. That’s a ball field I’m just not comfortable playing on—I’m at T-ball level, and he’s playing pro. And I’m okay with that.  I’m comfortable where I am.

So why in the world would I say that Stephen King’s book “On Writing” is about the best gosh darn book about writing that you can get your hands on, especially since I don’t tend to read his fiction work? Because it is. It’s the best I’ve ever come across. I had actually borrowed it from a writing buddy of mine and after reading it, I decided to purchase my own. I HAD to have it. Yes, people it’s that good. I highly recommend you read it, regardless of the horror aspect behind King’s name. No matter your genre, pick it up and give it a good once over. But if I were a betting kinda girl, I’d say you’ll read it several times.

In his book, Stephen King talks about having an “Ideal Reader” or that one specific person you most want to impress with your work. Now, don’t confuse this with your whole intended audience (though you should probably have that in mind as well), but instead, it’s that one special somebody in your life who you know is going to tell you like it is and give you the feedback you need (or in my case, crave). It’s that one person who will let you know when you have a big ol’ nasty piece of green broccoli stuck in your teeth so you don’t look like a complete fool.

For Mr. King, his “Ideal Reader” (I.R.) is his wife, Tabitha. “Someone—I can’t remember who, for the life of me—once wrote that all novels are really letters aimed at one person. As it happens, I believe this. I think that every novelist has a single ideal reader; that at various points during the composition of a story, the writer is thinking, “I wonder what he/she will think when he/she reads this part?”.” (From On Writing)

Think the idea of an I.R. is weird? Mr. King also goes on to explain how even Mr. Alfred Hitchcock had an I.R. as well, his wife, Alma, who helped catch a mighty big flaw in the movie production of Psycho—Janet Leigh swallows when she’s supposed to be dead. Pretty good catch, huh? Talk about broccoli in the teeth.

Now, the trend in this blog seems to be that spouses make for a very good I.R. So you would naturally assume that my I.R. would be my wonderful husband.

Well, you’d be wrong. Real wrong.

 If cynical old men were my target, then yes, he’d be perfect. But as it goes, that’s not my intended audience at all. Also, his overall “Debbie Downer” attitude is not a good fit for me when it comes to my writing process. I love him, but I don’t want him reading my stuff. Besides, whenever I happen to slipup (having a momentary brain cramp) and ask him his opinion on a plot idea I might have, his answers are usually so ridiculous it causes me physical pains (headaches). Okay, he’s not that bad, but I’m telling ya, it ain’t good either. It’s much better having him as an oblivious cheerleader in the background. He can root for me without reading anything I’ve written—just where I want him. 

My I.R. is my good friend and writing gal-pal, Diana. She’s not afraid to tell me that horizontal stripes make me look fat—and I LOVE it (in the literary sense).  If my characters are flat, she’ll tell me. If my plot twists don’t twist, she’ll call me out on it.

All I know, is that if she didn’t laugh at dialogue that needed laughed at or cringe at a particularly awful scene that was cringe worthy, then I need to go back to the drawing board. Her knowledge and input is as valuable to me as gold. No joke.

There have been several times in which I sent off a chapter of my WIP, thinking I did a pretty good job, *Pats self on the back,*only to have it sent back to me with a preface that says, “Please don’t hate me, but . . .”

Do my feelings get hurt? Yep. Sure I do—but for only a moment. Once I stop and take a look at what she’s saying, I realize that she’s right (Darn you, Diana!). She’s usually 100% correct. Whenever I go back and rework it, I find it’s so much better than the first time.

I have my beta readers. I have my critique group. I wouldn’t know what to do without them and their valuable (very valuable) input. But it is Diana that I makes me do as Stephen King and “. . . wonder what she’ll think when she reads this part.”

Diana is my quality control. She won’t let me make a fool of myself and send out a query letter or manuscript with broccoli in its teeth. She's got my back.

Do you have an Ideal Reader? Tell me all about them. Give 'em a shoutout.

Trace (Male MC): I hate you. You know that, right?

Me (aghast): No, I had no idea. I thought we had a mutual respect for each other. Why? What’s going on?

Trace: I know what you’re thinkin’ and I don’t like it one bit.

Me: What I’m thinking? I’m not following you.

Trace: Yeah, the way you’re planning on ending the book. I saw your plot plans and I think you suck.

Me: Whoa! That’s mean and uncalled for.

(Trace shrugs his shoulder indifferent).

Me:  So, do you mean the plot sucks or I, as a writer, suck?

Trace: All of the above.

Red (Female character): I agree with Trace. You totally suck.

Me: Red? You’re here too?

Red: I’m always here, remember? I live inside your head.

(Me putting my hands up in surrender): Okay. Okay. So what exactly are you both upset about?

