Odds, Ends

My guy wasn't feeling well last night (pending root canal), so I abandoned my evening session on the computer, closed down the BatCave and spent the evening pampering and commiserating with him. A lover in pain is more important than blogging and editing any day (and, tough guy that he is, he went off to work this morning, still in pain.)

Eva Gale passed along this link in comments yesterday and it blew me away to see the art and the world-building involved. Definitely check it out when you have a chance, and thank you, Eva.

Last week, lightning struck the cable company's equipment nearby, and fried dozens of modems, computers, converters and televisions in our neighborhood. We lost our family room television set, computer modem and two of my towers (fortunately I had everything backed up while switching over to the new system, which is isolated from everything, or I'd be in very big trouble.) The power surge ran through the cable itself, which was hooked directly to everything it fried; our household current surge suppressors didn't stop it. I've voted for replacing the TV with a nice stereo system, which I would use more. You guys who live in storm- or lightning-prone areas, please make sure you're backing up your data regularly.

Via phone I talked with an agency-type publicist who cold-called me to solicit some business. He had a nice, deceitful pitch about what I need to do in order to be a successful author, none of which I actually do. When I asked him why writing was not on his success checklist he thought I was joking and chuckled. Anyway, it turns out that publishing doesn't care about me (say it isn't so!), I am cheating myself and cannot compete unless I "get behind my books." Which will cost me somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty large. I told him I'd rather stay in front of them and focus on the writing (which did not make him happy, so I do hope whoever gave him my private number got their kickback out of him up front.)

My daughter demanded that I read the Stephenie Meyers YA vampire books, and I have; all three of them. Decent stories, although I probably would have appreciated them more about thirty-four years ago. But at least now I can discuss the story with her, and she's thrilled because they're all she wants to talk about these days. Since her least favorite aspect of the books are the "sex parts" (and yeah, that's what she calls the endless dry kissing, hand-holding and hugging) I have suggested she not read my vampire books until she finishes post-graduate school.

What's up with you guys?

The Vampire Smythe

"Ms. Hartlace?" Jenny called over the intercom. "There's a gentleman here to see you."

Senior Editor Agatha Hartlace put her mah-jongg game on pause and finished crunching a mouthful of Skittles before she replied with, "Does he have an appointment, Jennifer?"

"No, ma'am, but--"

This is what she got for controlling her department overhead with dregs from the intern pool. "Is he John Grisham?"

"No ma'am but his business card says that he's T.V. Smythe senior vice president of the legal division of a company called VLAD." Jenny finally ran out of breath.

Agatha had never heard of VLAD, but boutique book packagers had been flooding the market lately. "All right, send him in." Her elbow bumped the half-empty bag of Skittles, spilling candy on the floor around her chair. As she bent over to grab a handful before the ten-second rule expired, she did not see the cloud of white smoke seep in under the door, or how it solidifed into a person.

"Ms. Hartlace?" a pleasant voice asked.

Agatha peeked over the edge of her desk at a tall, dark handsome man in an immaculate suit. Probably gay. "Yeah?"

"T.V. Smythe, here on behalf of VLAD." He set down his briefcase and offered her a black business card.

Agatha squinted at the blood-red printing. "'Vampire Lobby for Accurate Depictions?'"

"Exactly." Smythe displayed beautifully capped if somewhat pointed teeth as he sat down and opened his briefcase. "There are a large number of titles your imprint has published that have my organization deeply concerned."

Agatha frowned. "Are you that fundamentalist coalition that convinced Wal-Mart to put the modesty wrappers on romance novels?"

"That would be VAPID -- Virginal Angry Prudes In Denial," Smythe said. "VLAD is an organization devoted to realistic fictional portrayals of the hemoglobinally-challenged."

"I see." No, she didn't, but it was almost lunch time, and she sucked at mah-jongg anyway. "So what can I do for VLAD, Mr. Smythe?"

He put on some reading glasses and took out a list. "To begin with, we ask that you cease and desist depicting vampires in fiction as cursed, evil, undead, demonic, subhuman, lustful, anti-mortal, greedy, monstrous and unkind."

"Excuse me?"

"I assure you, we are quite determined to set the record straight." He smiled politely. "Knowing someone is unable to digest solid food does not justify the use of such terms or labels. Also, your assumptions about how vampires feed are simply ridiculous. If I may cite from a recent publication?" When she nodded, Smythe removed a book from his briefcase, opened it to a bookmarked passage, and began to read. "Abernathy drove his razor-sharp fangs into Monique's throat, avariciously swallowing her life blood while she went limp. He lifted his head to kiss her with his blood-stained lips, and the twin scarlet pinholes in the alabaster flesh of her neck disappeared."

