Dreams Do Come True

The past seven days have been amazing. Last weekend I attended an event, Necon 39, that quite literally changed my life. Not only did I get to meet and spend time with some of the kindest, most interesting, and hilarious people you could hope to meet, but I made my debut as a published writer. As some of you know, I have published short stories in anthologies, but this was the first time I got to sign copies of my novel, Invisible Chains.

Books

Photo credit: Michael Burke

Thanks to some very thoughtful reviews from readers who received advanced copies of the book, including A. E. Siraki, Ben Walker, and Mad Wilson, people actually came to the event with the intent of buying my book. Some people enjoyed reading the book so much, they promoted it every chance they got. I was overwhelmed with gratitude and awed by the level of support and kind words from people who had been strangers prior to the event.

Signing

Photo credit: John McIlveen

If you have the opportunity to attend Necon, do so. It is a welcoming environment where you can connect with other writers, have informal conversations with publishers, editors, artists, and avid readers.

Lynne_Hansen

Photo credit: Lynne Hansen

And, I was welcomed into two new families: the Necon family, and the Haverhill House family.

Haverhill

Photo credit: Tony Tremblay

Although last weekend was technically a working weekend for me, it felt more like vacation and even though I was exhausted when I got home, I still felt recharged and ready to tackle whatever is coming next. I can’t wait to go back next year.

Heroes

Photo credit: Tony Tremblay

Invisible Chains was officially released on Monday, July 22 from Haverhill Housing Publishing. And, as friends received their shipping confirmations from Amazon, they contacted to let me know how excited they were to read the book. Folks who pre-ordered the hardcover and Kindle editions started receiving their copies this week and have shared pictures of the book, which is a truly humbling experience.

Earlier this week, I was interviewed for the Lawyers, Guns & Money podcast, where I got to talk about my book and one of my favorite subjects: vampires. I was also interviewed by fellow writer, Loren Rhoads for her blog, and wrote about My Favorite Things over at Speculative Chic. It shouldn’t come as any surprise that one of my favorite things is vampires. I talked and wrote about them a lot this week. Which, I have to say, is a dream come true.

So, what’s next? Aside from a few upcoming book reviews and guest blog posts, my first local book event is scheduled for Saturday, August 10 at 3 p.m., Why Do We Love Vampires and Narcissists. I’ll be reading passages from Invisible Chains and signing books, and local experts will share their knowledge about herbs, stones, symbolism, and narcissistic personalities. I’m really looking forward to this event and hope that some of you can attend.

Invite

I will be attending the The 5th Annual Merrimack Valley Halloween Book Festival on Saturday, October 12, and the following weekend, I’ll be in Atlanta for Multiverse 2019 – SciFi & Fantasy Convention, where I will again be talking about vampires.

Vampires

Later this year, I’ll have short stories in two upcoming anthologies, The Monstrous Feminine (Scary Dairy Press) and The Dystopian States of America (Haverhill House Publishing).

As I add events to my calendar, I will share that information here, so check back if you’re interested in attending one of those events. Thank you to everyone who has given their support, encouragement, and helped promote Invisible Chains. It has been a labor of love, and I couldn’t have done it without your kindness and friendship.

Fiction Fragments: R. J. Joseph

Last week, Girl Meets Monster talked with Glenn Rolfe about the challenges of writing Splatterpunk. This week, R. J. Joseph is here to talk about what it means to be a woman of color writing horror.

Author Central PicR. J. Joseph is a Texas based writer and professor who must exorcise the demons of her imagination so they don’t haunt her being. A life-long horror fan and writer of many things, she has finally discovered the joys of writing creatively and academically about two important aspects of her life: horror and black femininity.

When R. J. isn’t writing, teaching, or reading voraciously, she can usually be found wrangling one or six of various sprouts and sproutlings from her blended family of 11…which also includes one husband and two furry babies.

R. J. can be found lurking (and occasionally even peeking out) on social media:
Twitter: @rjacksonjoseph
Facebook: facebook.com/rhonda.jacksonjoseph
Facebook official: fb.me/rhondajacksonjosephwriter
Instagram: @rjacksonjoseph
Blog: https://rjjoseph.wordpress.com/
Email: horrorblackademic@gmail.com
Amazon Author Page: amazon.com/author/rjjoseph

Three Questions

GMM: As a woman of color writing about black and queer characters, what obstacles have your faced when writing within the horror genre? When did you decide you were a horror writer? What influenced or inspired you to write horror stories about women of color?

