I posted this at Clare London's blog but why not post it here? *thumps forehead*
I’ve discovered something weird about how I handle
relationships and love in my scribblings. At some point in the story, a
character always acts obsessive about their object of hot desire. Characters
always begin worrying that something dreadful will happen to their lover.
Granted, my characters own a perfect right to worry. Something
dreadful always threatens to attack their lover. It might be a penny dreadful
instead of a hundred dollar dreadful, but it will happen on one page or across twenty
pages or in every other chapter. Romance writers, or maybe I should speak for myself,
act brutal in the zeal for whipping characters through the nasty angst paces.
Still, I wonder about my character’s obsessive romantic
qualities. What a pack of worrywarts! Of course the easiest thing is to blame
my bizarre muse. Wonky Diva Faboo has been with me for some time in both my
visual and written work. The muse is a sloppy mess mainly because she refuses
to clean up her empty bourbon bottles. Worse yet my muse is a controlling fury
who excels at biting ankles. Faboo is capable of biting me elsewhere, but her
half passed out position on the floor is more suited to ankle biting. When she
reaches full creative froth, her long tongue lashes higher. Wait, when isn’t
she in a froth? Oh right, when she’s passed out during the daylight hours. Yep,
carousing Diva Faboo is a dreaded night muse, helpful only after sunset. No
wonder a few vampire WIPS lurk in the wings.
Right on cue Faboo’s influence sneaks in when someone falls
in love, because they instantly fear that said lover will fall down the stairs,
be captured by corporate villains or be tortured by a high Duke of Hell. The Hell
torment is a legitimate worry. That is nasty stuff. Time after time Diva Faboo
enjoys making a character’s mind snap, crackle and pop from romantic stress.
Mental torment is her supreme amusement.
Diva Faboo also enjoys forcing characters to internalize
their obsession. She compels obsession to leak out in little places, like
checking to see if the apartment door is locked, or if the seat belt is
fastened. My characters want to keep their lovers safe from harm. Inside them
lurks the knight in shining armor prepared to battle potential dragons, even
when they arrive in the unassuming form of a cranky, bigoted grandparent. Face
it, those monsters are worse than dragons.
Sometimes Diva Faboo surprises me and lets a character sing
out his obsession. In a shockingly understanding moment, Diva Faboo allowed
poor Alasdaire, Canes and Scales’s half Elf, half human love
slave, to enjoy a grand emotional outburst in the following scene:
Glass walls sequestered me away from my torment until they
shattered in silver truth. My Linden needed to stay here. I lunged forward and
reached for him. “My Prince, no!”
My Prince whirled from exiting into night’s bleak control. I
ran toward my lover. Guards grabbed me. “Let him go!”
Arms dropped way. Linden accepted my frantic embrace. My
arms pulled his head toward my lips. I whispered my words to him. “Lover,
there’s something wrong.”
The pure sympathy in Linden’s eyes asked me to stop hurting
him. “Alasdaire, please, I know you want me to stay here with you but…”
How could I make him understand what dread I felt? “Linden,
I feel danger around you. I don’t know how it is possible but I know what I
feel. Do not leave the manor. Please listen to me!”
Wow, Alasdaire was lucky to enjoy such a big-scale emotional
release. Diva Faboo must really adore him.
She raised
the ante in Temptation of the Incubus. Amando, my wild and
wonderful hybrid demon, is so obsessed by his lover that he dies for him. Honest. Faboo forced his decision:
After I
cursed vengeful Hell and the obviously not keeping track Cloud Party, I stared
at my lover's pale, beloved face. His noble heart continued struggling within
his firm chest like a frightened mouse clawing for final freedom. His heart
halted struggling. I screamed in agony. No, please, anything listening,
anything owning an ounce of compassion, no, let him live! To my relief, Mads's
muscle flickered on for a few more seconds of life.
Suddenly I knew what to do. How utterly obvious. Why did I
delay the process? I was such an ancient dolt!
My
trembling fingers caressed Mads's thick blond hair one last time. My choked
voice whispered free. "Goodbye, my eternal love. The world is a better
place with you in it. You are fine, sweet and good and I will always love you
no matter what happens to me. If I can, I shall watch over you for
eternity."
My tawdry
existence meant nothing. Mads deserved what I gave him. I hoped my demonic
power proved potent enough. I hoped I wasn't too late to the rescue.
I
panicked, pressed my lips down against Mads's cool perfection and freely gave.
I opened as wide as my ancient being allowed and directed myself into Mads's
primeval universe. His downed body possessed enough life awareness to accept my
stolen force. My plan would work. Epic relief coated my tortured mind.
My revitalized demon allure snarled in competitive fury. I
smacked the force down and ordered it to focus on healing Mads. My love-bound
will refused to be denied. My feeble new humanity surged forth and ensured my
final act. Lord Death needed to back the fuck off.
As you can see, wicked Diva Faboo burped, tossed a bottle aside and
told Amando, "Go ahead, sweetie, obsess love to death in a extremely
real and morally binding way." Yeah, I just watched Monty
Python and the Holy Grail. Their silly influence on my writing is a
whole other wheelbarrow of words.
Too many other examples of Diva Faboo’s obsession with
obsession infect my writing. In my dark romantic comedy To Save a
Shining Soul, demon Marius obsesses about protecting Tristan, the
unfairly damned divinity student, from the referenced Hell torment. Divine
Devine’s Love Song finds hacker Sam Devine obsessing about protecting
himself, his friends plus the entire city of Manh until he falls in love with
the warrior Po and gains someone new to worry about in life. Living in a
post-apocalyptical world adds extra spicy worry to a character's mind. Damn,
someday Faboo will learn how to spell apocalyptical in less than four tries.
Oh, she’s still sleeping. No wonder she’s no help. Then again spelling isn’t
her thing.
When my new romantic comedy An Elf for All
Centuries arrives in May, kidnapped supermodel Elf Prince Fabion
(gee, wonder how he received that name) turns epic self-obsession into obsessive love for a
sexy Elf King. Granted Fabion obsesses over surviving in an ancient age sans hot water and facials, but at least he learns how to love someone else in an
obsessive manner. He had to or else Faboo would have conked a bourbon bottle
over his thick skull.
I do believe I understand why poor Diva Faboo obsesses over
life. Hold on, wait, good, she’s still snoring. You know what, I think too many
frustrated writers grew sick of her woozy midnight musings and tossed her aside
in writerly snit fits. That’s why obsession haunts the poor old dear. She’s
worried about her current musedom position. Her under confidence leaks into
her writing advice. She sucks at editing. Her notion of editing is to add three
paragraphs of description. No wonder she keeps being tossed.
Still, here the crazy muse doesn’t need to worry. I’ll take
a sloppy, obsessive muse over a practical, play by the book dullard. After all,
I need someone to keep me company at 3:00AM. But I do need to introduce Diva
Faboo to the wonderful world of recycling. Wish me and my ankles luck in that
upcoming battle.
Well, better to pick up after her. Faboo does work hard for
me.
I owe the poor dear a few favors.
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