Writing

Move along, little doggies.

Nothing to see here. Today is a writing day, and that’s stupendously boring for everybody except my two angsty cowboys who may or may not be getting busy down by the pond behind the bunkhouse.

But over HERE, you can read how my brilliant and ever-fashionable crit partner, Barb Caridad Ferrer, did a lovely thing for my upcoming b-day (which I was trying to ignore, but whatev).

And over HERE, you can read her Romancing the Blog column, which is a little sad, but not so depressing that you’ll want to crawl back into bed or add a shot of Jack to your morning decaf.

Other than that, it’s all angsty cowboys, all the time ’round these here parts, I reckon. You have yourself a nice day. *tips imaginary Stetson, looks longingly at bottle of Jack*

DAY 54: Watch her wallow.


Can’t eat (unless you count the chocolate I’m not supposed to touch). Can’t sleep (unless you count three hours of dreams in which I’m chased through dark streets by evil monks). And the moon, she is on the wane, which means my body is deep in the Ninth Circle of Hormone Hell.

I’d go for a walk to clear my head, but it’s thundering. In the Northeast. In effing FEBRUARY. (But Global Warming is a mythical lefty construct, so I guess I’m just imagining that phenomenon, and so are my poor dogs, with the panting and the drooling and the trying to fit their big, furry butts under my chair.)

And the Book That Would Not Die? Is now, officially, UNdead. And haunting my ass (hence the dreams about evil monks). Even the kinky smut is hard going. Heh. I said “hard.”

My kingdom for a thousand decent, usable words a day. I’m lucky if I get five hundred.

My next book? Something MUCH lighter: More sexy cowboys doing each other in the hayloft. I can’t wait.

At least the cat is cute.

SelahMarch.com – Romance of Dubious Virtue

Compare and Contrast: War of the HALLOWEENS

(Looking for the “Don’t be a Halloweenie” contest? Scroll down to the previous post.)

All righty, class. Today’s lesson is on the relative merits of remakes of classic horror movies. Would anyone like to address this topic?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

WatcherDon! Go for it, dude.

“About two and a half years ago, Halloween began to frighten me again. The very word was enough to fill me with dread, but it wasn’t a spooky type of fear. It was one borne of a certain amount of dismay and tinged with despair. Rob Zombie was going to remake…no, wait…reIMAGINE the original John Carpenter classic “Halloween.”

Carpenter’s film was one of the only movies that ever really scared me when I was growing up. It remains, in fact, the only film that has ever given me nightmares, and it gave me quite a few of them over the years, especially as a teenager. It was one of the only movies that touched on my own fears and awakened my own sense of mortality. After all, if you didn’t want Jason Voorhees to hack you up, you could just stay out of the campsite with the awful reputation. If you were concerned about getting attacked in the shower, don’t stay in the creepy off-highway motel with the lonely manager. Stay away from the big house on top of the hill, the creepy castle, the graveyard at midnight. All of these seemed fairly logical ways to avoid sudden and terrifying death, right?

But “Halloween” brought it right into a suburban/small town neighborhood. Right into the home. Carpenter’s Michael Myers…or The Shape, as he was called in the shooting script, was Evil on two legs and he was hunting in living rooms and bedrooms that looked a lot like your own, on sidewalks and streets that could be right outside your door.

The other thing that terrified me about Carpenter’s little low-budget movie was the fact that it wasn’t as simple a matter as it’s so often described. Veteran producer Moustapha Akkad, who financed the first film and kept the series going through the years often repeated the initial pitch for the movie – “The babysitter to be killed by the bogeyman.” True, but there was another whole side to it.

Unlike Jason or Freddy, who typically had only their teen victims to contend with, Michael Myers had the machinery of authority out to stop him. The police were looking for him. His psychiatrist, arguably the single man who knew him best, was out to stop him. To me, this added a weight of realism that the other slasher films just didn’t generally have. After all, if a mad killer was stalking my neighborhood, I would take some comfort in the fact that the local police were on the lookout for him. But…they were looking for Michael…and it didn’t help.

As I grew older, of course, the sequels came along, some of which did their very best to undermine the effectiveness of the original. More kills, more blood, more “inventiveness” served largely to put Halloween adrift in the same sea of gore where all the other slashers lurked.

And now they had turned it over to Rob Zombie. The thought alone was enough to make my blood run cold. What would he do to my cherished childhood nightmare?

For those of you who avoid such things, Zombie has built himself an interesting reputation as a filmmaker. Like Tarantino, his interest is firmly embedded in the schlock of the grindhouse cinema, and his previous films House of 1,000 Corpses and The Devil’s Rejects were monuments to B-movie excess. Profane, guttural, gory, but handled with a to-hell-with-it attitude that forces the viewer to play along for the ride. Subtle, he’s not – and the subtlety of Carpenter’s version was always one of the things that made it work.

Recently I was able to acquire a workprint copy of Zombie’s “Halloween.” Please do not contact me to ask where I got it, because I am not at liberty to say. The workprint is substantially different from the theatrical release, and there is some hope that it will be released on DVD with the theatrical cut in a bonus package, but the details are still under negotiation. That being said, the workprint appears to have been Zombie’s original intention for the film, and the changes made to the theatrical version seem to reflect studio involvement afterward.

Carpenter’s original and now classic opening takes us from the point of view of the killer as he stalks and murders a teenage girl. The reveal at the end of the sequence shows that the killer is a six year old boy with a perfectly normal, almost angelic appearance.