RJJ: I’ve been a lifelong horror fan. I was a small child devouring horror comics, Twilight Zone, and Stephen King novels, well before I could understand any of the themes these stories presented. The horror genre appeals to my naturally dark nature, which was apparent and already well entrenched by the time I was 6 or 7 years old. I always questioned why the folks in the genre I loved so much didn’t look like me, from the writers to the actors to the characters in the books. I wanted to be the monster. I figured creating the monsters was the next best thing, so I had to write them. I started then, even though I didn’t always embrace that part of my writing persona. I couldn’t imagine not writing about the world I inhabited and navigated, a black female experiencing life through this lens. I wasn’t seeing these stories and I had to fill the void.

I wanted to be the monster.

I appreciate that you frame this question in a way that shows you know we have obstacles. They aren’t a figment of our imagination or a quest for race-baiting and creating issues. One of the biggest problems I have is in always wondering why stories are accepted or rejected. I know my writing isn’t perfect and I still have so much growth to experience within my craft, but sometimes I get rejections that just don’t offer any clarity, not even the blanket forms where the spaces between the words don’t reek of any additional interpretation. Sometimes, though, what isn’t said speaks volumes. I get that editors don’t have time to give personalized rejections all the time. But I always go back and read the publications I submit to so I can see which stories made the cut. Reading what was ultimately accepted can be excruciating. So many times, I wish the editors would have just said, “We don’t know what to do with you, blackity black woman, or your blackity black characters with their blackity black fears”. That would make me feel so much better.

I once had an editor explain to me at a book launch for an anthology one of my stories appeared in that he didn’t want me to feel as if my story was a token acceptance because I’m a black woman. He made it a point to let me know he had read some of my previous work and thought my story for the anthology was great. I had to be professional and put on my Appreciative Writerly face, but I really wanted to hug him and cry. That meant so much to me, especially coming from a white male professional in the field. Unless the project is strictly for writers of color, I’m always wondering if the acceptance was just a diversity checkmark or really based on my story.

GMM: I wrote a supernatural slave narrative as my thesis novel at Seton Hill University, and I struggled with figuring out where it fit within a genre. The novel is due to be released sometime next year and I still struggle with that idea of where it belongs. What makes it a horror novel? The violence of slavery? The fact that my narrator is a witch and that her companion is a vampire?

How do you define your chosen genre or genres when you begin with characters that may not typically appear in those genres? Is there an absence of women of color in horror?

RJJ: First, I gotta read your novel! I need to know when pre-orders open. I absolutely love historical horror. That it has people of color and witches? Super plus. My answer to what makes this horror really loops back to another obstacle I try to navigate and that is not knowing where our work fits; really, not knowing where we fit. I would say your novel is an all-around horror novel because it’s rooted in the abject terror of slavery and there is a vampire. I don’t think all witches are necessarily monsters, though, so that’s debatable. Even without the supernatural characters, slavery is horror. Yet, there’s a clear hesitance to categorize this experience in this way because that would require owning up to the facts that 1. Slavery really happened; 2. There was nothing good about it; and 3. The repercussions are still felt today. Stuffing these topics into other corners like literary fiction (the way Beloved was first categorized) or creating a whole new category like urban fiction takes some of that responsibility away. If it isn’t called horror, then the events cannot be deemed horrible. So then when serial killer novels fill the horror shelves, I’m left to wonder why lynchings or slavery aren’t considered serial killings, too…

Black women horror writers have always been around, but there hasn’t always been a willingness of the industry to see us. I think we’ve just had our writing either flat out ignored or placed in different genres because we’re women. I’ve seen industry leaders say publicly that readers only want a certain kind of horror, or that every story/book acceptance is based solely on merit. Both of these prevailing responses mean gatekeepers are fine with keeping certain stories and writers out of the genre. The only thing that might help increase visibility is more gatekeepers of color and black female writers continuing to kick the doors in and create anyway. It’s astounding that the first black female horror anthology wasn’t published until 2017. A second followed this year. How is it that both books managed to locate numerous black female horror writers and yet other anthologies/magazines/publishers can hardly ever find any? What is not genuinely sought will never be found.

GMM: When I write about monsters, I have a habit of turning the relationships between monsters and my main female characters into romantic interests even though I write about dark subjects. Is there a connection between horror and romance in your mind? Do your characters fall in love with monsters? Why, or why not?

RJJ: I envy that you can blend romance and horror so effectively! My thesis at Seton Hill was a romance novel, and while I write in both genres, I’ve not yet mastered blending the two. I do think romance and horror exist on the same continuum, in that both genres evoke such extreme feelings in readers. My favorite series ever is the Vampire Huntress series by L. A. Banks. She intertwined horror and romance so expertly that I’ve never seen anything else quite like it. I make attempts. But I tried to submit a romance short story to a major market once and the editor replied that the story was well written but it was too dark. The monsters in my stories tend to be those created through no act of their own, so they are sort of tragic creatures for whom at least one other character has an affection and some sympathy. Full on romance, though…I still aspire to that.

