Vampires, and why Twilight isn't For Me.

I've always been a fan of vampire fiction. It started with Buffy when I was a teen, and Anne Rice (Yes, I was a teen dressed in black and chains reading "Interview with a Vampire" and "Lestat"), but more recently I almost hate to declare my love for the undead, since it always leads to the inevitable "Oh! So what did you think of Twilight?"

I will say this, having an internet account and moving in literary circles has made it impossible to avoid the anti-Twilight movement, the meme's, and the rants of people who did not like it. To be fair I did try to read summaries, and read the first chapter before making up my mind, but besides my innate desire to avoid 'book fads', I just found I could not suspend my disbelief, my ideals of vampires, long enough to want to read fully.

When I was a teen I spent much of my time in a vampire RPG chat. A lot of free-form character building, a lot of teens, and all the angst and drama of vampires. This is a big part of why I simply cannot fall in love with Twilight. After having seen every hackneyed vampire cliche, every angsty vamp/mortal romance played out by (mostly) flawed writing, I've no more room for the drama of "I'm undead, and your a teenager, but I love you enough not to kill you, or any other human being, because I’m a PG vampire in LOOOVE.”

This may not be fair, considering I haven’t read the books, but I think I’m just too old for the target demographic. Hell, I was bothered by the age and mentality of the twenty-one year old Anastasia in "50 Shades of Gray", the idea of a girl at the mentally and physically immature age of 16 dating and becoming obsessed with a man who looks her age but is centuries older bugs me. He is both old enough to know better, and yet we are supposed to view him as this romantic ideal man, wiser and stronger… Yet dumb enough to embroil her in a world of life or death vampire politics, werewolf games, and ultimately kill her at 19.

Then there’s Bella. Confused, lonely, typical teen. If they presented Bella as a more complete person, as a mature, self-contained individual (More like Buffy, or Katniss. Someone with inherent life experiences to lend her maturity) then the impossibility of the romance would make more sense to me as a reader.

Yes, Edward is breathtakingly lovely. Yes, any teenager with self-esteem issues would give her left hand to be worshiped by a male Adonis who thinks she’s amazing and special. (After all, that is how many sexual predators work.) Thing is, it’s all just too good to be true.

The appeal of vampires was always the trade-off of supernatural ability with deadly weakness. Vampires are super strong, beautiful, and seductive. They live forever, but they can never see daylight again, and they have no choice but to kill living, sentient human beings to continue their stolen immortality. The idea of feeding off animal blood so you can have a more sympathetic vampire is cute, but that’s not the point. Vampires are supposed to be deadly. They are supposed to be liars and seducers, stealing blood from the living so that they will not die. You can make the vampire sympathetic despite those issues, but it doesn't change the truth, vampires are dead. Vampires are predators. Vampires are murderers.

That’s what’s wrong with Twilight to me. Making vampires, all vampires capable of walking in the sunlight (except for fear of looking a little odd), and giving them phenomenal powers that they can obtain without being a danger to a human,  takes all the drama away. It leaves you with a shiny sparkly all too perfect hero with nothing to prevent a happy ending except for the possibility that he’ll snap his girlfriend in half in the bedroom, or that he’ll get the munchies while they snuggle in a sunlit field of daisies.

This is why I never got into Twilight. Bella is too young, too uncertain, too ordinary, and Edward is a shiny ideal without the deeper flaws that should be found in an immortal killing machine. I expect more from a vampire than stalking a teenager out of love. Stalking her for a snack makes much more sense.

Perhaps I am too jaded. I’ll stick to Underworld and True Blood. Even Buffy was a better tale for teens.

A 2nd Review of "One Salt Sea" by Seanan McGuire

(While I'm battling with my brain I'm reading. So have a book review! I love the Toby Series, and even though One Salt Sea came out last year (9-2011) I wanted to review it again because it astounded me just as much the 2nd read. Enjoy!)

There is a distinct possibility that I reviewed this book before, probably sometime last year when I first grasped this book with that feverish giddiness that comes with something new and glorious. I read it, and was drawn into a fantastic story that I loved. It’s an amazing book.

The thing is I struggle with reviews. They’re hard to do, and even harder to do when you read a book for the sheer joy of loving the series, because once it’s over you’re still riding that rush of new words and dazzling adventures, reeling from the climax, while simultaneously wandering around stunned for the release date of the next book.

A really good story yanks you out of reality, takes you on an adventure that makes you feel and see a different world, and when done well, the drop back to reality, back to this world, is a sudden crash, body rudely tossed from a getaway car that speeds off without you.

