Sitting at the desk in my room, I found myself thinking of how to write the perfect story. While I don’t write on a regular basis, I had no choice this time around. As a sophomore attending a local college, I wanted to pursue English as my major. This story was an assignment given in my Writing Composition class. The project was due soon.

I wanted a tale about zombies, but not just any zombies—no, far from it. These undead creatures would wield axes, perhaps stolen from a victimized fire station. I felt confident that my writing would impress everyone. It would soon be recognized as the perfect story. With a recent idea of how the story would progress, I decided to write a blurb into my laptop.

“With the virus released, the infection has begun. The world has fallen and the undead must feed. Steven, the zombie hunter, is famous among the handful of the planet’s remaining survivors. He now faces his greatest challenge yet. The otherworldly abominations have retained enough memories from life to use modern weapons against the humans, transforming them into axe-wielding maniacs! Will Steven become just another victim? Or will his cunning prevail again? After all, luck can only hold out for so long…”

I reread the paragraph, satisfied with my brief squib, and proceeded to print out a copy. I decided to talk to my mom about it. I knew she didn’t like “scary stuff,” so I figured she might have some interesting comments to make.

A quick search revealed my mother in our home office, playing solitaire on the computer. “Hey mom,” I began. “I need your help.”

She placed the game on pause, turning her attention towards me. “Sure, Steven; what can I do for you?”

“Well, I’ve got this story and I think it’s almost perfect. I wanted you to read it and give me your opinion. Maybe you could give me some ideas to spruce it up a bit. All I have so far is a synopsis, but I’d still like you to read it. Could you do that for me?”

“Well, sure, I’ll see what I can do,” my mom replied pleasantly. She reviewed my brief paragraph. She returned my printed copy with an indescribable look on her face.

“What did you think?” I asked.

My mother faltered for a moment, deciding how to respond. “I think it would be better if you wrote about some sweet, little kittens instead of nasty, ol’ zombies.”

“Aw, Mom… that’s not any fun at all. I mean, kittens don’t rip people apart, or feast on human flesh, or… or…”

At first, I had considered the idea ridiculous, but then I actually began to give it thought. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll include kittens in the story,” I said with a smile, hiding my true intentions.

I returned to my laptop. Mom had some given some great advice. I really should replace the zombies with kittens. I excitedly began the editing process. This was my story’s chance to shine! When finished, I did a spell-check and re-read it:

“The world has fallen. The disease has been released. The infection has begun. This odd strain of virus transforms its victims into undead creatures, but it only affects ordinary housecats. The kittens must feed! Bestowed with undead strength, these monsters have transformed into axe-wielding maniac kittens! Steven, the kitten hunter famous among the handful of remaining survivors, now faces his greatest challenge yet. Will Steven become just another victim or will his cunning prevail again? After all, a hero’s luck can only hold out for so long…”

“Hmmmm… it still feels like it’s missing something,” I later told my mom. Of course, I didn’t show her my new version of the blurb. I didn’t think she’d like it too much.

“Well, you can go to the library to learn all about kitties if you need more ideas or information on ‘em. They have this one book there—you can’t miss it—that’s dedicated to super-cute kittens! You really ought to check it out.”