Left Hand Torment (excerpt), by R. J. Joseph

RJJ Book CoverI was on door duty that evening, although we found we did not really need a protector. Most passersby tended not to notice our nondescript entryway in the worn down building. Even those who did notice it were deterred by the dark cloak of misery in our eyes. Despite my queerness and my race, those doorways to my soul that broadcast unspeakable rot allowed me kinship with the men inside. Her eyes held the same blackness, despite their light gray color, and it announced her as kindred, served as her password into the club. I let her in and followed her up the stairs, as my shift was done.

There was more to her life story than her eyes, apparently. The foulness of whatever tortured her spirit bubbled just underneath the surface of her being. Her dusky colored skin shone with determination and…fury. She glided ahead of me up the stairway and into the parlor, removing long white gloves as we walked. Severe burns covered both hands, the puckered skin reflecting in the lantern lights.

Even Whitson, the resident playboy, did not set his flirtations upon her. He simply asked her what she was drinking, the same as he did the rest of us. He often told us that he did not seek companionship with fellow sufferers. He said their beds were already too full with them and their demons.

“Bourbon, please.” The rich tones slid from her throat and escaped into the quiet murmur of the fifteen of us. She accepted her glass gracefully and settled herself into a chair close to the fireplace.

Not forgetting our Texas manners, we quieted down and allowed the lady the floor. I watched her take a sip from her glass.

“Merci.” She accented the appreciation with a brisk nod to the side. When she gazed back at us, the flames from the fire flickered around the shadows resting beneath the smoky orbs of her haunted eyes. She pulled her bonnet off and placed it on the table next to the chair. Kinky curly strands spilled down to her shoulders and the room gave a collective gasp as the flames caught the sandy tresses. This was the only acknowledgement we gave to her beauty that night.

Without preamble, she spoke, in accented tones. “My name is Dominique Aimee Beaulieu and I was born and reared in New Orleans. I had an ordinary childhood, if that as the daughter of a placee` on Rampart street could be called such. Papa and Maman loved me very much and I was a rather spoiled child. They loved each other, as well. I know Papa loved her more than he loved his wife. But he could not stay with us all the time. I once asked Maman why he had to leave and stay away so often and she explained to me that we could not be selfish and keep him all to ourselves. He had another family with whom he had to stay most of the time, but he was always thinking of us.

“Maman had a picture of a beautiful woman with blond hair and she often gazed wistfully at it when she thought Papa and I weren’t looking. I would ask her about the woman, whose features I saw staring back at me in the mirror, albeit through darker skin. Maman would evade the answer until I turned sixteen. When I finally got my answer, I also got the explanation for our way of life.

“‘This is my sister, your aunt. Papa’s other wife. He met me as he courted her and wanted me for his left hand wife. She knows about us but cannot acknowledge us publicly. But she must accept our existence. You are of courting age now. Papa will arrange for you to attend The Quadroon Ball next year, to find you a wealthy, white husband. Do not waste yourself frivolously on any colored man. Even if he has money, he can’t elevate your status or guarantee that your children will be free men.’

“She grabbed my hand. ‘Just take care to always respect your husband and do his bidding. Love and honor him despite the feelings of jealousy that will come when he takes another to wife. We are the wives they choose, when their other will be chosen for them through making familial alliances. These arrangements are our only way to freedom.’

“I didn’t understand why she beseeched me so dramatically on these points. Our system of placage was shocking enough to discover without her telling me I had to accept it, that I had few other choices. I knew nothing of love between a man and woman, but I could see the love between Maman and Papa. If it meant she had to share him with her sister, did that make it of any less value? Did that make me, the product of their left hand union, any less valuable? Of course, I would love my husband, legally bound or not, because of all the things I did not understand, there was one thing I knew and never wanted to change: my freedom.

She paused her story here, seeming to look at us for the first time. She turned her fierce gaze on each of us, one at a time, her fellow beasts of demonic burdens. She settled her gaze finally on me, the lone other woman in the group. I did not know how I understood that she knew my secret. My fellow club members knew and did not care. “You understand when I say fighting for one’s freedom is a frantic battle when losing means losing your personhood and often, your very life.”

