I still want to be a writer. I don’t think that urge will ever cease.
I know that I will never write an arousing novel, the type of work that makes people squirm with excitement, the type of thing that will glue people to the pages. These day, that is more of a challenge than ever. J.K. Rowling did it. Stephanie Meyers did it. I don’t believe I have that sort of sway. I don’t have an original story.
Isaac said something interesting Tuesday night that I’ve been thinking about. I have read a lot of vampire stuff lately, well, not so much lately, but the last novels I have read have all been vampire novels. There are so many different takes on vampires. Laurell K. Hamilton made vampires into succubi, etc. Terry Pratchett tries to make them sophisticated in his own charming way. Simmons makes them murderers. But what Isaac said lies closest to Anne Rice and, naturally, the founder of vampricism, Bram Stoker. Vampires are mysterious. They are rapists, in a way, but not for the sake of raping, but a need to grow and survive. They love, like humans do, but they cannot express it beyond obsession due to the carnal nature that has bred within them. We cannot understand their motives and thoughts because we live our lives based on emotion, but they are beyond emotion – they are fueled by passion and and obsession.
Just something I can think about I guess.
I’ll never be able to write a successful story without a plotline.