I can't stop thinking about ninjas.
It's not that surprising, really. I live with one (although he doesn't normally wear the cowl around the house). Ninja Appreciation Week has just ended. My next book has ninjas in it. One of my critique groups has a wannabe ninja in it. (And a wannabe robot, but that's another story.)
So yeah. I can't get them out of my head.
And you know what I think would be really cool? A ninja werewolf. Just picture it: A dimly lit forest. Tendrils of mist winding through the trees. A stand of pines. And right in the middle of it, a big furball in a ninja suit and cowl, tufts of hair sticking out at the seams. I picture him standing with his arms up in the air, going, "Me tree."
Because werewolves aren't exactly silver tongued, eh?
Get it? SILVER tongued? Sometimes I crack myself up.
Of course, then you've got to figure out what to call the ninja werewolf, because why use a boring two word name when you can come up with a silly one word name? It could be a werewonja. Or a werejawolf.
This conversation of course leads me to contemplate other types of ninja. Like the ninpire, whose teeth are pointier than his shuriken. And the djinnja. He grants wishes, but only if they involve things that are black, things that are pointy, and lawn flamingos. And the tooth finja, who comes in the middle of the night to take your teeth. When you're forty. And he uses pliers.
I may have to go as the tooth finja for Halloween next year, because that's freaking amusing. Slayer can be the werewonja. The kids can be mininjas. We'll be one big happy ninja family. Even if Daddy thinks he's a tree.