I nodded in acquiescence. I did know what a constant fight for freedom to simply exist required. Dying was preferable to giving in to bondage of any kind, hence my membership there. These, my brothers in terror, did not make anything big over my masculine clothes and obviously feminine body. My haunted heart bore witness to more important things to them. The rest of the world did have problems with me, as soon as my “charade” was discovered. Explaining that this was who I am did nothing but result in a trail of bodies. Thus far, my own body did not increase those numbers.

Do you have a fragment of fiction you’re dying to share? Send it my way at chellane@gmail.com. See you soon!

Fiction Fragments: The Wood

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Hello dear readers! Welcome to the debut post of a new blog series I’m rolling out today here at Girl Meets Monster. This new series, which I am calling Fiction Fragments, will have new posts each Friday. So…Fiction Fragments Friday is totally a thing now.

I’ve been writing for many years, and at some point along that journey I came to terms with the fact that not every project has a clear path or end. Sometimes, you get an idea in your head and you start drafting a piece and then you just stop. Maybe you start working on something that has a clearer purpose, or maybe you’re juggling too many other projects, or maybe it never really was a fully formed idea to begin with. For whatever reason, you started writing something, maybe you wrote 200 words, maybe more, maybe less, and then you set it aside and just never came back to it.

Hands up if this has ever happened to you.

I should see a lot of hands right now.

At least, I’m hoping to see a lot of hands, because not only will I be sharing my own fiction fragments, but I’m hoping to enlist some of my amazing writer pals to do the same – poetry, short fiction, chapters, etc. I want to see projects that people began and abandoned. And, it might be cool to ask them a few questions about their writing process, why they chose to submit a certain piece, and if they ever plan to finish their fragment.

So, without further ado, here is the first installment of Fiction Fragment Fridays. I hope you’ll come back to read more, and better yet, I hope you send me your fragments.

The Wood, by Michelle R. Lane

When I was a child, I knew all of the flowers, plants, four-legged and winged animals of the Wood by name. I spoke to the Spirits of the Wood, and they answered. I slept in the trees, bathed in the brooks, and ate bramble berries off the bush. I walked through the Wood all day until my legs grew tired and then at dusk I would make my way back to the small house at the edge of the Wood where I lived with my family.

My parents were an unlikely pair. My father was a prince, banished from the Moorish Empire, and forced to live far from his Muslim brothers. He wandered the European countryside for years, making his way from Spain to the heart of the Black Forest. He liked the Wood, the magic was strong there and food was plentiful. For weeks he camped in the open air, then decided to make the Wood his home. He hunted wild game, butchered the animals for meat and cured the pelts to sell in the open air market of the village nearby. He saved enough money to buy the tools he needed to cut lumber and build a house.

As a huntsman, he made a comfortable living, but he was lonely. Sometimes he would venture into the village and drink the honey mead the village was famous for in those parts, and he would listen to the villagers talk and tell stories of the past. But, he rarely engaged in conversation with them, because he was seen as an outsider. His dark skin, his strange way of speaking, and his manner were odd to them. Aside from trading pelts and wild game, and the odd drink in the tavern, he kept to himself.

Then, one day, while selling pelts in the market, he overhead a crowd gathering in the town square. There were warriors from the Northern lands of ice and snow, a tribe of people he had encountered in his younger years as a soldier, selling captured people from other lands as slaves. As he approached the auction, he could see that there were men, women, and children of all ages and hues, bound with rope, and looking underfed. Among the people being sold that day, there was a young woman with a mane of wild red hair trying to chew through the ropes binding her hands. She cursed and kicked and spit at her captors. Bondage had not quieted her spirit. She continued to fight. He liked that about her. When the auction began, he decided he would buy her and give her her freedom that day.

She was a wild creature, but she could sing beautiful songs, tell haunting stories, and she could speak to the Spirits of the Wood. Among her people she was a healer and a caster of bones. A young woman wise beyond her years. He taught her to hunt, skin animals, and butcher the meat, and she taught him the names of all the herbs, mushrooms, and berries that were safe to eat in the Wood. They became good friends and built a partnership in which they shared everything equally. She sold healing balms and tisanes in the market while he continued to make a comfortable living as a huntsman.

My father told me he fell in love with my mother the first time he saw her, but it took her a few years to realize how much she loved him. Once she opened her heart to him, it wasn’t long before they brought me into the world.

I’d like to think that this fragment could become the beginning of a short story, or possibly the first chapter of a novella. Who can say? Maybe this will become my next WIP.

Stay tuned for next week’s installment and, if you have something to submit, I’m happy to see what you’ve got. Comment below or contact me at chellane@gmail.com. Your fragment doesn’t have to be polished, just interesting. And, if you have a reason for why you set it aside, I’d love to hear about that, too.

Write on!