This time, the second time I've read the book, it’s simpler to come out of it and see all the details that made me love it. It’s easier for me to explain why it was amazing. I can only hope it encourages you to read it too.

This review will contain spoilers. If you’re worried that might make it impossible to enjoy reading the book, please read no further. 

*insert something profound*

I feel I need to post. It's not really a blog post... It's more of an apology. I could say how busy I am (not really) or how I intend to get back to things really soon (maybe). Truth is, I'm sliding into the mire.

I've tried to blog about it before. When it doesn't feel that bad I try to put the words down, but if I get interrupted or I stare at the words too long, I can't finish.

I haven't been writing. That hurts most of all. I stare at the files that need to be completed, the outlines of scenes that need to be written and I want to cry. I hate myself for taking a break... even if I know, I know I need to stop and fix myself first, I feel like I'm failing my story. I feel like I'm failing every other writer who's still managed to write through their own drama and problems.

It starts out so slow. I think I'm okay, then I have one bad day, and I think I'll bounce back. I usually do... maybe it's a bad week, but I usually bounce back. Except now the days are getting shorter and I remember that last year, and the year before that, fall is when it starts to hit harder, last longer.

Living with depression is like making your way across a swamp, there are hidden dangers all around. If the light starts to fade, or you make a wrong step, or you pursue the glimmer of a wil-o-wisp of false hopes, then you slip and the mud gets deeper and the water gets colder and you have to backtrack to safer ground before all is lost.
Maybe that's a stupid metaphor. It really is so hard to just keep typing this when I'd rather just hide in the most oft spoken lie: I'm fine. It's the lie I wear like a false armor, to hide the shame of being 'broken', of being 'defective', of being 'depressed' and there isn't a damn thing I... on my own... can do to cure it.

I need help. Yet there are few things I hate more than picking up the phone to find a doctor and get some kind of treatment. It's easier to convince myself that all the things that could go wrong, will, so why bother?

I'm on twitter obsessively. I wait for people to say things that might distract me, to chat with friends and smile and laugh and for those few minutes... hours... I feel better. If only it would last.

I don't want to worry anyone. Goddamnit this is hard. I hate myself for even writing the words here. "drama queen" "whiner" "you'll just upset people" My depression has a lot to say on the issue.

I'm going to end it here and click post before I lose my nerve. To my friends... I'm still trying to get better. I'm trying.
this is nothing but today.... maybe tomorrow will be better... I cling to that hope.
Maybe saying something here will take some of the pressure off and I'll find some more traction.

I'm sorry.

A Flash Fiction Story: Mixed Messages

I'm a big fan of Chuck Wendig's blog over at terribleminds.com and he does an awesome weekly flash fiction challenge for interested writers, for the first time I decided to sit down and snap something out. the challenge was to smash different genre elements together and create something that fit in several places. I liked the results. This is the product of one day of writing, and a few quick and dirty editing passes. Hope y'all enjoy.

(I am nervous about 'publishing' my work. Especially something I was forced to spend so little time on. Since there's only a week given in the contest. I'd like to make a bunch of disclaimers, but I'll just let you read it and be the judge. Now, I'll go back to pretending I'm invincible and the BEST.WRITER.EVER. ;) )

Flash Fiction: A Game of Aspects

Mixed Messages

Her name was Marion. She had the body of a pinup girl, and the eyes of a lost soul haunted by some inner grief. Bright blue eyes that blazed out at him from beneath ravens wing curls. She was beautiful and alluring, and Troy wanted her at once.

She sat at the bar drinking a dirty martini like it was going to drown the sorrow she was failing to hide. Troy slid up to her. His grey suit was tailored to fit, and pitching his voice low, he tipped his fedora at the lady.

“Why don’t I buy your next round?” She looked at him, flushed. Her skin looked so pale against her black flowing dress. Black wasn't her color, neither was the sorrow that hung on her every move.

“Oh, I shouldn't.” She breathed, her voice breathy and frail, matching her perfectly as she glanced down.

“Look babe, I can’t stand to see a pretty little thing like you looking so sad. Just let me keep you company.” He bartered, leaning on the bar and stunning her with a smile. Her lips curved slowly, a timid little smile brightening her whole face.

“Alright, but only for a while. I have to meet someone.” That was a mysterious answer, and his interest was piqued, but even as he bought her a round and they talked through the evening, she refused to tell him more.

She looked up to the clock after barely an hour, and her face went pale.

“I have to go now.” She whispered. Troy’s heart gave a wrench, something about this girl called to him, more than any dame ever had. Wherever she was going, she didn't seem happy. Alarm bells were ringing in his head but he didn't heed them at all.

