I know, it’s not Friday, but in the spirit of Halloween – which is Friday – I have something to get off my chest.
Heaving vampire bosoms of angst.
What’s up with them? Is it just me, or does every book these days have to include some angst-ridden vampire and the heaving bosoms of those who love them? Every time I turn around, someone’s just gone a sold another tale of vampire angst to an agent or publisher, heaving bosoms notwithstanding.
What’s the allure? Forbidden love? Dangerous liaisons? Pale white skin? A lack of personal grooming? What?
And why vampires? Yeah, I get it, the corrilation between blood sucking and lust – that’s so yesterday. Why not immortal aliens who must feast on the feet of small children in order to survive, and the three-breasted women who love them?
What about zombies? Don’t they deserve love too? Or don’t their decaying bosoms heave any longer? I suppose they could chuck one at you. Take out eye, if you’re not careful.
It’s become a running joke around the coffee pot these days. If you want to sell a novel, you have to include a vampire or two, some heaving boobies, and enough angst to fill a Chevy half-ton.
I just don’t get it.