That seems
appropriate for Halloween week.
This newest
season of Supernatural really had a hold on me, until episode three last week,
when its grip slipped and I started to plummet into the darkness that is
entertainment related disappointment. As a brief, almost spoiler-free
explanation, I’ll only say that I saw Cas getting expelled from the bunker
coming a marathon away, and I was screaming “NOOOOOOOO!” the whole way,
because, come on, guys. Such a cop-out. You can’t come up with any other way to
maintain tension and drama between Cas and Dean except to keep them separated,
can you?
Ever since
season five they've repeatedly come up with lame (okay, some of them
weren't bad, or were downright awesome, but it’s getting old) excuses why Cas
doesn't just stick around. And this is coming from someone who doesn't see Cas
and Dean as having a romantic relationship.
But, now I’m
getting into an entirely different rant, about how my generation can’t seem to
comprehend the idea of a close bond between two people that isn't sexual.
We’ll see if
I can recover in the next few episodes. I’ll watch episode four tonight and
maybe it will all be okay… Maybe Cas will get the truth about why he has to
leave and see the necessity in it, or maybe at least they’ll have Dean come up
with a decent lie. I really hope so, because I want to be excited about this
season.
Which brings
me back around to the vampires.
I was trying
to think of ways that Supernatural could make it up to me, as I’m sure it wants
to—our friendship means so much, and it’s so needy, geez. Very near the top of
my list was Benny the Cajun Vampirate.
Let me take
you back to innocent days. When as a youngster, what I wanted, more than
anything in the world was a really good vampire book. I searched everywhere,
but unfortunately I only found a lot of really horrible and one or two really
mediocre vampire books.
Oh, and
Dracula. Which is great.
Eventually,
I gave up and decided I would just have to write my own. Since my ex-boyfriend
had so recently condemned me as a Satan worshiper, and had me believing at
least for ten seconds that he was going to attempt an exorcism and hide my no-longer-possessed
body somewhere in cottonwood canyon, I felt like I was in a really good place
to write something truly romantic and not at all about how men are psychotic monsters.
Bonus points if you can pick out which parts of this story aren't lies.
My awesome
(and never to be finished) vampire novel ended up resembling Benny’s story to a
somewhat troubling degree. I had originally envisioned it as a romance with a
lot of violence and bloody revenge, but as I wrote it chapter by chapter I
found myself more engaged in a secondary story-line in which my main fanged man
chose to watch over one of his still very human and clueless descendants… so,
it evolved into a family story, with a lot of violence and bloody revenge.
Also,
everyone was Cajun, which I didn't realize at the time is kind of a thing
already.
So, my novel
did help me get vampires out of my system for a minute there, but then I needed
another fix. Just in time for one of my friends to ask me, “Have you read
Twilight?”
I hadn't. I
hadn't even heard of Twilight and apparently there was another book already out
and I was seriously behind. I went ahead and read it, and let me tell you, it
was exactly what I was looking for at that particular time in my life. Hear me
out, haters!
No… that’s
all I got.
No shame. I
liked it. I’m really critical of books, usually, but I found it entertaining
and it was what I wanted.
I can say
negative things about it, and in fact, I will, in a second, but let’s get real.
I can say negative things about every writer. Except Jane Austen. She’s
perfect.
Charles
Dickens relied on coincidence, Silvia Plath wrote through one narrow, angry
perspective, Douglas Adams purposefully tried to piss off his audience,
Shakespeare pandered shamelessly, Hemingway hates you and James Joyce are you
kidding me?
These are
great writers, and I don’t think anyone is going to accuse Stephanie Meyer of
that, but she filled a void that had plagued my lonely, self-conscious,
why-are-guys-so-mean?-adolescence. I’m happy she wrote Twilight. I’m happy I
read it.
Rereading it
didn't work out though.
I used to be
the kind of person who reread books. Twilight cured me of that. Attempting to
read the book a second time was oh so boring. The narrative that kept me going
the first time around, just doesn't hold up when you have another go at it and
the plot… well, there’s really not much in the way of plot, so what was going
to compel me to read more than two chapters? The characters?
Hell to the
no.
In my adult
years, I would say I've transformed into a classicist when it comes to vampires
specifically, but monsters in general. With few exceptions, I think they ought
to exclusively be terrible and don’t fall in love with you, but kill you dead
and eat you. And maybe turn you into one of them and then you’re a monster too.
Which sucks. Pun absolutely intended.
Benny is one
of the exceptions. He was believable as a good person, and as a monster.
Usually, I find myself not buying either the good or the bad side of the
archetypal conflicted vampire’s personality, and maybe that’s more my problem
than the writer’s, but I’m gonna say no, it’s not on me.