sci-fi | Rachel Carrera, Novelist

I am not a sci-fi person.* And as I define sci-fi, I mean I do like TV shows such as The Twilight Zone or Quantum Leap. Or The Jetsons. I do like ghost stories and paranormal stuff. But I do not watch such shows as Star Trek or Walking Dead. I just don’t really get into outer space stuff or things like different intelligent species.

Once, my sister dragged me to Avatar with her, and I was the only person in the full theater who sat there clenching my teeth and growling the entire time. I was sandwiched between my sister Michelle who kept gasping and putting her hand up to her mouth, and the man on the other side me who was, I believe, Tommy Chong’s doppelganger. He kept slapping me on the knee and saying “Groovy!” (Yes, really!) Then I’d scowl at him, and he’d look at me and gasp and say, “Oh, I’m sorry.” Then I’d glare at Michelle and between my clenched teeth say, “I hate you!”

I sometimes even have dreams that would probably make a really good sci-fi book or movie, but I just can’t wrap my head around them enough to do anything with them. Just last week I had a dream about a zombie apocalypse, and I woke up saying, “Now where in the world did THAT come from?”

So, having said that, for today’s Throwback Thursday, I’m going to share one of the most embarrassing pieces of work I’ve ever written. I was nine years old when I wrote this, and, yes, it was the first and only time I ever dipped my toe in the sci-fi pool. I had a toy typewriter at the time, and I distinctly remember playing with my Barbies in the backyard when I had the “AHA! moment” to run inside RIGHT NOW and write this corny story. So, if you want a good laugh today, then feel free to have one at my expense. I don’t mind. Really.