BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

…make me write bad books.

Well, okay, let’s not write bad books. Even though Sean Connery says that women will sleep with you if you write a bad book, I’m not looking for that sort of validation.  I am, however, about to step in the proverbial “pile o’ poo”.

You see, as a general rule, people will say just about anything they damn well please to an author and expect us to take it. If they don’t expect us to take it, then they will expect us to “explain ourselves” as if we owe them. This isn’t everyone, of course, but there is a sizable enough segment out there that it prompted me to pen this particular blog entry. The problem is, unless you sit there with a smile on your face, or wholeheartedly agree with them that you are a big doody-head because you didn’t write something exactly the way they wanted, then you automatically become an asshole. I’ve seen this happen to many an author. For the most part, it’s just a speed bump in the road of life, but there have been a few career busting sinkholes out there too.

Now, as far as reviews go, I don’t even read them. Good or bad, doesn’t matter. I pretty much feel I need to give them equal time, so I don’t bother with any of them. Why? It’s a waste of my time. The good reviews will make me feel good, but the bad reviews will make me feel bad. I’d rather spend the hour it would take to read the reviews fantasizing about The Evil Redhead. That makes me feel good. No bad involved. Well… Okay… But it’s the good kind of bad.

But I’m not actually talking about reviews here. I’m talking about the commentaries that happen at book signings, show up in email, or happen on social networking venues. The stuff like, “You need to have XYZ character do ABC in the next book,” or “Your pagans aren’t real enough because in MY community we all go by our magickal names, not our real names.”

I could go on and on, but I won’t. I’m actually here to run off at the mouth about one particular comment that I have received. While the comment in question hasn’t come from everyone, I’ve heard it enough times that I feel a need to address it here.

Before we go any further I’d like to point out that I’m not angry or upset about it. I’m just really confused. And when I say confused, I mean big ol’ WTF kind of confused. I should also point out that what triggered this blog is that I heard the comment again recently. If the young lady who made the comment happens to read my blog, I certainly do not want her to be upset about this. I am not – I repeat, NOT – being a big asshole here. I’m just nonplussed to the nth degree.

The comment itself takes many forms – everything from flat-out, angry and accusatory rhetoric, to a simple, offhanded remark. But, it always boils down to the same thing.

You see, starting with the sixth book in the RGI series, I introduced an antagonist named Miranda. Now, Miranda is a little different in that she is a female serial killer. But what’s more is that she is a rare sub-type, that being a female sexual predator. In short, she’s a “killer dominatrix” – in more ways than one.

Apparently, a handful of folks out there take exception with this. Not that fact that she’s a serial killer or that she is a rare sub-type of female serial killer. Nope… What bothers them is that she’s a Dominatrix. They are anywhere from angry to upset to just plain not sure what to make of the fact that this  fictional woman engages in a BDSM Lifestyle and ends up taking it a little too far.

Okay. Good on ya’. You like vanilla, I like twisty cones. Not a problem.

But here’s the thing. The comment – whether angry or phlegmatic – always carries with it the following, “I really loved your other books in the series, but putting BDSM in them is offensive.”

Sometimes I get that direct quote; sometimes it’s just inferred. But, it’s always there even if the exact verbiage isn’t used. This is when I have my gi-hugic WTF? moment. Allow me to explain.

I write paranormal suspense thrillers about a witch who helps the police solve serial murders. In the first book, Harm None, there is a killer who skins his victims alive. In the second book, there is a killer who burns his victims alive. In the third book, Perfect Trust, there is a killer who rapes and kills women. In the fourth, The Law Of Three, victim gets eviscerated while still alive. In number five, Crone’s Moon, the killer is all about torturing the victims to death with electricity.

Are you seeing my point? If not, let me try to clarify a bit…

I am utterly perplexed as to how anyone could be offended by some woman dressing up in leather and spanking some guy, or walking on him in high heels, or making him bark like a dog, or whatever, prior to killing him (she is, after all, a serial killer and a sexual predator at that – meaning she’ll want to get off on it, or else why do it?), BUT the same individual(s) have no problem whatsoever with any of the other horrors my other antagonists have perpetrated upon their victims.

I can’t imagine that it’s just the sexual aspect. After all, sex was all over Perfect Trust. It just happened to be a male in control over the female victims, and getting his jollies with his own bizarre paraphilia.

So, if it isn’t the sex, then is it the fact that it’s a strong female archetype who is killing men?

You know… forget I even asked.

Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever get it. Nobody has been able to offer me a reasonable explanation for their dislike of the Miranda Saga just yet, and I doubt they ever will. There are just too many contradictions.

Fortunately, it’s a small group.

More to come…

Murv

Right out of the gates allow me to point out that Kurt Cobain and I share the same birth date. Now, I’ll grant you, there were quite a number of years separating us – he was the youngster and me the oldster – and I’m also still having those birthdays, quite unlike him. However, the point is we share a birth date so I think that allows me to bastardize the names of a couple of songs. So there…

Of course, as usual this blog is not about Kurt Cobain. Nor is it about Nirvana, The Foo Fighters, or any such thing.