Trace: I finally get what I’ve always wanted, and now you’re thinking of takin’ it away. That just ain’t right.

(Red nods in agreement): Why can’t you jus’ let us be happy?

Me: Is that why you guys have stopped talking to me? Why writing the last two chapters is like pulling teeth.  (I know I used an idiom. I couldn’t come up with something clever. Forgive me).

Trace: We’re finally happy, well as happy as we can be while surrounded by a hoard of flesh eating zombies, and now you’re thinking of messin’ that all up, throwing us back into the mix of things.

Me: Well, umm, you guys do know there is a book number two in the works? I have to set up things up for that.

Trace: So you’re saying that you’ll fix everything in book number two? Make it all better? Give us our happy ending?

(Red talking to Trace): I heard a rumor that she’s got an idea for a third book in the making too. Book number two is jus’ an excuse to make us miserable now, but really we’re gonna be miserable FOREVER.

(Trace glares at me): More zombies? Are you kiddin’ me? So this is never goin’ to be over, is it? You’re just going to keep writing us into horrible zombie infested situations where we have to shoot our way out or die. That’s just great. That’s just spit in my beans fantastic.

Me: Wait. No. Someday it’ll get better--

(Trace turns his back to me): I ain’t talkin’ to you no more. I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’m outta here. I quit.

(Red shakes her head while staring me down): You make me sick. You really do. Write what you have to, you’re just gonna have to do it without me. I’m leaving with Trace.

(All the minor characters walk away as well , each carrying picket signs and chanting: “Make Love Not Zombies”, “Give Peace a Chance”, “Angela Scott Sucks Snot”).

Me: Please don’t go. I need you. Come on guys, don’t be this way. Let’s work something out. I’ll give a brand new pony to anyone who chooses to stay. A pony? Wouldn’t that be nice?

Everyone turns and flips me the bird. 

 
This is where my writing stands to date—it’s not happening. I have two or three more chapters to write to have a completed first draft and yet, the voices have vanished. They’re on strike. They hate me.

It’s been several weeks now and I’m not sure how to get them back. I need them.  I’m picking out sentences here and there, but the feel isn’t right. I’m stumped and worried, what if they never come back? I will have a book with no ending. A BOOK WITH NO ENDING—there’s  no such thing as books without endings (Okay there is that movie called “The Never Ending Story” but still).

I have to have an ending. That’s kind of a pretty set in stone rule—beginning, middle, end.

But I don’t know what to do. The voices that lead and direct my path have disappeared and I’m not sure what to do to entice them back. They didn’t go for the pony idea and so now I’m at a loss.

What do you do when the voices say bye-bye? Or are they always there? Or am I just crazy?

My first shout out goes to the Grammar Diva’s www.grammardivas.com. The URWA hosted a grammar workshop this past Saturday in lovely SLC. Just so you know, I hate grammar. I do. I suck at it. (And why, yes. I do have a BA in English, but that doesn’t make me no grammar expert. I still hate it. I barely passed. But I have the degree and there’s no take-backs).

Want to know about comma usage? Ask the Grammar Diva’s. Need to know what the heck a misplaced modifier is? Ask the Grammar Divas. Showing vs. telling? The Grammar Diva’s will “show” you how (see my nicely placed pun?). The class was free (paid for by the URWA) and I walked away with a packet (well over a hundred pages) with examples of grammar mistakes and ways in which to fix them for grammar dummies such as myself.

Grammar isn’t fun. It just isn’t. “Let’s learn grammar!” Yeah, no one’s going to that party. But I’ll tell ya, the Grammar Diva’s were not only smart and well versed in all things grammar related, but they were funny to boot. Check them out for any and all grammar related questions. If you need to know where to stick your comma, contact them and they'll give you the answer you're looking for. (They know EVERYTHING).

My second shout out is to Josh Weed  and his blog cleverly titled The Weed www.joshweed.com.  I mean, just read his subtitle and tell me you don’t think this is good stuff: “A Mormon father who isn’t afraid to talk about vibrators, drugs, sex and feces. (But who is afraid to swear. Usually.)”   

He is a writer, a father, a Mormon, has ADHA, and works in mental health counseling. That's good stuff right there.   

I read his current blog entry and I was literally laughing out loud. I know people type lol all the time and they’re really NOT loling at all. More like IAMARN (I am mildly amused right now). But really, in all seriousness, I was laughing so hard I was not only crying but I almost peed a little too.  Oh, and make sure you check out his “Body Deformities” tab at the top too. Don’t miss that for anything. You will be so happy that you did. 

Seriously, if you need a good laugh, check him out. You will not be disappointed.