“Let me walk you… wherever you’re going.” He said offering his arm. Her lips tightened, and she looked ready to say no, but her worry made her reach for him instead.

He took her hand and led her to the street. It wasn't far, she said, as they walked out into the night.

“If you need any help… I can help you.” Troy offered, all but begging. She looked at him, sapphire eyes in the dark holding his, her smile so sweet.

“You’re an angel to take me this far, but it’s too dangerous. I can’t let you. He’d…” Here she stops, cringing, a tear in her eye. Feeling suddenly bold, Troy turns her to him, leans down and kisses those sweet lips. Her skin’s so cold in the chill night air, and she stops, frozen at his touch. He pulls back, afraid, and her eyes hold his.

“I’m sorry. I couldn't bear to see you cry.” She smiles, and puts a cool hand to his cheek.

“Oh, you dear sweet man, you should go now before you get in too deep.” She pulls her hand away, almost trembling. It might be the cold, or she might be afraid. Troy slips off his suit coat and wraps it around her.

“It’s too late for me babe. From the moment I laid eyes on you it was trapped in your spell.” Troy wants to see her smile again, but he can’t help feeling grim. “Is it your man, husband maybe? Are you afraid of him?”

She flinches, betraying herself, turning her face away.

“It’s too dangerous. You shouldn't be near me.” She glances at the old clock tower and gasps. “I’m going to be late. I've got to go!”

She took off running, heels clicking in the autumn starlight, and he followed like a fool, chasing her down the winding lane, the amber trees whispering their warnings as he went.

He paused when she fled through the cemetery gate. Old steel arches looked foreboding, and what was a girl like her doing in a graveyard at night? His blood chilled, he could practically hear the warmth and light of the bar calling him back to the clink and pour of a whiskey on the rocks. It would be so easy to turn back, but he remembered the look in her eyes. He couldn't let a lovely lady go into the dark alone.

He pursued her down the lane, losing her for a moment among the headstones. She slipped behind a crypt, and he lost her. A glimpse of grey by the moonlight showed him she wasn’t far, but it was only his coat, left draped over a tombstone.

He heard the sound of voices then, whispers flying susurrus on the breeze.

“You’re late. Where have you been?” A sharp mans voice. Followed by a plead.

“Please. I’m sorry! I couldn't do it. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It’s wrong!”

The man’s voice was a snarl of rage. Troy felt his blood boiling as he inched closer. There was a pistol strapped to his leg, and he leaned down carefully to slip it off his ankle.

“Do you want to die?! You’re running out of time, Marion!”

That was all he needed to hear, he whipped around the crypt, holding his pistol steady, and faced them. She stood in tears, before a man dressed in black, his skin pale as a corpse, wearing a suit that looked twenty years old.

“That’s about enough!” Snapped Troy. “I don’t appreciate you threatening the lady.”

They both turned to him, Marion cried out.

“Viktor no!” As the man beside her snarled, his teeth like fangs, and leaped across the space. Troy snapped the trigger, the crack of gunfire as he fired again and again. Viktor stumbled, extending a hand, his long nails scratched across Troy’s face as he fell to the ground, stone cold and still.

Troy could feel his arms trembling. This was far more than he’d planned. Still, he knew she was worth it. He went to her, stepping over the fallen man. She stared at Viktor’s body then looked to him, her eyes impossibly wide.

“Oh Troy, you’re bleeding.” She whispered. Troy saw her trembling. She must be freezing cold, so he held her close.

“It’s okay babe. As long as you’re okay.” He murmured.

“Ohhhh…” She gasped. She seemed suddenly tense. “You shouldn't have come.”

“It’s alright. I’d do it again.” He said, with a smile.

“Would you?” She whispered. Her voice sounded so strange, strained and altered. He looked down, into blue eyes turned impossibly black. A gut punch of horror filled his loins yet he stood rooted, trapped in the depths of her eyes. “Oh Troy… I’m so sorry.”

The fangs changed her voice. They changed her face too, but she was still beautiful. She bit his neck, holding him tight, and all he could do was gasp one last weak cry. She held him as he died, tears in her eyes, even as she killed him. His last thought being that it served him right, a girl like that was too good to be true.

As she lay him down beside a tombstone, Viktor stretched and stood.

“There my love… It’s done.”

Marion dashed the tears from her eyes and the blood from her mouth.

“He was so kind.” She bit her lip. “I hate this! Will it always be so hard?”

Viktor grabbed her close and kissed her. She kissed him back, melting in his bony arms.

“It gets easier with every bite my love. Give it time. You only died yesterday.”

Marion smiled at him, a smile that lost its sadness.

“I died to be with you.”