It is, however, about Lithium… Or Thorazine… Or Haldol… Or any other antipsychotic you might be able to imagine. Why? Because I know some folks who need some. Scratch that… “Some” isn’t even close. Dump truck loads… Tanker truck loads… Just keep it coming.

But, let’s jump back to the beginning… Sorta.

You see, as an author of Paranormal Thrillers / Dark Urban Fantasy, I get to meet some very interesting folks. Some of them are, as I said, interesting. Others are more along the lines of interesting… Get my meaning?

Allow me to illustrate. I recently launched a book. Some of you may have heard of it – Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation. Now, as with previous books and as many authors do, I had a launch party. Nothing big. Not really a soiree or anything. Just a big cookie and a book signing. In the past I’ve done bigger sorts of parties for book launches, but I went for a minimalist approach this time, mainly because the economy sucks. But, I’m getting off track…

This go around I arrived at the store that was hosting the launch and they were also having a psychic fair. All good. More traffic, more folks to chat with. No problem there. Well, a psychic fair means “psychic readers”… Folks tossing out tarot cards, runes, whatever. Again, all good.

Or, so I thought…

I hadn’t been in the store 10 minutes that I was approached by one of said readers. The first thing she said to me was, “You’re the vampire guy, right?”

“Ummm, no,” I replied. “I’m the author guy.”

“But you write about vampires,” she said.

“No,” I replied with a smile. “Actually, I write paranormal suspense thrillers about a witch who helps the Saint Louis police solve serial murders and the like.”

“But there are vampires in them.”

“Well… I wrote one book that had a serial killer who pretended to be a vampire,” I said, picking the particular volume from the table and holding it up. “It was titled Blood Moon.”

“Well, I’m a real vampire slayer,” she replied, not even bothering to look at the novel in my hand.

I blinked. I blinked again. Then with my outside voice I said, “I see.”

My inside voice, however, was saying, “Sugar, I’m pretty sure you aren’t that Buffy chick… She’s quite a bit younger than you…”

“That’s what I do,” she continued. “I travel around the world slaying vampires.”

My outside voice said, “Oh. That’s nice.”

My inside voice spoke up again and said, “Really… And you hide the bodies where?”

“I just cut the twelve cords,” she announced.

My outside voice said, “Oh. That’s nice.”

My inside voice said, “You might have cut the cheese, but that’s about it. I think it’s more like you just escaped from a mental ward somewhere and people in white coats are looking for you.”

“I gathered up the twelve cords of the blah blah-blah de blabbity blah blah blah…” she continued.

My inside voice said, “I wonder how much Haldol it takes to put you down? You aren’t all that big, but with this level of psychosis I’m thinking, oh, I dunno, a quart. Quart and a half?”

My outside voice said nothing.

However, my outside face smiled and my outside head nodded. When you run into interesting people at a book signing, that’s pretty much all you can do unless you want to look like an ass to all of the actual interesting people who are standing around waiting to chat with you.

Eventually “Buffy” started winding down, “Blah blah, de blabbity and so a crack in the earth is a good thing. Oil spilling into the gulf from the earth just goes to show you that I managed to slay blabbity blah blah vampires.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” my outside voice said.

“Yeah, you’re definitely a fucking frootloop,” my inside voice mumbled. “Oil spilling into the gulf is a good thing? Sheesh…”

“So, you don’t read?” she asked.

“Sure I read,” I replied. “I mean, I write books so it kinda comes with the territory.”

She shook her head and gave me an exasperated sigh. “I mean you don’t read for people.”

“Come again?”

“You aren’t a reader. You don’t see things like the person in your book.”

“Oh,” I said with my outside voice.

“Here we go…” I said with my inside voice.

My outside voice continued talking. “No, I don’t talk to dead people or have visions like my character, but I have helped the police in the past by answering questions about paganism and some of the symbology.”

“Then that’s what you should do,” she announced.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You should quit writing about it and just help the police.”

I shook my head. “Why?”

“Because then you’d be helping.”

“I think I’ll stick to writing,” I said with my outside voice. “After ten books it’s kinda become a habit.”

My inside voice said, “Wrong guess on the Haldol. Gonna take three quarts for this one…”

“Well,” she grumbled as she wandered off to do a psychic reading for a client. “I was really hoping for your fans to show up so I could slay them.”

“I wonder if they have sharp, pointy objects in this store?” my inside voice wondered.

“Oh. That’s nice,” my outside voice said.

But, you know what made the day even better? A few hours later one of the other “readers” came up to me and said, “You’re the vampire guy, right?”

I sighed as my outside voice automatically spewed, “No, I’m the author guy.”

“Jeezus H. Chhhhhrrrriiiiissssst! Not another one,” my inside voice groaned.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, I just read Abraham Lincoln:  Vampire Hunter, and it’s a true story taken from his private journals, you know. So, I thought you would find it interesting that one of our presidents was a famous vampire slayer and we’re just now finding out about it.”

“Oh. That’s nice…”

She’s all yours, Seth*. I don’t do vampires. That’s your schtick… I already have a whole box of frootloops who think they can actually ride brooms. I don’t need your mixed nuts too…

More to come…

Murv

* Seth Grahame-Smith – author of Abraham Lincoln:  Vampire Hunter