Self-Reflection: 2016’s Shit Show

Remember how last week I was all like “I’m gonna blog every day in December and bullshit, bullshit, bullshit…”? Well, it is December 9 and I haven’t written a new post since last week. To be honest, I feel a bit hung-over. Not only do I feel like a zombie as I slog through my day job, maintain my household as a single parent, recover from NaNoWriMo, and gear up for the holidays, but 2016 has been a confusing and soul-sucking year so far. Over the past few years, I have had some monumentally shitty things happen to me, but in the grand scale, I feel like I’m on par with most people. Shitty things happen to people all the time. I don’t think I’m any worse off than others, and I certainly don’t view myself as a special snowflake that deserves extra attention or sympathy. At the end of 2014 and 2015, I invited both years to fuck off to make way for the coming year. I feel like I owe 2014 and 2015 a heart-felt apology, because despite all the improvements I experienced in my personal life – better health habits, better self-care, more creative projects completed, and better friendships cultivated – 2016 was a colossal shit show. Or, the year that was a dumpster fire.

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At the beginning of 2016, I was doing really well. I felt better about myself and the world in general. I was feeling stronger. More confident. I decided to take better care of myself and took action to lay the groundwork to do so. I was beginning to appreciate my own company after months of grieving, perhaps ironically, the loss of a toxic relationship. And then, 2016 said, “I think you’re feeling too good about yourself. What can I do to fuck that up royally, and maintain a consistent flow of complete fuckery to keep things interesting?”

What makes 2016 a shit show? Here’s my Calendar of 2016’s Dick Moves that kept me emotionally unbalanced from beginning to end.

January – November 2016

January 10: David Bowie Dies

January 14: Severus Snape Dies

April 21: Prince Dies

June 24: Britain Votes to Leave EU

July 7: Huffington Post Reports 194 Black People Killed by Police

August 28: Willy Wonka Dies

November 7: Leonard Cohen Dies

November 8: Donald Trump Wins the 2016 US Election

November 18: Sharon Jones Dies

And here we are, almost two weeks from Christmas Eve. The holidays are quickly approaching and it’s time for some self-reflection before 2017 shows up. I’m not going to get into New Year’s resolutions just yet, but I do want to take a closer look at some of the things that did go right this year that don’t require additional grieving. Happiness is totally still a thing and within your reach.

Self-love became a priority.

After several years of feeling like I had almost no control over where my life was headed, and feeling like a prisoner in my own mind and body, I made a decision to take my life back. I had been making strides in the right direction since 2012 and 2013, but then I got sidetracked by things that weren’t good for me. Namely, a 15-month toxic relationship that made my self-esteem drop to an all-time low. After 3 months of therapy, I found the courage to walk away from that relationship in June of 2015. It took several months of slowly weaning myself away from that emotionally destructive situation, but after 21 months of therapy and a lot of personal growth, I feel like a new person. Not quite my old self, but perhaps a better version of her.

Through therapy and LOTS of self-reflection, I made some decisions to change my life for the better. One of the first things I did was disable my OKCupid and FetLife accounts. There was too much noise coming from both of those accounts, and because of the nature of the relationship I was in, I was attracting a lot of people I didn’t really want to meet. And, even if I wanted to meet them, I wasn’t in any emotionally safe state to put myself out there and open myself up to new wounds. Second, I started spending a lot of time by myself. On purpose. And then I listened to my inner voice until it started saying nice things about me. Third, I rejoined Weight Watchers for like, I don’t know, the millionth time in my life. The difference this time was that I was only doing it for me. I didn’t have a special occasion or person that I was working toward. I wanted to lost weight and become healthier to impress myself. Crazy idea, right? So, in April I joined Weight Watchers, made a commitment to attend meetings, or at least weigh-in every week, which I have, and I’ve lost 30 lbs. In the process of making better choices and evaluating my habits, I started getting up at 5:00 AM and going for walks at least 3 times a week. A few weeks back, I decided to ramp up my walking and began using the Couch to 5K program to increase my activity and try running. I’m not pushing myself or condemning myself when I can’t keep up with the program. I simply tell myself, “Hey, maybe you can’t run as far as you’d like right now, but you’re making progress and you’re out here in the dark and the cold making an effort to improve your life.” Positive self-talk actually works. Who knew?

So, aside from feeling better and losing 30 lbs., I also made a decision that I would start trusting people again. When people I didn’t know very well showed an interest in getting to know me better, rather than building a wall around myself, I opened myself up and let them in. Was it scary? Fuck yeah! Is it still scary? A lot of the time, yes. But allowing those people into my life has taught me some things or reminded me of some things I forgot about myself. Good things. And now, I have a few more really cool friends who care about what happens to me and look forward to spending time with me. Without imposing any weird or destructive expectations. They’re genuinely good people. Genuinely good people I love.