Thirdly, and if not more importantly, zombies make everything better. I’m a GLEEK (Lover of all things GLEE). I know. I know. But I really like that stupid show for reasons unknown to even myself. But last night’s episode, shown after the Super Bowl (way to go guys in the green pants, what were their names again? Ha, I know they were they the Seattle Seahawks. I’m not stupid), was AWE-SOME! I mean, if you want to make something good (GLEE) and make it even better, just toss in some zombies. Dancing zombies that don’t bite, but who sing super well, are the best kind of zombies around (ever see Thriller, baby?).

So I say if you want to make something great even better, such as movies, songs, novels, recipes, toss in a zombie or two. That’s what I did. A Young Adult Western Romance isn’t much to brag about, but I threw in some zombies and WAH-LA—it’s better.  

Thank you Glee for making your show even better just for me.

I love myself a good argument, so why not start one now.

Which is better (cooler): Zombies or Vampires?

Now, I am a bit biased here, I know, BUT I have tried to be fair in my assessment and present both sides as equally as I can. I’ve tried to compile my information by viewing different aspects of the world’s top two species of the “undead” and here is what I’ve came up with:

1)      How do you kill them? ZOMBIES WIN

Vampires can be destroyed by only one thing, and one thing only—a wooden stake through the heart (though garlic, holy water, and crosses are good at keeping them at bay). Wooden stakes? Hmm, how many of us have those lying around handy? Kinda lame. Oh, and the sun (except in Stephanie Meyer’s books). The sun can kill them too.

Zombies can be destroyed by destroying the brain—guns, chainsaws, baseball bats, etc . . . That is the only way. Nothing else.

2)      Agility VAMPIRE WIN

Vampires can transform into bats and fly away. That is beneficial and is quite handy.

Zombies can only amble slowly (unless it’s one of the newer zombie movies where the zombies can run with crazy-like speed. But for this argument, we’re talking slow zombies). Zombies also tend to form packs.  One slow moving zombie, not bad. A horde of slow moving zombies, could be a big problem.

3)      Sense of smell? ZOMBIE WIN

Vampire sense of smell is rather exceptional. It is likened to that of a wolf or dogs. Smells blood that courses through a person’s veins.

Zombies have more receptor cells than Vampire (per zombie biology at www.fvza.org). The smell of human flesh releases a high amount of Dopamine.

4)      Cereal? VAMPIRES WIN

Vampires have their own breakfast cereal—chocolaty and delicious.

Zombies have yet to capitalize of the importance of a healthy balanced morning meal (yes, chocolate cereal isn’t healthy, but it is yummy).

5)      Sense of Hearing? VAMPIRE WIN

Vampires are capable of hearing is exceptional. Highly magnified, again much like a wolf or dog (per Powers of the Vampire www.monstropedia.org)

Zombies tend can’t hear all too well. Quite impaired.

6)      Jaws/Mouth/Teeth ZOMBIE WIN

Vampires have teeth strong enough to poke two holes in the neck in which to draw out blood

Zombies can bite whole chunks of flesh. Their jaws are vice-like. Once they clamp on, you’re a gonner.

7)      Brain/Smarts VAMPIRE WIN

Vampires are able to think and calculate

Zombies only have one thing on their mind—EAT BRAINS

8)      Nervous System ZOMBIE WIN

Though Vampires are difficult to kill, they can be affected by sunlight, garlic, and holy water. They have to be careful.

Zombies can have no limbs, only half a body and they can still keep going, and going on going. Set them on fire, no big deal. Now you just have a flaming zombie on your hands. Pretty much indestructible unless you sever the brain stem.  They are capable of repair.

9)      Eye Sight VAMPIRE WIN

Vampires have great night vision. They only roam around at night. Good eyesight is a must.

Zombies eyes are cloudy and suffer from myopia. They are also colorblind.

10)   Mental Focus ZOMBIE WIN

Zombies only have one thing on their minds—brains. They are single-minded and completely focused on their goal. Nothing else will distract them.

Vampires on the other hand have a weird need to count things. So just throw a scattering of cookies or better yet, Lego pieces at them and they will stop in their tracks and start counting. One. One Lego piece. Two. Two Lego pieces. Three. Three Lego pieces. Muahahaaa!

A few other things to consider: Vampires can only go hunting at night. Zombies are hungry all the time—day or night. Also, Vampires “glitter” in the sunlight. That’s lame. Vampires are “pretty” and “sexy” (which in all rights should be a bonus) but it makes it hard to view them as an enemy until it’s far, far too late. Zombies, well, you can smell them coming and boy are they UG-LY! There’s no doubt that a zombie is a zombie and should be killed.  Vampires have their lairs and followers, but they are quite selective on who they allow into the “club” per se. Zombies don’t care. They’ll bite anyone—old people, kids, doesn’t matter and because of this randomness, their group is HUGE. A zombie mob is terrifying.

Okay, so what do you think. Argue with me if you think I’m wrong. But zombies rule.