"That's The Vampire Who Bled Me," Agatha said, her eyelids drooping as she tried not to yawn. "One of our most popular titles."

"It's utter tripe," Smythe told her. "First, vampire fangs are not razor-sharp. Razors are razor-sharp. And then there are these pin hole-size wounds -- either this chap Abernathy has needles for teeth, or he missed when he tried to bite her. In either case, he wouldn't be swallowing anything from wounds of that size. No room for anything to come out, you see. As for the blood-stained lips, well, would you kiss a boyfriend with cheeseburger smeared all over your mouth?"

Agatha's eyes had glazed over at razor-sharp. "I'll send a note to the author."

"Would you tuck this list of additional complaints in the envelope?" Smythe offered her a copy of his list. "Also, please let your writers know that sunlight doesn't turn vampires to ash, we never sleep in coffins except at the occasional Halloween party when someone over-indulges, and we're actually very fond of garlic."

The guy thought he was a vampire. Great. "Anything else?"

He thought for a minute. "None of us speak a word of French, we never date humans, and we never turn you into vampires. Not that you aren't an attractive species, of course, but unless you're a hemophiliac, well . . . ." he made a helpless gesture. "To be brutally honest, it's your odor. You remind us of four-day-old tuna casserole. And it gets worse when you become immortal. Have you ever smelled food left in a refrigerator with the power turned off for three weeks?"

"No, but I'm sure one of my authors has." Agatha stood. "I hate to cut this short, Mr. Smythe, but I have a production meeting to attend." She held out her hand. "Nice meeting you."

Smythe took her hand in his, and fixed his dark, mesmerizing gaze on her face. "You will depict vampires in your books accurately in the future, Ms. Hartlace. You cannot resist. My blood calls to yours, and yours wishes to obey."

Agatha nodded slowly, and then watched as Smythe turned into a plume of white smoke that slowly drifted under the door crack until it was gone.

Jenny rushed into the office a moment later. "Ms. Hartlace, are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine, and no, he didn't." She glowered at her assistant. "What did I tell you that you have to have when you become an editor?"

"A better intern pool?"

"Ice water for blood." Agatha thumbed through her rolodex. "Where's that number for Van Helsing Publicity and Marketing?"

(dedicated to Tom, who recovered this from the lost archives.)

Friday 20

Dracoola
Fangtacy
No Bark All Bite
Immortal Studmuffin
Your Coffin or Mine?

I've been doing a little market research for an article I'm writing about genre trends. And I don't know about you guys, but I am now, officially, sick to death of vampire romances with cute pun titles.

Before anyone blows a gasket, I'm not pointing fingers at any author in particular. Have you seen the number of pun titles out there? I don't own that many fingers. Neither does the National Guard.

I'm also know I'm being unreasonable. I admit it. I'm well aware that half the time authors don't even get to pick out the titles for our books. Remember whose novel got slapped with The Kissing Blades? Believe me, I feel your pain.

But for the love of Vlad, I simply CANNOT DEAL WITH IT ANY MORE.

I hate stereotyping anything, so I tried to figure out why I'm having such a strong negative reaction to vampire romance pun titles. I didn't mind it when the chicklit writers started the pun title trend. I thought they were cute and content-appropriate.

I guess the subject matter is the problem. Vampires were my personal bogeymen when I was very young (thanks to Bela Lugosi movies), and then I became entranced by their mythology as a preteen (watching Dark Shadows after school.) I didn't grow up with more humorous spins on the vampire mythology like Buffy or Love at First Bite. The first vampire novels I read were by Anne Rice and Stephen King, and you know what a laugh-a-minute those two are.

To me, vampires were always the ultimate in dark, mysterious, tragic, poetic, doomed characters. Puns just never entered into that equation, which is probably why I find them so jolting as titles.

A reader's personal history and preferences, just like mine with vampire mythology, tends to heavily influence their opinions of a novel. No doubt a lot of the Buffy generation of writers think serious vampire fiction is old, stodgy and boring because there are no cute little blondes running around kicking vampire ass all through the book. Just as plenty of the old, stodgy and boring vampire writers think that Buffy is silly and trite.

The thing that is so cool about genre is that there is more than enough room for any sort of title, any type of writer, and any kind of story. If your next vampire romance novel is titled The Story of O Positive, there are plenty of readers out there who will think it's a hoot.

Just don't tell me about it for a while. Please. I need a rest.

That's all from my corner of the writing world this week. What's up with you guys? Any questions out there for me?