Daybreakers

I know what you're thinking... Daybreakers has nothing to do with writing. Well, you're wrong. It relates to BL, obviously.

I went to see it yesterday, and my condensed review is:

The movie was awesome. Hopefully, this is the beginning of REAL vampires in our pop culture again. I'm tired of all these teen vampires running around. Did Daybreakers meet my expectations? Not entirely, but I am a very picky person when it comes to vampires. I especially enjoyed the Subsiders because they showed the real ugly side of vampires, and they reminded me of Dracula in a way. In addition, the ending was just what I expected. It didn't rush things and I liked that. (I'm obviously leaving out the actual ending because I do not want to spoil).

Moral of the Story: I'm pumped to continue to write in BL thanks to this movie.

Oh, and in case you didn't notice. Daybreakers was a trending topic yesterday on Twitter. I couldn't resist and clicked on what people had to say. The majority seemed happy about it, while there were a few tweets that read as:

"Daybreakers is the WORST vampire movie." --> To which I respond: Sorry it didn't involve sparkling vampires you darling pumpkin.

And my favorite:
"Daybreakers had too much gore and blood." --> To which I respond: Duh. Vampires.

Seriously, it's when a book or movie about vampires doesn't have blood or fights that disappoints me.

The problem with Sandra Cisneros...

Don't get me wrong; I admire Sandra Cisneros. She has accomplished quite a bit. You can't really argue against a MacArthur Foundation Fellowship recipient.

The problem with her, and perhaps other Hispanic-American writers that I have yet to read, is that they make me look bad. I can only speak about Cisneros, since I have actually read her work. House on Mango Street is a deep portrayal about the Hispanic culture. Her book means something.

People, especially professors, look at me and expect me to write the same type of literature. I can't because I never had the same ethnic experience that is expected of me. Whenever I say I don't plan on writing that sort of story, they seem disappointed that I would be wasting my talent. After all, America needs to "recognize more Hispanic authors".

I'd rather people read my stories because of the actual stories. My name is just a name, and frankly I am also tired of people constantly putting down what I do have a passion for writing.

This would be classified as "genre". I dislike this word because of the connotation that goes with it, as in "junk" and "pulp".

Moral of the story: I can't measure up to Sandra Cisneros because I don't plan on writing the same stories she does. Do I not want to impact people too? Yes. I just have a different idea as to what I want my impact to be.

Purgatory Deadline

I can has book published?

Well, I'm not there yet. I do, however, hope to have the completed draft to Purgatory by January 30th. I will then be looking for test readers who will be able to give me feedback. I will use said feedback on the "final" draft of Purgatory, which will be the version I send out to agents.

For those of you who aren't aware what Purgatory is about, (i.e. Those who are asking "what happened to BL?" On Hold.) here is a quick summary via the main character:

"Purgatory is supposed to be a type of limbo where souls await to go to heaven or hell, or at least that's what they tell you. Truth is, Purgatory is a fucking town with a carnival at its heart. I'm not sure which I hate more: the day when the carnival is desolate and quiet or the night when it all comes to life. The lights flash everywhere and the rides start up on their own. The merry-go-round goes around and around and around. If you listen hard enough you could even hear the honk of a big red nose. The giant red tent in the center of it suddenly lights up too. And then the music commences, and plays non-stop through the night, just keeps going and going. It's meant to drive you mad. You can tolerate it the first few weeks that you're here, depending on how strong you are. Then you throw yourself on the ground with your hands covering your ears, just wishing that it would stop. After 272 nights of this, I should have begged them to take me already. I should have allowed them to drag my grateful body across the carnival grounds. I should have let them laugh and point and laugh again. And yet I haven't. I'm not sure how many others have lasted this long, but I know most don't even make it past the never-ending jingle."