I blame Sherwood for one that attacked me recently and blew an entire day when I should have been writing something, you know, deadlined. But would the idea listen? Or did Sherwood care? Nooooo.
It all started during a casual morning pass through the livejournal friendslist. There was Sherwood, aka sartorias, reflecting on the phenomenon of authors’ .sig lines. Being a wise as well as a very nice person, she was not going to quote the exact words of the lines (plural. Very) that had inspired the post; and being a creative as well as wise and nice person, she made up her own. It was a classically overblown and very funny piece of work. It included the deathless line: Short story “When Cats are Floons,” soon to appear in the anthology CATS ON ICE, Alfred E. Newman Press, October 2010.
I am not a particularly wise or nice person, but I am, perhaps unfortunately, creative. Also, snarky. I commented in passing that the .sig would make, in itself, a very funny short story. To which Sherwood replied, “As I was making it up, I thought, I would actually read a short story called ‘When Cats are Floons.'”
That did it. The first line leaped and caught me by the throat. “Never mind the slithy toves, let me tell you about the time all the cats in the neighborhood splooped into floons….”
Six hours later, I had a story about cats, an alien invasion, and a new definition of floon. (The old one is also apposite.) Further influenced, at that point, by the great truism: The Internet Is Made of Cats.
Attack Idea. Attack Story. Abandon All Hope, You Who Get Ambushed Here.
Welcome to the writer’s life.