Maybe it’s George Romero’s fault–or possibly Laurell K Hamilton’s, but I just can’t get into zombies unless they’re either trying to scare me or make me laugh.
Romance with wolves, vampires, mers, demons? Sure, bring it on. The bigger the better. (And in the case of the Black Dagger Brotherhood *swoons* I mean that quite literally.)
Zombies? Not so much. In my mind, a zombie is a slathering, mindless, murdering stumble-bunny that’s hard to kill. It probably smells bad, like the rotting meat it is. If not mindless, it’s likely stupid. Dirt could be matted in its hair. It might chow down on brains, since it has none of its own. These things do not make me feel warm and fuzzy.
So it occurs to me, as the Zombie Revolution in urban fantasy continues unabated, that perhaps I haven’t met the right zombies.
So come on. Sell me on some zombies.