On Dark Fantasy Love

"Young Frankenstein"

As I ponder “Dark Fantasy” and “Love” here goes a torrent of examples one cannot hope to address in brevity.   We can go from Vampire love to Frankenstein love and not even begin to approach Ghost love, Werewolf love, or even Zombie love (is there zombie love?). 

A psychologist told me many years ago that “the opposite of love is not hate.  It’s indifference.”  When I think of my relationships in the past, I couldn’t agree more.  We want to hurt people we hate.  We actually hurt people we love.  We ignore people we feel nothing for. 

On further analysis on how love can be used in dark fantasy, there’s little variation on how one would use romantic love in any other setting.  A teenage girl falls in love with a sparkly vampire like she could fall in love with the star quarterback.  A nurse could fall in love with a doctor she works for even if he’s building a monster instead of treating patients.  Swamp monsters fall for beautiful blondes in old monster films. 

Romantic settings move our characters in ways few other emotions can; from love hate, jealousy, charm, and narcissism.  Any character, be it animal, monster, vampire, werewolf, ghost, or human is vulnerable and there are few defenses.  By developing love interests we develop the characters and show the reader what lies behind the motivations of his/her deeds, human or not.

Flipping the coin on the other side, the lack of love, meaning the amoral character, also can stand out as clear as the presence of love.  The prototype is a serial killer, but any monster that lives off the lives of others, for example, in many vampire stories (Dracula) the lack of love develops a character to the same depth when crafted against those who value life and feel love.

I’ve been criticized for not having enough love interest in my first novella of my four-part series.  But sometimes love takes time, and may arise from places unexpected to the reader.  As a writer, speaking for the joy of writing, it’s sometimes pleasantly unexpected to authors as well.

“The Window”

Fact-based:

Joe hated evenings after school.  Every night re-wound to the night before; his drunken mother yelling at his drunken father with he and his younger sisters to stay cautiously out of the way as they threw furniture.  Some nights were so bad he slept outside.  Out in the middle of the country, who cares?  Who’s going to see anything? 

Mornings were better, because usually his father was gone already, and probably wouldn’t be back for a week or so after a big night of yelling.  His mother was asleep, so after helping his sisters get ready for school, they jumped on the bus with smiles.  As a star seventh grade football player, school was a good place.  And the food wasn’t so bad.

He liked the girl that sat in front of him during homeroom.  Her name was Sarah, and lived down the road from him.  Sometimes he offered her a seat on the bus, and she accepted if there were no empty seats.  She never spoke much to anyone, but she made A’s all the time and never took a book home.

One night while his parents were yelling he sneaked out and walked to Sarah’s house.  He knew he’d get a beating if caught, but as drunk as they were, his parents were unlikely to notice anything.  As he approached Sarah’s house at dusk, only a couple of lights were on inside.  Outside the grass had grown up a least a foot deep with a rusted lawn mower buried in the front.  The front porch had a broken swing and a rocking chair about to fall apart.  Then he heard yelling from inside.

Frightened, he cautiously walked around to the side of the house and found a window to peek in.  It was Sarah and her sister’s bedroom; both of them were in bed trembling with the covers pulled over their heads.  He could hear the shouts of a man and the cries of a woman in another room.  Furniture sounded like it was being thrown around somewhere in the house.  As well as he knew yelling in adults, these people were not drunk.  No slurred words and no stupid stuff, this sounded like hate.

The door to the bedroom burst open; Sarah and her sister sat up.  A man threw the woman inside and shouted for all three to get in a corner.  As they cowered helplessly crying, the man slammed shells into the magazine of the shotgun with so much ferocity he missed and some of them spilt onto the floor.  Foam spewed from his mouth like an animal.  Joe’s eyes widened as the man pointed the gun at the woman and the girls.  Then he suddenly hesitated, dropped the weapon as he cursed, stomped out of the house, slamming the door and drove off.

The next morning Sarah sat in her usual place quietly, getting up first as usual to turn in her pop quiz.  When the bell rang to change class, Joe said, “Do your parents fight?”  She nodded.  He said “Mine do too.”  Not looking back at him, she picked up her books to go to the next class.

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@CHIamsterdamhttp://www.childhelplineinternational.org

Zorro Returns!!

I want to welcome author Stella DeLeuze back to my blogospheric space as she brings us another humorous chapter in the life of her extraordinary roommate Zorro.  Please check out Stella's work at:
http://wordsbystelladeleuze.blogspot.com/ 

"Zorro"

                          

                From Zorro's diary: The ugly creature goes bonkers

Life as an iguana can be rather confusing; I have no idea what's going on, but believe you me, my walking feeder is up to something. For many changes between me being awake and asleep, she has been moving around a lot. Very suspicious. She never does that. When she doesn't stare for hours at the thingy in front of her, she'll either leave and not come back for ages or she'll pester me with her funny noises and lures me down from my high look-out with delicious treats. She's brought different ones, by the way and boy, they are just melting in my mouth. I can't get enough of them.

