Radiation Level: 451 degrees Fahreinheit
Listening To: Joey by Concrete Blonde
So, it appears that my manager has figured out the next phase of my writing career. I’m to enter the world of teen fiction. Fiction as in FalloutGirl is going to write a Young Adult novel. Tiger blood!
I’ve never wanted to write a novel. To be honest, it just seems like a lot of punctuation and internalized self-loathing (sort like my own daily thought process). With screenplays you have action and dialogue to buttress the architecture of the the moving images you’re creating. With a novel, you have lots and lots of words, sentence structure and grammar. It invokes English class. Don’t get me wrong, I love literature. Nabokov’s Lolita and Kingsolver’s Poisonwood Bible are my two favorite books. Iconic, masterful works. Completely untouchable. So much so, I’ve never even wanted to try to touch. Okay, so YA novels aren’t going to be “great literature” so I shouldn’t get so intimidated. But there’s a different duty here. These are TEENS. Don’t writers have a responsibility to write great role models for them and not the self-absorbed, tortured, selfish Bella from Twilight? I honorably pass the torch to these young geniuses.
When I was a teen, I read EVERY Flowers in the Attic and Heaven book VC Andrews wrote. Even when I found out that VC Andrews had passed away and a ghost writer had taken over, I was still hooked on these siblings who fell into dark, obsessive, incestuous love. Hmmm…Bi-winning?
Okay, I read those trashy books and didn’t turn into a meth head, so maybe there’s hope for the kids reading Twilight. Maybe I don’t have to be as responsible with creating positive role models as I thought. But damn, it just doesn’t feel like it’s the right thing to do. I’m entirely sure, however, that Miss Meyer is sleeping well at night, her pretty little head untroubled by the dismal state of American youth. Warlock.
Forbidden love seems to be a popular theme and I have to admit it appeals to me. Shall I indulge my inner-teen, the 17-year-old who cried for days over a bad boy before waking up and smelling the bitter coffee of Women Who Love Too Much? You’ve been given magic. You’ve been given gold.
So now that I’ve settled on a theme (oh god, “theme” is such a literary word…), I need to find that element of fantasy and magic that fascinate teens. I know, how about a story about vampires? Ha, ha, bi-losing. I need to figure out the evolution of vampires. Something animal. Something mythical. Something dangerous. A platform to explore sexuality without having sex. Something undead? Dying is for fools. Amateurs.
So what would Charlie Sheen write about? Probably himself and his winning lifestyle. The goddesses. All his money. And his success. Maybe that’s what I need to do – channel Sheen’s Adonis DNA and go into a narcissist state…I work on that now and let you know how it goes. I guess I’m just that bitchen.