The question was raised as to whether or not a zombie might have the blood pressure to make this possible, or if that was the sort of occurrence that would throw a reader right out of a story. This point was discussed, quite seriously, around the table. I do not remember whether consensus was reached -- these were, after all non-traditional zombies.
What I do remember is the feeling that I was exactly where I was supposed to be at that moment.
I spent last weekend visiting Clarioinites. Marking the end of something, and celebrating new beginnings. And in between catching up on our lives, we pondered the zombie apocalypse, and whether that mangy pigeon in Union Square was its harbinger. We looked for Daleks in sculptures while talking through plot problems (well, lack of plot problems, mostly. One has to have a plot before one can have problems with it.) Made up odd stories about the tentacled plant in the conservatory. Half-fun, and full earnest. I realized how much I missed conversations about the sex lives of zombies, or how to block a fight scene that had tentacles in.
When I got into Clarion, one of the things Nnedi told me was that it was a place I would find my family. She was right. I mean, I got lucky with the family I was born into. Really lucky. And I've been lucky in the family I have been collecting for myself. But I found my writing family, seventeen other students, and six fabulous instructors, this past summer in San Diego. It was exactly where I was supposed to be, at that moment.