So back to her moving about. Every time when I open my eyes, she's changing her house. Not that I care a lot, as long as it doesn't involve me getting touched, she can do whatever she wants. But I'm curious, so I crawl a bit closer and sit right in front of the unseen barrier and yet again, bang my nose at it! Never mind, I just want to see what's going on. At this moment, she's holding items that magically disappear when she bends forward. Surprised, I stretch myself to see a bit better, but it's gone. How interesting!

Uh, oh, no! I shouldn't have come down here; my lower hangout is only good when she's not around or sitting in her usual place. Now she's making the funny noises again and putting the extension of her inside my house. I wonder if I can warn her off by trying to sink my teeth into her flesh. No, she'd be too fast for me, pulling back again. Instead I close my eyes. It'll be over soon, it'll go away in a tick! But, oooh, I like it. Damn, she really knows what I like; my eyes were a bit itchy and I do love a good head rub, especially if it takes off the old skin. I've tried to get rid of it, but it didn't work. I could also do with something to drink. I'm thirsty. Maybe she'll make it rain again? Carefully, I squint through my half-open eye. She has moved onto my cheeks. Man that is good. Seriously good. Relaxing, I lean into her extension, so much, that I almost fall off my seat when she suddenly pulls away. Hey, you! I think. Don't stop! I could do with a bit longer. As much as I loathe her, she definitely gives me the best green stuff and treats and her massages are pure iguana heaven. And then it starts to rain heavily. I blink and wait. The rain moves over my head and I stretch out my tongue to drink. Gee, I'm so thirsty and the temperature is perfect. When I have enough, I hurry up to my higher hangout. From experience, I know she'll not pester me for the time being and probably will make more things disappear, I'll watch from here and see what happens.

Her house changes constantly, what's worse is that another ugly creature has joined her. I know  him; he once gave me some green stuff to eat when the female wasn't here for a longer while. It was the most peaceful time, I must add. Didn't even feel the urge to bite him and he didn't put his extension in my house to touch me. I'd say we got on well. Never mind, now that he's here again, I'll observe everything carefully.

But what is going on? They'll became rather hectic and when her house starts to look almost empty, she comes over to mine. No! You don't, ooh no! In panic, I try to squeeze myself into the corner, as far away from her extension as possible. Not that it would help, she reaches out and I try to bite, but I'm just an iguana and she's bigger and stronger than me. I struggle ¨C to no avail. Then I hold still, just wishing to get back into my house and relax. Seems I've made the plans without her as she ¨C against my expectation ¨C drops me somewhere unfamiliar. Then it goes dark. Hey! Let me out of here, I think. How rude it that? I can hear them exchanging funny noises. Doh, I'll show you what I'm made of. I scratch a bit here and there, everywhere where brightness streams in, but there's no way to escape. Deflated, I decide to rest for a while to gather some strength. Suddenly, I rip open my eyes. Blimey, what's that thundering noise? It's so damn unfair; I really want to sneak a peek, so I start scratching again and there, finally, is a way out. Hah! They're so busy, they don't even notice.

What the heck? I really don't like what I see: they're ruining my house! Mesmerised, I stare at what resembles my home when I find myself airborne and in the dark again. I didn't pay attention, too shocked was I about being made homeless. Confused, I try to orientate myself when I'm dazzled and blindfolded in the next second. What is wrong with her today?

Again, I struggle and try to free myself, but she holds me tightly. To add to the disaster, she's moving around with me. It's getting cold and my tail knocks against something, then a bang and another, different, noise. Breathing heavily, I try to make out where we are. After ages she sets me free and removes the blindfold. Gee! I don't know this place. And the other two ugly creatures are back, too. Ah, I see parts of my house. Would be good if they put is together as quickly as they can, because first it's not really warm and second, I want my peace back. Oh and I could do with something to eat to.

Resigned, I drop myself somewhere comfy and watch the hustle and bustle. After a while I can't be bothered anymore and just close my eyes to drift into a dream with many beautiful ladies, lots of food and plenty of sunshine. Ah. There, that's better.

Review of “The Cahokian” by Zoe Saadia

I found “The Cahokian” to be a great read!  This book opened cultures I’ve rarely visited in fiction or non-fiction reading, exposing a brutal clash of people sparing the reader few details. The prose-driven story is big on detail and small on animation, and to me a reasonable variation in which to create an adventure novel with historic backdrops.  I found the book fascinating from the first page and recommend it highly to readers that favor a treat from mainstream templates, paranormal romance, or dark fantasy stories.  This fast-reading piece is interesting and enjoyable. Excellent work, five stars!

On Bad Little Girls

"Serenity"

"Sin City"

When I began my own writing journey, I had no doubt in my mind that I would have a teenage heroine.  An understandable assumption of an inspiration would be hits like “Buffy” and as a fan of Whedon’s work, I won’t argue.  Little kick-behind girls like my character Shevata have been used and continue to be used in a variety of action stories.

