“When are you going to write something without ghosts?” says my father.
“Hmm…good question,” I think. Unfortunately, I don’t think we really choose a genre.
In my mind, the ghosts want me to write their stories.
I remember one of the first books I ever checked out of the school library was a book about ghosts. But, I never thought of ghosts as scary. I thought of them as mysterious. I remember playing on a tire swing as a kid and imagining some little ghost children from the 1800s were my imaginary friends.
My class project in elementary school was to explain the process of mummification in Egypt. I wrapped my best friend in toilet paper. I was overjoyed.
My best friend in middle school, Christa and I resolved to become blood sisters in the cemetery at midnight one Halloween. I don’t think we ever did it (mainly because I’m terrified of needles) but I loved the spookiness of the idea.
I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t fascinated by the supernatural.
So, will I stop writing about ghosts? I don’t know.
If I do, I imagine some otherworldly element will find its way into my writing.
But, tonight it is Halloween. It is a dark and stormy night – and I love it.