I cleaned my bedroom and clothes closet.

This may not seem like a big deal, but my bedroom had become a constant source of stress for me, because it was a dumping ground for everything that I didn’t feel like getting rid of or putting away. Between donating clothing and throwing away items that were no longer of use to me, I purged 13 garbage bags worth of burden out of my life. And, since I was steadily losing weight, I got rid of a lot of my plus-sized clothing. Last year at this time I was wearing a women’s 2XL winter coat. This year I’m wearing a women’s large. It’s not a plus-sized coat. It buttons without being tight. I’m calling that a win. I found boxes of smaller-sized clothing that I hadn’t worn since the last time I lost a lot of weight. I’m glad I kept them, because I have great taste in clothing. Jeans, sweaters, dresses, shirts, and of course, coats.

Writing became a priority (again).

This year I have written more than 250 haiku poems. Three of which were selected from publication in a new feminist literary magazine. Hopefully, I’ll have more concrete details soon. I wrote nearly 42,000 words during NaNoWriMo last month and have gotten close to completing my second full-length novel. And, I’m working on a short story for an anthology set in a RPG world. So, I’ve been keeping busy with creative projects. But, as always, I feel like I should be doing more.

My child made me a prouder parent.

My son has a full plate this year with Kung Fu, basketball, STEM club at school, and he’s learning to play the viola. His grades are great, he’s reading above his grade level, and he’s becoming an interesting individual with quirky personality traits that I love and hate simultaneously. We don’t always get along, but it’s just the two of us. As a single parent, I understand that sometimes I have to carry the burden of misplaced animosity and negative feelings that might not actually have anything to do with me. It’s just one of the many services I provide as a responsible adult.

I’m sure there are other things I could talk about, like how much fun I’ve been having lately visiting with friends and trying new things, but maybe I’ll save that for another post…that may or may not get written this month.

Okay, so maybe 2016 hasn’t been a complete shit show, but hey, it ain’t over yet.

While you’re thinking about your own year in review and planning your New Year’s resolutions while getting ready for the holidays, you can make this lovely dumpster fire ornament for your Christmas tree or Hanukah bush.

Five Things I Learned While Writing a Daily Blog Series

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  1. Sticking to a daily blog writing schedule is hard. Despite the fact that I had plenty of inspiration and was fully enjoying the subject of my blog series, there were days when I just couldn’t get a post written. Life intervened. Out of the 29 days of February (2016), I managed to write 21 blog posts. That’s not too shabby, so I’m not going to beat myself up about not reaching my goal of 29 posts. My real goal was to write more during the month of February, and I totally accomplished that.
  1. Writing about something I love makes me want to write more. I kind of already knew that about myself, but putting it into practice and sticking it with for a month was a great way to reinforce that belief. I did write more during the month of February. And I wrote more than just blog posts about the fictional characters I fantasize about. I edited my thesis novel and queried agents. I wrote a one- and two-page synopsis of my novel. I started drafting the sequel to my thesis. I played around with some new story ideas and revisited other pieces I had set aside. And, I started writing more fan fiction as a form of pre-writing to get my thoughts flowing and experiment with plot ideas and character relationships.
  1. Writing about a familiar topic can deepen your understanding of it. When I came up with the idea to write a blog series about fictional characters I’d totally fuck, I didn’t think there would be much substance to it. Initially, it was just a writing exercise for me to get back into the practice of writing each day, and to alleviate some boredom. But a few things happened that I didn’t expect. Yes, the topic is kind of silly, but it made me think about how these popular characters were constructed and why they have such an impact on our culture. People found the posts entertaining, and they generated discussion about the difference between loving a fictional character or being attracted to the actor who portrays them on screen. My conclusion is that sometimes you can’t separate the two, especially if only one actor has ever portrayed that character. I really enjoyed those discussions and appreciated the feedback I received about the posts. Thank you all for participating. I’ve decided to make this series a recurring monthly post, so stay tuned more fuckable fictional characters. I’ll be incorporating some suggestions I received from readers that I found challenging.
  1. Writing about taboo subjects made me reexamine my own sexual preferences and the psychological ramifications of those preferences. When you write about sex in an open forum, especially about what turns you on personally, it puts you out there for other people’s judgment. Early on, I decided that I wasn’t going to be doing a lot of self-editing in these posts. I was going to try to be as honest as possible when talking about why I found certain fictional characters, and the actors who portrayed them sexually attractive. As a woman of color I worried a little bit about what people would think about the fact that I chose only white males to write about. I worried that somehow I was going to offend someone for not including fictional characters of diverse ethnicity. I struggled with that a lot. But then I realized that I shouldn’t have to apologize for what I find attractive in a character or people in general. You love who you love, and it shouldn’t matter what wrapper they come in. I also worried about the fact that some of the characters (quite a few actually) are villains, monsters, serial killers, etc. who are supposed to inspire fear and hatred, not a desire to rip their clothes off. I took some risks writing these posts, but I’m not going to apologize for what I consider erotic.
  1. Writing about what I find erotic surprised me at times. I knew that I had a thing for villains, antiheroes and monsters, but I didn’t know how dark my taste in fictional characters, especially those I would totally fuck, went. Sure, I could easily use the excuse that I’m only talking about fictional characters, but the reality is my interest in these characters says something about the choices I’ve made when it comes to actual partners. I’m trying to gain a better understanding about my choices and myself after leaving a psychologically dangerous and damaging relationship last year. I don’t want to find myself in that situation again. I want what most healthy people want from a relationship: love, respect, support, encouragement, and a mutual understanding of how to make each other happy. Giving up my own happiness to meet the needs of a narcissist is no longer on my bucket list. It never was, but somehow I ended up hanging out with a borderline sociopath. There are quite a few sociopaths and psychopaths on my list of fuckable fictional characters. Will I stop loving these characters? Probably not. Will I think more deeply about what attracts me to them. Most definitely. Will I be more careful about who I allow to get close to me? Absolutely.

