Thursday, October 7, 2010

For the blood is the life

Okay, so this is embarrassing. 

Guys, I... I think, maybe, well. Okay. I'll just say it.

I want to write a vampire story.

I know.

But, I used to love them. Ever since I read this book. I love Dracula. And I really love Carmilla. For years, vampires were my go-to supernatural thing, my default Hallowe'en costume, my very favorite terror.

And I know they're overdone. And I know the craving for blood has been turned into a sort of extreme form of restricted diet, sort of the counterbalance to the raw food vegan movement. They're no longer immortal predators, but the benevolent and sparkly guardians of chaste womanhood, who like to attend high school. Or they're ravening superweapons, the victims of government bio-manipulation. 

And those things are fine, they all have their place, but those are not my vampires. They are not subtle, or strange, or cold, or any of the things I loved about them. They do not prickle my skin, and quicken my pulse.

I think if I want my vampires back, I'll have to write them myself.


  1. I was just looking at an ARC at work for a novel about a suburban English family who attempt to live a normal existence and hide from their children that they are, in fact, vampires. I couldn't decide whether it would be terrible or brilliant, and was too cowardly to actually bring the thing home with me... Can't now remember the title.

  2. That's sort of the thing that makes me sad enough (or grumpy enough) to contemplate writing my own. For a while, I would pick up pretty much any vampire-type story. Now, I hide from them.