Posted by KVTaylor in So I, like many other aspiring urban fantasy writers, like to read the Fangs, Fur, & Fey community over at LiveJournal. I could list the awesome writers who hang out there and discuss their books, their methods, their madness, but it would be too long. They do topic of the week posts, and one has come up a few times, because it’s just that good: Top Ten Signs a Work of Fiction Was Written by Me and Five Signs That A Book Was Written by Me– the latter of which may or may not have been asked by someone we know, since the name is actually spelled right.
But even those of us who’ve not published a novel could make a list like that, and in my case at least, I think it’s a good idea. Not just because I love to make fun of myself, either, but because lately I’m noticing some recurring themes that make me shake my head. Are these things that want expunging from one’s repertoire, or are they things to be embraced, like little niches? Ooooh, who knows! Opinions welcome!
Biggest one: blood. There’s a story behind this, but I do not like blood. (Who does? And no, it’s not a Dexter-level of PTSD or anything, just a bad situation with a bleeding deer in my fridge when I was 15. Let’s just say it… leaked.) I don’t mind getting blood drawn or having a bleeding injury, but the butcher counter makes me, and I’m not exaggerating, feel sick. If my husband is cooking meat, he shoos me away from the kitchen. Freaks me right the f#$k out, though I’m good with ignoring it when it’s cooked. (I’m not one of those people, dude. Give me some credit! But please, for the love of god, don’t tell me your stories about how and why you love meat. I’m not trying to preach, and never have done; show some effing mercy on my issues, please.)
But everything I write always ends up going back to blood. If you hate it, write about it, that’ll make it go away!
So what do I write about?
- Vampires who steal people’s blood in various ways (they all have a method, you know, it’s part of the vampire personality) and find it very tasty. Also, fun. My vampires love murder.
- A screwed up kid who paints with blood. That story TBA, but let me tell you, the research for it was quite an adventure.
- A bunch of medical students who, instead of using simple preservative injections on their test cadavers (common practice), make an attempt to restore the vascular system to usefulness, and end up with a zombie.
- A boy and his stepmother who create a vampire-incapacitating blood poison in the name of her revenge. (This is the one with the Vampire in a Cage.)
Oh the list goes on and on! I’m not alone in this one– could anything be a more powerful reminder of impending mortality than blood? No, no, it’s been going on for millenia before I was a blip on the radar, don’t think I don’t know it. But in fact, I don’t think there’s any repeat theme or habit we could mention about which we couldn’t say the same. It’s all been done, as they say– it’s just about making it yours.
So what’s your biggest one, do you think?
Might continue with this later, if I don’t get too annoyed talking about myself. In the mean time, my brother Nick recommended a very lovely Brahms piece to listen to while reading Grants Pass, and Boudha, on a previous post. (Yes, you can tell we’re related, I know.) I found a good recording and man. My brother is smart.
Also, happy Friday the 13th!
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Now playing: Johannes Brahms – 7 Fantasien, Op. 116: VII. Capriccio – Allegro Agitato
via FoxyTunes
Well… at least you’re dealing with your blood issues in a slightly more socially accepted way than Dexter, right? (Of course, you being a horror writer and all, it might not be that far off.)
As for me – I’ve got this weird thing about betrayal/lying – especially when it’s ‘for your own good’. Chen & Lynne and Emily & Michael in Wielders, Lillian and her parents in Fae Print, and a bunch more similar situations in just about every book I’ve got planned to date. That’s not even looking at my short stories. Maybe it’s just a good source of conflict, but it pops up an awful lot.
I’m starting to do that, too: I’ll write a segment and realize “wow, that sounds like something I’d write.” I guess that’s a good thing…
I don’t mind the sight of blood at all, however getting my blood drawn almost makes me pass out *shudders*
At the core of most of my schtuff, I guess I’d have to say family dynamics, especially dysfunctional families. Maybe families that are trying really hard to be functional. Single parents. Dead siblings. Poverty.
I’m so doing a post on this next week.
Cory, yeah, I only kill people in fiction! (That makes it sound creepier than it is. Nice!) I think that’s rather a good thing to have pop up– if Chen/Lynne are any indication, you do it well. Plus there are so many variations on the theme from which to choose, and on which you can innovate, that’s a win.
Jeremy, I do that regularly now. It freaks me out on the one hand. On the other, I think, well, at least I know what I’m about.
Nat, I’ve always thought it was weird that my own blood never bugged me. I watch in fascination. Our powers combined, we are… super neurotic!
Aaron, I like that theme very much for myself– I find it pops up fairly often, too. Not as much as blood, but about half the time, I’d say. And yay, I look forward to a whole post on the subject! Or several… just saying
Your med student story line got me thinking that it sounded a bit like a zombie version of “Flatliners.”
I have an ambivilant relationship with blood. I’m fine with mine, but I don’t like other people’s (well, depending on context!). Things happening to my fingertips, though, make me very woozy and near fainty – injections, trapping them in doors, etc. I wonder if there’s some kind of nerve?
In my writing it’s definitely only children with dysfunctional relationships with their fathers (and completely absent mothers). I didn’t realise until I started character-mapping for Greenhelm, and found all my characters existed in family vacuums. It’s convenient for plotting and characterisation, but it’s a little obvious.
Alan, you know, it does have much in common with Flatliners at times, which makes me happy because I loved that movie back in the day. It’s sort of like that meets Regency romance meets, er, I don’t know. Something involving prostitution, I’m thinking. And guns. And fist fights.
Anyhow, I like that idea!
Nat, I wonder too– I know they’re more sensitive than the rest of the hand, or someone once told me that anyhow and I believed it. Now that you mention it I don’t much like the thought either. Not to the point of wooziness but, yeah.
I’ve used that theme once or twice, and it is rather a good one for loads of characte reasons, like you say. I wonder what makes us latch on to things like that as our favorites, without even thinking?
I’m not too bad with blood, but show me a pair of stinking feet and I’m liable to faint.
You have me wondering now about recurring themes in my stories, I’m going to ponder on this awhile and feel very neglect when I come up blank.
Oh man, I hate feet, too. Hate people touching mine, hate other peoples’. Gross. :/
Yeah, maybe you’ll be one of those people who actually varies their themes! I wouldn’t be surprised.
I’ve never been too afraid of blood myself. That said, I don’t fancy any Dexter-ish episodes occurring
And the deer in the fridge – can I ask?
The reaction is definitely fear-related, even if it just feels like being SICK. That’s abject horror!
As for the deer in the fridge, it’s not very exciting, so I apologize in advance for this story:
I grew up around things like deer hanging in the back yard tree/in someone’s garage to drip out (usually into a big metal bucket, sometimes not) So it wasn’t weird, but it was definitely something I could separate from myself. I never watched the butchery or anything– when I was a kid my dad didn’t do it himself.
So one day he brought one home and we had some freshly butchered venison in the fridge for a day or two, and it leaked. As in, there was deer juice (clearer than blood, but still) all over the shelves of the fridge when I opened it, like some fucking insane mass murderer ala Lector was living in our house. I remember pools of it dripping, but I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. I was 15, so you know how it goes.
But I think that made me realize I am made of meat too. Not revelatory, but odd nevertheless. Also, gross.