Fuckable Fictional Characters: Elijah Mikaelson

Remember how just a few short weeks ago when I started this blog series I couldn’t say enough nice things about Damon Salvatore? At the time I was a bit obsessed with him and was watching The Vampire Diaries (TVD) like a fiend. But there’s a new vampire occupying all of my daydreams right now, and he too started as a character on TVD. Now, I’ll admit that I always enjoyed his appearances in the series and looked forward to him coming back since he’s a scary vampire, an interesting character, and exceptionally easy on the eyes. Over the past two weeks I’ve been watching the first season of The Originals, which is the spinoff show that deals with the family of original vampires that first appeared on TVD.

If you know me, you know I love vampires. I love all kinds of vampires—scary ones, sexy ones, sociopathic ones, silly ones, sympathetic ones, but I try to avoid sparkly ones. In fact, of the 21 posts I wrote this month three have been about vampires. Like I said, I started this series with Damon, then I wrote about John Mitchell and Spike. I compare Francis Dolarhyde to a vampire, and even included a picture of Tom Hiddleston portraying a vampire in my post about Loki. In all likelihood I will be writing about vampires in future posts when this series becomes a monthly feature on my blog. The point is I like vampires. The fourth vampire in this series is without a doubt totally fuckable.

February 29: Elijah Mikaelson

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Elijah Mikaelson is the eldest brother in the original vampire family. He made his first appearance on TVD as an antagonist who plays a part in the Katherine Pierce and Elena Gilbert doppelgänger story arc but over time he becomes an ally and a recurring protagonist. Elijah’s first appearance on screen is the first in a series of his elegant ass-kicking scenes. The fact that he remains completely calm and shows no emotion while explaining how he’s going to kill everyone in the room before they can even think to run, makes him one of the scariest vampires on TV.

As one of the first vampires, he is unable to be killed. He, his siblings and his father can only be killed using a stake made from a white ash tree that was also enchanted when the matriarch of the Mikaelson clan, a powerful witch, cast the spell to make her children and husband vampires. When someone becomes a vampire, the strongest part of his or her personality becomes amplified, and interestingly enough, Elijah’s strongest quality is morality. Of all of the legendary original vampires, he is known as the noble one.

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He’s also wonderfully sarcastic and a bit of a smart ass. He enjoys tormenting others by pointing out their folly and the fact that if he decides to kill them they don’t have a chance in Hell to defend themselves.

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He is very restrained, almost repressed in some ways, and prefers logic to overly emotional responses to bad situations, unless one of his siblings or another person he cares deeply for is in danger. Then, he simply ratchets up the violence without even raising his blood pressure. He is exceptionally fast and powerful, spooky intelligent, and has a knack for rescuing damsels in distress. Sentimentality could be considered one of his weaknesses, and despite the fact that you can rarely guess what’s going on in his mind, he is a passionate and caring individual, but don’t take his kindness for granted.

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He cares about his appearance a great deal and wears stylish suits, designer men’s wear, and seems to almost never have a hair out of place. In fact, the only time he really gets dirty is when he’s saving someone from explosions and/or fires, is the victim of torture when someone manages to get the drop on him, and when he’s covered in blood – usually someone else’s.

