The writer was busy writing, as always. Couldn’t afford any distraction. Wouldn’t agree to any speaking engagements, as many writers do.
He would receive copies of his books by courier, and these were piled up, all around him.
He was walled-in by his own books.
Not just busy: booked solid!
Being a tale told in 50 words, wherein the protagonist, a man named Arcturus Morgenstern (Third of the name) is eminently surprised to discover that the body of his wife, whom he’d found murdered not five minutes previously, is now animated with an unholy life, and for whatever reason is burning important-seeming papers that Arcturus had been working on previous to the gunshots that had seemingly (but not conclusively) killed his wife.
The gunshot startled him.
Turning, he found his wife, dead of a gunshot wound.
He ran out, looking for the assassin. Upon his return, his wife’s body was busy burning his writings.
Taking the last sheet from her undead hands, he nervously reads off the title: “How to Make Zombies”.