Going back to non-fiction historical text, a young girl marked the books named Joan of Arc.  As a non-historian as well as not being there, I’ll hold back remarks of the penalty given to her.  But, regardless of opinion, she’s famous for bravery, and if she didn’t make an impression, I suspect she wouldn’t be conversation today.  While I’m not convinced Joan of Arc is the primary inspiration for young action female characters, her history speaks for itself and is worthy of remembrance.

Where have we seen young heroines in fictional classics?  The reflex answer is “Alice in Wonderland” by Lewis Carroll.  As kids, we remember the little cakes making her big and small, some of us recall the music of the rock group “Jefferson Airplane,” and we Burton fans know the recent film with over-the-top effects that made “Wonderland” wonderful in its own weird way.

Why do young girls make fun action characters?  Answer:  The obvious is their appearance of not being dangerous and the gratuitous unveiling of their abilities brings out our “rooting for the underdog” part of us for protagonists.  As I’ve written before about protagonists, generally we like beauty and benevolence, while drawn into mystery that power from unexpected sources (like kids) brings us.  Girls usually have a soft spot somewhere (romance, loss) that reels them back into humanity enough so audiences can still keep a sympathetic hold on them (as would apply to any protagonist, but clearly with girls).   I do realize some of my readers are still looking for Shevata’s soft spot. 

I’ve seen the criticisms of little girl action heroes as well.  The obvious is:  How can a fifty-pound girl drop a two hundred pound guy by kicking him?  I don’t argue with that, other than it’s fiction.  Also, to be fair to our gentleman friends, they have a point:  Try taking martial arts and take down a heavyweight boxer.  Good luck.  I have much respect for all disciplines and the expertise in weapons was created for a good reason.  But the element of surprise is very important in physical combat and its exaggerated use in stories and films adds to the fast-moving elements.

Bad little girls are not new in fiction, and I don’t think are going anywhere.  They’re tried, true, fun, and hardly the only option out of the endless great choices for creating stories.  But that’s what makes reading so great, sometimes a less conventional hero than the knight-in-shining armor packs a punch big enough to mow down the bad guys in short order.  There’s nothing wrong with that, as long as the last girl is standing it’s fine with me.

Hey! That's me!!

I'm being featured today on the Orangeberry Books Blog.  Many thanks to Dr. Niamh Clune and her colleagues for taking the time to do this.

But the best part about Orangeberry Books is that it's not about a single author.  Nobody is bigger than the group of us, and I believe that can be said with all writers.  Think of what the classics left us with, unforgettable stories, and we may have favorites, but does one novel stand out beyond all for everyone? And the heavy-hitters these days, from Jonathan Franzen to Suzanne Collins, do any of them stand to shadow all other writers?  No, because ultimately the readers decide, and it's our privilege of being authors we have something to offer readers, and it the ultimate joy of being a reader to experience what so many different authors give us.


http://theobblog.com/c-c-cole/

On The Inbox Wormhole

As I’m continuing my writing journey and realizing my time in cyber-space is at least as consuming as my time on Earth, there’s always a place I fear to look, a place of darkness, like in “Dune.”  Only I don’t have a poison needle and a cute actor sitting across from me as I enter this strange place.  Like most people, I call it my Inbox.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy to get correspondence from friends and contacts I’ve made via social networking.  The great part about my Inbox is the ease of transfer of wonderful literary creations or useful advice by the network experts.  My Inbox has delivered everything from great books to fantastic beta reads; and the latter make me feel like I’m keeping the latest best secret. 

For those of us listed on more blog/social sites than we care to think about, we know the voiceless horrors of our Inboxes.  To be fair, for me this is over 90% self-inflicted.  Sure, I’ve been to the sites to “compile” my updates, but as I increase my efforts, here come more updates!  It’s truly an avalanche of information, and the biggest tragedy is lack of time of address each one to the extent I’d like to.  A worse nightmare is an anticipated email landing in my spambox, which has led to more than one situation of “Grrss” at C.C.Cole (I’m screaming now). 

Inbox hygiene is something that requires regular attention.  The only way I’ve found to manage it is to either face the message or not face it at all, period.  Leaving email crumbs to “get back to later” usually translates into “forget about completely” leading to thousands of either unopened or stagnant messages and an unclean environment.  I go ahead and download any beta reads as soon as I get them.  If I get bumped out of a group for lack of interaction, they get my vote too; throw that bum author C.C.Cole out.

As I close this post, what’s interesting about Inboxes for new authors is the wide variety of comparisons.  What, even an Inbox can be creatively stimulating?  Of course it can!  If you’re a horror-writer, the Inbox and be a spooky hidden basement, a fantasy writer can create an opening to another word with talking critters, a dark fantasy writer can create another way into hell (what’s our deal there?), and a sci-fi writer can always use the prototypical wormhole.