Victor stroked her pale cheek.

“Now he died to be with you.”

Remembering... and passing the memory on.

I have a bunch of other blog posts scheduled. They'll be ready later in the week. Today however is a day for something else. Today is September 11th. It's been eleven years, over a third of my lifetime.

Yet events like that stay seared into your memory forever. It wasn't just watching the news, seeing the buildings fall, it was the aftermath. It was seeing the faces of every victim on TV, hearing their families, seeing the handmade posters and photos hung along the fence at ground zero. It was the days the rescue crews spent searching, digging, trying to find anyone left alive in the rubble. The horror of the final death toll.

That day was also about the heroism of ordinary people. The way Flight 11 was rerouted by the passengers. The Firemen who ran into the towers knowing the risk... and doing it anyway. The police and first responders, who were there when the buildings came down, and the men and women who braved the dust cloud to go in after survivors before anyone could even see. That day was about the sheer loss of life, but also about how willing we are to unify against bitter circumstances to help each other.

I was only 17 when the towers fell. I was home sick that day, and wound up watching the news til I was too stunned to watch anymore. Then we watched the rest of the week. Nothing else sticks in my mind about that day, or the days after, my life revolved around trying to keep in the loop, wondering if we'd known anyone involved, watching them go through the pieces. It didn't feel real at first. The first footage they showed of the plane crash, and then the towers collapse, none of it felt real. That such a thing could happen, deliberately happen, was beyond my imagining.

Now today, as I got her ready for school, I had to try to explain to my five year old daughter what Patriot Day means, and why we all need to remember it. I wasn't going to wait for the schools to tell her, wait for her to learn it in history class. It may have happened six years before she was born, but it was important in so many ways.

So I told her about everything that happened as gently as I could without death tolls. I told her firefighters and police rushed to help people, even though they were in a lot of danger. She asked a lot of questions, and I tried to answer honestly. I told her today is an important day to remember all the good people who died, and that we should always be grateful to police and firefighters for being willing to rush in when there's danger and help people.

I may have to find a suitable children's book to share with her. Through all of it, I want her to focus on the positive. Terrorists performed a horrible heinous act, but their goal was to cripple us, make us feel weak, and instead people pulled together to help and save each other. I know this act has spawned a lot of politics, and unfortunate amounts of racism and religious bigotry, which we'll discuss when she's older. Right now, we aren't going to talk about the terrorists, or their motives, they are the faceless evil that hurt innocent people. Do their reasons really matter?

The 'bad guys' are all dead or captured. While other terrorists remain, today isn't about them. Today isn't about revenge. It's about mourning, remembrance, and knowledge that every day in our lives is precious, and should be grateful for it. For all that was lost, we remember. We will not forget.

Life, Equality, and Everything

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Just a quick note on my philosophy on life.  I believe a lot of things, and those things work for me. I choose not to believe in other things, and that is my freedom to do so. I feel like we are so often buffeted by controversy and rageface, especially when we’re online for any measure of time, or if we have the misfortune of being drawn into political ‘discussion’. It’s really important that we try to remember to respect and understand another’s opinions and choices.

I think the crux of all bigotry and friction lies at its very heart a big discomfort with things that are different. Maybe it’s religion, maybe it’s sexuality, maybe it’s an opinion on a book.

But here’s what you need to remember:

Different isn't evil.

Different isn't wrong.

Different doesn't need to be hidden, castigated, shunned or changed.

Different isn't scary.

It’s just different.

If you’re straight, and that guy is gay, so what?

If you’re Christian, and that guy is Muslim, so what?

If you thought Star Wars was the best thing ever, but that guy never really liked it at all, so what?

Life shouldn't be about wasting your energy hating, fearing, or trying to change the people around you. Granted, if you love something like Star Wars, or Religion, you might have this crazy wild urge to find someone to share it with. That’s GREAT! Up until the point that you keep pushing your opinions on someone else after they've politely said they are not interested.

Bigotry and hate is like a mushroom farm, it thrives best when locked away in the dark and is fed on bullsh*t. If there are people who are vastly different from you, rather than trying to change them your time would be much better spent trying to understand and learn more about them, and why they feel that way. You might find your opinions change… or they don’t!

Exploring a new religion doesn't mean you’ll automatically convert. Just like watching the Star Wars box set with an obsessed friend doesn't mean you’ll run out and buy a light saber. Life is full of choices; make the choices that are right for you. Based on your experience and what makes you happy.

As a corollary, don’t let other people tell you how to think, act, feel. Not religion, not family, not politics. People give you opinions that are often what they hope will make you happy, but they are opinions, not edicts. You figure out what is right for you.

