Don't Meet Your Heroes

I would never dream of telling another writer what to do. I would never dream of sitting them down and telling them what their characters can and can't do, limiting them as people and limiting them as authors. Critique groups have made this mistake with me, going so far as to say that my main characters should be cut, should be another gender, shouldn't be the main perspective at all. I know what it is for the world to not want me to write what I write. I know what it is to be the victim of gender bias and as a result, be driven towards using a male pen name. It is a good thing then that I write first and foremost for myself. It isn't for money. It isn't for fame. It isn't for the enjoyment of others. All these things would be bonuses, pleasant surprises, but come or go, my writing will never find itself in entombed in a cold grave. I am a writer in the same way that I am a woman, a daughter, a friend and traveler. I must be these things. I am these things. I am the sum of these parts.

I would never dare to tell my role model RT that she shouldn't stop writing. I also wouldn't sit down with her and say she shouldn't be frustrated by not being paid enough or getting enough attention. I don't have that right over her, but I do wish I could remind her of what she has seemingly forgotten. Writers write for the sake of writing. Our characters need us to, not our friends, our parents, our publishers or our wallets. If you stop putting out work, you won't see me planting myself in your path, but you'll see me confused and disappointed.

Then again, you should know, I'm already confused and disappointed.

You've been my writing role model ever since that day in Alaska. Yes, I was led to your books because of the Supernatural reference on the reviews page, but from then on, I was a fan of yours and not what TV show your stories resembled. From that second, you fueled my work. You were the proof that I could write on the topic I loved and get attention for it. You were the proof that I wasn't the only one driven to write these tales, the only person who thought her stories were believable and accurate and perfect just the way they were. I know, I admit, I put you on a pedestal. You couldn't live up to that. You couldn't possibly deliver on the image I'd painted of you, but oh RT, couldn't you have let me down a bit easier? Couldn't you have repainted the inaccurate image I'd made of you instead of ripping it to pieces as if you were a human shredder?

I was so excited when you responded to my email, when you talked about inspiration and muses and writing on the sort of relationships so few understand. I was thrown. I was delighted. I wrote blog entries about it and I told my mom and my brothers about it. You couldn't have made me happier. So what if it ended at one email? So what if I responded, but didn't hear back? Because within a month, I saw you had your own FB and by gods, you accepted my friend request.

I should have known better. I should have stuck by my own rules. Don't ever meet your heroes. Jared, Jensen and Misha, if they disappointed me as you did, it could ruin the show for me. I don't want that, especially now that they're my only proof that these stories of ours can be loved. You're so bitter RT. You're so angry at the world, at publishers and you don't even realize that you're taking that out on us readers. We'd do a lot for you. I'd do a lot. I'd write letters to your publisher. I'd advertise. Hell! Through me, there are three people out there that have read your work that wouldn't have if not for me! (Mom, Coryn, Jenna) I buy everything you write. I have a box under my bed dedicated to your works and own more than 6 copies of your first novel. I write entries about you, about how I admire you. I get inspired by your characters snark and inject that into my own characters and am thrilled at the result.

I could have gotten past your bitterness. I could have gotten past your seeming hate for children. What I can't get past is how you treat your fans and though it makes me sound young and petty, how you've treated me. I broke my own rules to talk to you. I continue to break those rules each time I post to your FB, but you ignore my praise, my support, my encouragement. You get worse and worse, until you made a post that essentially said that you can't pay for pet food because of how little money your fans pay and that you were done. You weren't writing anymore. No sequels. No prequels. No short stories. No tying up trailing story lines. You'd finish your main series since nobody gave your other works any attention and then you were cutting the apron strings.

I posted in response to that, making it my final one. (I blocked your notifications, because they upset me) I told you how important your works had been, how they helped me get through my first away from home trip (Alaska) how they helped me through my first major breakup, how they continue to comfort me if I'm stressed or alone or sick or anxious. I told you how I buy everything you write without even seeing what it was about. Just click, boom, mine. I told you how it was going to break my heart if you stopped based on popularity. What did you say back?

Nothing. You responded to the posts before and after mine asking questions about why you were bitter, why you were done, why you were so fucking angry.

Sigh.

I don't know what this is going to do to my inspiration, to my identity as a writer. As I said, you were what I aimed for, evidence that this kind of story can be published, can be liked and that I wasn't alone. Yeah, sure, all that's still sort of true, but you're quitting. You get that? You're quitting and you're quitting for entirely the wrong reasons. I'd eat pet food if that meant having enough money to keep my laptop charged. I'd give away my clothes and let my pets keep me warm if that meant my fingers being free enough to type.

I haven't written a word yet since I saw your post, but that was only two days ago. I'm hoping the universe will send me something to help, another series, you changing your mind, a movie, my own stories wrapping me up in a hug and saying "we can do that, not just her, we can." I don't know. I just know I can't go where I'd usually go and that's to your stories.

I also know this.

Don't ever meet your heroes.

Saying Yes to Immortality

Because I was beginning a new job, I've spent the past month rereading Cal Leandros, Doubletake. I finished it last week and was at a loss for where to go next. New jobs can be stressful and these days at the fencing and decking place can be long.

I got lucky. Mom knew how much of a fan I was of Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter. She knew, also, that I adored the movie and was intent on owning a copy. Thus, I was delighted when she brought home from the library a sequel to the first book I hadn't even been aware of existed! (Also, Henry Sturges being the young gorgeous guy from Mama Mia kind of blew both our brains) I am now rereading the first one in preparation of enjoying the second. While doing so on my lunch break, I came across a scene that was completely removed from the movie. In fact, the entire plotline was.

Abraham Lincoln loved someone before he loved Mary Todd. He met a girl named Ann Rutledge. He described her in his journal and described her to his friends excessively. The two bonded over a love of language and of academics. Below is a piece of conversation from the movie Lincoln in Illinois.

Abraham Lincoln: You taught me how to love.
Ann Rutledge: Have I taught you to like it?
[both laugh] 

When she died, Lincoln turned suicidal. (This is per the Vampire Hunter version) His friends were forced to strip him of his weapons, sharp utensils, even his belt. Alas, his friends missed the pistol beneath his pillow. He put it to his head and he wondered if he'd have the time to hear the BANG? If he'd see the blood or the gore spatter the wall, or if darkness would swallow him first? Two things stopped him from doing the deed. The first was the memory of his mother who had, with her dying breath, asked him to live.

The other was Henry.

The second Abe's undead friend heard the news, he hopped a horse and galloped for New Salem. He made Abe's friends leave. Inside the small room Abe was renting, Henry sat with him as he cried. He talked about lost loves and how time does make it easier. (A vampire would know) He talked about how lovely Ann must have been per Abe's regular letters. (Abe was excessive in his descriptions to all) And Henry talked of options. He told Abe he could bring Ann back. I think (personally) that Abe deciding consciously not to do that to her is what got him through. It had to be his decision and he had to make it with somebody he trusted and who understood him.

This entire plotline-Ann Rutledge/Abraham Lincoln-wasn't in the movie. I get it. It would have been a step aside from the vampires storyline. People would have thought it stole from Mary Todd's character. I do think it was a loss, however. (Mom sent me an article on Ann, since I wondered whether she'd been made up for the sake of the novel. I discovered via doing so that there's actually much controversy over just how close Abe and Ann were)

Opinion is varied on the ending of the movie vs. the book. The biggest difference is, of course, Abe's decision whether or not to become a vampire. In the movie, he says no to Henry. "There are more ways to be immortal than living forever." He tells his friend. In the book, he agrees. It is my hope that in the sequel, he and Henry are hunting vampires together. I'll get back to you on the results of this.