I rented two zombie movies from Blockbuster: “Quarantine” and “Diary of the Dead.” “Quarantine” was fantastic. The acting was great, the plot quick-moving (though a slow start), and it was eerily similar to a prologue I contemplated writing for Dwellers of the Night back in the day (though this movie’s infection was based upon rabies whereas the culprit in my novel is a mutated strain of malaria). “Diary of the Dead” was pathetic, a waste of time, and I say that with great pain in my heart. Romero was the one who cultivated the zombie phenomenon (though true kudos go to Richard Matheson with his short story I Am Legend, which actually inspired Romero into the world of zombies), and so I expected more from the film. The dialogue was ridiculous, the acting horrible. Sarah shouted, “I could act better than them!” And she probably could.
Zombies. Zombies. ZOMBIES! Why do I love them so much?
I have a good idea for a zombie novel.
It would only be around one hundred fifty pages.
I’ll probably never write it.
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