by Marta Acosta
Today, we have a guest blogger visiting us: Marta Acosta author of the Casa Dracula series, which adds a Latin America flavour to ye olde vampire myth. Her next book, Haunted Honeymoon at Casa Dracula, will be released in October. Marta is here to defend the honour of the vampire, and set the record straight about the undead:
I just received a press release that claims, “Angels are the new vampires.” Last year, it was zombies and the year before, it was werewolves. People are always looking for the new vampire, but as the esteemed academic and renowned curmudgeon Dr. Derek Tatum of Mondo Vampire grumbles, “Vampires are the new vampires.”
About three years ago, I submitted a proposal for a young adult novel to an editor. She told my agent, “Vampires are over.” This was before the movies based on Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series were released. And guess what? Vampires are not over, but that editor was let go.
Now, people jump to the conclusion that I’m obsessed with vampires simply because I’ve written four vampire-based books. I’m a fan of paranormal in general, not vampires in particular, but I will defend vamps to the undeath against these crazy claims that their popularity will be surpassed by rotting corpses or furry critters.
When I wrote my first novel, Happy Hour at Casa Dracula, I was making fun of some of the clichés about vampires; that they’re rich, gorgeous, powerful, suave, all Continental smoothieness. My thinking was: If they’re so fab, they’d be snobs for sure. So, I made my vamps the sort of undead people who wouldn’t bother talking to you at a cocktail party. Well, if you wanted to travel in their circles, you should have gotten a better job and upgraded your wardrobe.
But it’s exactly those qualities that make vampires superior to other paranormal creatures. There’s that delicious push-pull of wanting to impress and conquer vampires and wanting to submit entirely to their manifest fabulosity. You’d never feel this way about a zombie. In fact, if a zombie were to pass you a bowl of guacamole at an apocalyptic barbecue, you’d pass on it for fear that some body part had fallen in. Witty banter? It’s not their strong point. Zombies have failed to grasp the use of the double entendre.
As for werewolves, there’s the whole embarrassing doggyness of their supernaturalness. Yes, they’re strong and powerful, but you know they lick themselves and forage in garbage cans. I shan’t bring up their cruder habits, nor shall I mention fleas. Suffice it to say that werewolves lack gravitas.
And angels? Beautiful? Check. Powerful? Check. Supernatural abilities? Check. Locked in an eternal battle of Good vs. Evil? Check. Father issues? Absolutely. Sexiness? Baby, it ain’t there. There is no nooky among the winged avengers, no matter what anyone says. At a certain point, you’d say, “Smited another infidel today? That’s nice, honey. Can you move please – your wings are blocking my view of The Vampire Diaries.”
Because, even if you’re making fun of vampires, you have to admit they they’ve probably learned a thing or two during their decades of lying around in dark, silk-lined coffins.