There are limits of course to healthy expression. Do not do anything that impedes another person’s life, freedom, or self. Don’t mess with children or animals. Don’t be a predator. And don’t be a dick.

I have a lot of opinions and I feel strongly about some things. I do not expect you to agree with me. I only hope that you will keep an open mind and listen to all the words before deciding on a judgement. I’ve realized that almost all of my pent up frustration, especially regarding politics, comes out of a feeling that people keep making damning judgments about others. Everyone in politics seems so eager to assign blame while accepting none. It all becomes us vs them rhetoric and it’s just exhausting.

I’m in favor of fairness. I’m in favor of equality. I’m in favor of personal freedoms being protected by law. I’m in favor of listening, not condemning.

So that’s my philosophy. I do have my bad days, like everyone else, I have days when I get mad, or I get frustrated, or I’m totally baffled by something. I’m not perfect.

But no one is.

And that’s okay.

Liz 

Thoughts on Religion

This is one of the things I love about twitter. Sometimes I have the most interesting conversations with people I wouldn't otherwise meet. Like Thea van Diepen, who I've talked to about the hypothetical weight of a sealskin and more interesting ideas about organized religion.

Our conversation got Thea thinking, and she wrote a series of blog entries and like me enough to quote me. :) It's worth taking a look at. You can also follow her on twitter @XpectAberration.

http://expectedaberrations.blogspot.ca/2012/08/whats-up-with-this-whole-chosen-people.html

The blog has three parts. Standard Disclaimer: Once you leave my blog I'm not liable for the content of other people's heads. I just try to make sure the other heads I visit are interesting.

Intentions

I apologize for not having more new content up here. Blogging is one of those odd little activities that I wind up having a lot of feelings and plans, but I find myself juggling doubts and worries as well. It becomes one of those semi-competitive things where it isn't that I want to be better than the other blogs I read, I just don't want to be that much worse.
I'm a pantser, fly by the seat of my whimsy sort of blogger, but I started questioning that too. For while I want to maintain the freedom to just climb up on my blog and say whatever I'm thinking about, I recognize that in sitting down, typing something out and hitting send. Well... it's not the best way to present quality writing.
Then my brain starts to worry that people who read my unedited and sometimes sub-par blogging will assume that this is how I WRITE, and dear god they're JUDGING ME! What if they assume my book (which isn't even finished or being shopped yet) is TERRIBLE based on my mad slapdash approach??

This led to me not blogging, anything, because after I wrote it I'd set it down to edit 'later' and then I'd spend all my time editing, revising and writing on my MS that the blog entries just got abandoned. So clearly that much planning isn't going to work either.

So I'm going to compromise. I'm going to write my blog posts nicely, and neatly as I can in Word. I'll check my spelling and commas like a good girl, and then after a quick copy edit I will post them with the understanding that this is NOT my best work, but I am saving my best work for my actual novels. I'm not saying I'll deliberately put anything here that's not a unique idea, the writing I put here I am to have good content. I just don't have the sort of focus to regularly update a blog with perfectly polished entries.

Books are easier. Books I plan the end and middle and beginning before I start, I poke and prod and write and rewrite. My blog is more a stream of consciousness ramble that starts out with a point, eventually gets there, then sometimes continues on to a new question. It's not the prettiest most planned thing in the world.

But frankly, I need it. I need a place to write the words that are topical and important to me without having to worry about if it'll still be relevant in three weeks or a month, or a year. I want to write about what matters when it matters so I can work these thoughts out in catharsis, and maybe even spawn a meaningful discussion.

I intend to have more regular content here. I intend to link to other blogs that are relevant and interesting. I intend to do vocal, interesting, and possibly NSFW book reviews. (If I review a book with profanity, there might be profanity in the review. If I review erotica, there will be discussion of sex scenes. Don't be scared.) I intend to rant about possibly triggery subjects like rape culture, the phenomenon of 'the creeper' (related), and how to be less awkward in public (A process I'm still learning.).
I will probably discuss depression/anxiety/OCD my specific problems with those, how they relate to writing. I also hope to use this space for occasional musings on things that I love, things that inspire.
It's very likely that I won't hold myself to any sort of specific format, some posts might be long, some short, others might simply be a link and a quote to something I think is thought provoking.

All said and done, my goal is to use this space, to add to my scope here, and not just limit the freedom of my thoughts to twitter. This will be me, uncensored and not super focused. It'll be me trying to gather my thoughts, internet wandering, writing, and reading to one place so anyone interested can join me. Hope you enjoy that.

Additionally... this is like a New Years Resolution. I really hope I can stick to it. :-)
Liz