I feel strange writing non-genre fic.

Most of my writing is genre. The genre changes, but so far it hasn’t been literary.

Right now I’m writing literary fiction.

There are no zombies. I’m more than 16k words in (as I write this blog post – I should be way over 20k by the time this post is published) and nobody has been shot. There has been an assault, but it’s just a guy getting beat up in a parking lot by a drunk redneck and isn’t a central piece of the story.

My protagonist has no combat skills at all. In fact, the beating in the parking lot is his first fight.

It feels weird.

See, I draw really, really heavily from the world I was part of when I was younger for my fiction, and, well, everyone got in fights, everyone knew something about how to handle combat.

Remy is not from that world, and when he meets that world it doesn’t go very well for him. I’m probably more in his world now than I am in mine, but because of that past I deal with things very, very differently than he does.

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