This post is all about humiliating confessions, most of which revolve around vampire stories (are you bored yet?).
Let’s get the obvious out-of-the-way first: Yes, I’ve read all the Twilight books. No, I didn’t spend more than two days on each one (because I was that hooked, not because I’m such a feminist that I couldn’t take anymore of the main character’s simpering, or because I’m such a book snob that I couldn’t take any more of the author’s gag-inducing descriptors). Don’t tell me your surprised. I’m a reader. More to the point, I’m a huge fan of young adult literature. If there’s a book out there that’s driving teenage girls mad, you can bet I want to see what that’s about.
And now to the second confession, I’ve read the first three Southern Vampire Mysteries. Apparently these are the books that True Blood is based on. If you don’t watch True Blood because you’re not into R-rated HBO TV, then you probably shouldn’t read the books, either. They are trashy. I am decidedly not of the opinion that sex ruins a good book, it being part of the human experience and all.* That said, all the vampire-human sex going down in the Southern Vampire Mysteries veers into the realm of trash.** Vampire sex is not so relevant to the point of this post, though, so I’ll move on.
In reading the Southern Vampire Mysteries, I realize what I like about the books elucidates what I hate about Twilight — you don’t know how they are going to end. Sookie falls for Bill in the first book and I groaned, because I’ve read that before: “Oh, his cold, hard skin, blah blah blah.” Three books in, I don’t think they’re even dating anymore and she’s kissed like five other supernatural characters. She tries to be loyal, but she makes no bones about it when she’s not and openly speculates about the strength of their relationship and her feelings for him. This makes the books a lot more fun. I mean, the whole Team Vampire/Werewolf thing doesn’t even make sense in the context of Twilight because there’s never a question that the vampire will win. The heroine never doubts who she will end up with. Which is half, no, all of the fun in a story with a romantic plot-line.
This knowledge sometimes makes it hard to write this blog. I want to spin my life into a story, but you already know how it ends. I married the guy I met when I was 19. Oh, but first we dated for five years, during which there was never any question about where we were headed. We were Bella and Edward — sickening, right? Or at least extraordinarily predictable. This is why I lap up stories about dating drama from my friends and why I read blogs written by single women (and men!) about their romantic exploits.
I hope this post isn’t off-putting. I don’t intend to be the happily-coupled person wishing for something more exciting to do. I’m just a storyteller thinking honestly about my own. Maybe it’s time I try my hand at fiction?
*I am of the opinion that badly written sex can ruin a book, though (see the honeymoon scene in the fourth Twilight book).
**Maybe someone wants to disagree with me here? I am doubting myself now that I type it out.