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I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure you call that a trophy.

He has blood on his hands a lot, because his favored method of killing is to reach inside someone’s chest to rip their heart out. It’s kind of his thing.

War ja wieder klar! Wer hat das Herz wieder in der Hand?

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I mean, every other vampire gets pissed and the fangs come out. Not Elijah. He doesn’t run around willy nilly biting people. He’ll just snatch the heart out of your chest before you realize it’s even happening.

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Shit is about to get real.

Elijah is a vampire who, no matter how violent he gets, manages to inspire empathy in the viewers. In the more than 1000 years that he’s been alive, he has spent most of that time looking after his siblings and trying to save his brother Klaus from himself. And, that’s a full-time job. He neglects his own happiness, denies his own desires, and conspires with and often against his siblings to make sure they don’t end up making the biggest mistakes of their lives, which they do on a nearly weekly basis.

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Mocking Klaus for nearly 1000 years.

Although he is not as quick to fall in love as his sister Rebekah, he develops deep affection and admiration for a number of women in both series. Because he has a long history with Katherine Pierce, who he calls by her given name, Katerina, he is a constant in her life throughout their histories. Klaus had been seeking revenge against Katherine since the Renaissance, and I can’t help wonder if Elijah was one of the reasons Katherine was able to stay ahead of Klaus for so long.

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I’m pretty sure he should wear leather pants more often.

When Elijah meets Elena, much like Stefan and Damon, he is a little awestruck by the fact that she looks exactly like Katherine. He conspires with Elena and the Salvatore brothers to keep Elena safe from Klaus, and in the process he becomes a bit infatuated with her.

Elena isn’t blind, and she definitely has a thing for vampires. She chooses to trust Elijah time and again, and even calls on him for help behind Stefan’s and Damon’s back. Would she be so willing to trust this cordial, yet ruthless killer if he wasn’t so attractive?

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No but, seriously.

I have to admit that I was really hoping to see an Elijah and Elena scene where he kissed her. And then I got my wish. While pretending to be Katherine, Elena discovers that he has been having a secret affair with her doppelgänger, because he greets her like a lover and kisses her. I’m sure she told herself she was just staying in character as the kiss lingered, but I’m not buying it. She kissed him without thinking twice about it. And she liked it. Elijah didn’t seem to mind very much when he realized he was kissing Elena. Win-win.

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He totally knows she isn’t Katherine and doesn’t care.

I got really excited when his appearances on TVD became more frequent, and when the spinoff was announced I was glad to know that Elijah wasn’t going anywhere. As his character continued to develop, he became more interesting. His sexiest quality is his confidence. Unlike his brother Klaus, he doesn’t feel the need to boast and brag about his accomplishments and power. He is the calm at the eye of the storm, but he’s also a highly skilled killing machine. He rarely feeds, and only takes human blood out of necessity to speed up healing when he’s been injured. If he does drink blood more often than that, then he does it in private, because he’s usually the one offering his blood to help others.

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I mentioned the fact that in many ways he represses his own urges and desires. He has been in love, but it’s a rare occurrence. When he does find love, he falls hard and almost imprints on that person. Because many of his love affairs have ended in tragedy due to his constant involvement in Klaus’s life, he tries to avoid relationships.

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Um, that’s your cue to tell him how you feel about him.

As you can imagine, there is a lot of sexual tension between him and the women he admires and desires. He holds back almost constantly, which I’m sure would drive some women completely insane. I can’t tell you how many scenes he has with female characters where you think at any moment he’s going to kiss them, almost does, then runs away using his vampire super speed. If I had to guess, I would say that in some sense he prefers the chase, and the continual denial of sexual release is actually a fetish. And there’s one scene in the first season of The Originals that we learn he has a taste for spanking his partners. I think I nearly fainted when he playfully suggested it to his lover, a black witch, in a flashback to the 1700’s. Another layer of the onion was revealed.

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As much as I love his romantic scenes, his violence is like a beautiful dance of death.

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I mean there is so much to like about this handsome monster.

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Elijah’s wardrobe is Dr. Lecter approved.

His elegant hand gestures.

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He uses those hands for spankings, too.

His love of old books.

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May I sit on your lap while you read me a story?

The joy he finds in fatherhood.

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I’d love to call him daddy.

And the pain he feels when he loses someone he loves.

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If you aren’t watching The Originals or have never seen The Vampire Diaries, I recommend checking them out. The shows are supernatural soap operas on crack with all the eye candy your filthy little mind cares to feast upon.

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Hot vampires in bondage is a recurring theme on these shows. Why aren’t you watching right now?