Zombie sets out to take on all comers with his own opening. Michael is now about 10 years old, a misfit in a heavy metal tee shirt with a predilection for harming small animals and a simmering rage that threatens to boil over at any moment. His mother (played by Zombie’s wife, the beautiful but earthy Sheri Moon) is called into the school to meet with child psychologist Dr. Samuel Loomis (Malcolm McDowell.)

McDowell’s portrayal of Loomis is markedly different from Donald Pleasance’s obsessive and almost campy take on the role. McDowell’s Loomis is pompous and phony, a Rasputin-like character who spends the opening third of the film attempting touchy-feely methods of reaching young Michael before giving up on the young man entirely and embarking on a speaking tour to promote his book on the “evil” that lives behind Michael Myers’ eyes.

Like almost every male character in the picture, the younger Dr. Loomis sports scraggly, shoulder-length hair that appears to be a Zombie trademark. Everyone has it – Michael’s abusive stepfather, Michael himself, his sister’s boyfriend, male victims, even the sheriff. Loomis, however, appears to be making a statement with his locks, perhaps because he wears a short cut later in the film. With Loomis, it feels inauthentic, as if it’s part of his schtick, another piece of fakery, this one designed to show how hip and non-conformist he is even as he dribbles pop-psych pablum from his lips.

Young Michael’s simmering rage boils over on Halloween, 1978 (a nod, no doubt, to the year of the original film’s release) with a rampage that sends him to Smith’s Grove Sanitarium and destroys his entire family. Zombie once again diverges from Carpenter by putting so much emphasis on the backstory. For Carpenter, Michael is terrifying because he is so mysterious. Zombie makes an earnest effort to illustrate the care and feeding of a serial killer, including the known circumstances and warning signs that appear to be linked with real-life cases. Michael is an outcast at school, preyed on by bullies. He has conflicted and disturbing feelings of sexuality brought on by his mother and her career as a stripper. He is abused by an alcoholic stepfather, robbing him of a positive male role model. He abuses animals. He is filled with violent rages. He feels the need to conceal himself behind masks and locked doors. He is a ticking time bomb, and young Daeg Faerch delivers a powerful performance in the role.

Michael is then locked away in the sanitarium, but while Carpenter picks up the story immediately with Myers’ escape, Zombie takes his time. We see Loomis attempting to reach Michael. We see the effect his incarceration and madness have on his mother.

The escape sequence in the workprint is different from the theatrical release, and both are more violent and gruesome than the original. From here on, most of the film mirrors the original release, but it’s not unlike Frank Miller’s take on Batman in “The Dark Knight Returns” – everything is exactly the same, but it’s all completely different. Dr. Loomis trails Michael to Haddonfield. There is a sheriff, this time played by a woefully underused but still brilliant Brad Dourif. And there is a night of terror on Halloween. Along the way, Zombie takes time to offer alternatives to some of the plot gaps in the original – the iconic mask has an origin, for example, and this Michael does not somehow learn to drive during his incarceration.

The original trio of girls – Laurie, Annie, and Linda – are back, but they are rougher around the edges. While Annie and Linda were prone to drink some beer or smoke some weed and fool around with boyfriends, there was a teenaged innocence to them. Not so with their newer, more profane and outrageous counterparts. Linda is actually unlikable in this new version, and Annie is saved from being detestable only by the charisma of Danielle Harris (who returns to the series after two outings as young Jamie Lloyd in Halloween 4 and 5.) Scout Taylor Compton is at first shrill and irritating as Laurie, but she eventually settles down into a somewhat dorky but endearing character who is miles away from Jamie Lee Curtis’s quiet, repressed take on the part.

In the end, however, the hairdos and the Tarantino-like profanity are merely window dressing to cover the real difference between Zombie’s and Carpenter’s treatments of the story. It all boils down to Michael, and Zombie’s conviction that making Myers more “realistic” in terms of what we understand about the psychology of the serial murderer can serve to make him even more terrifying.

I have to say that it doesn’t, although I give Zombie top marks for his effort. It is interesting and fresh to look harder at the psychology of such an iconic character, but in the end, Michael is less frightening when he’s easier to understand. Zombie’s Michael Myers is evil, yes, and brutal – but he is also somewhat tragic and human. There are reasons, however twisted, for his actions, and those reasons strip him of the essential randomness that made a 12 year old boy wake up in a cold sweat. This Michael never made me wonder if somehow I might be next, and while that makes him more complex in the long run, it makes him that much less scary.

Rob Zombie’s Halloween workprint gets three and a half pumpkins out of the original’s five. “

Thank you, WatcherDon. Very impressive. You get the extra cookie.

Give yourself a Halloween gift and check out Don’s fiction here.

And don’t be a Halloweenie! Enter the contest.

SelahMarch.com – Romance of Dubious Virtue

I saw Mommy maiming Santa Claus…

Okay, this is the deal: Christmas — and, in fact, the entire 2006 Holiday Season — tried to eat my face.

It was a bloody battle. I nearly surrendered when the fully-decorated tree fell down in the middle of the living room — FOR THE SECOND TIME IN THREE DAYS — an hour before my parents were due to arrive. I completed my shopping on the 24th, and my wrapping with literally moments to spare. The ham was overcooked, as were the green beans, because I was worried about the eggnog.

And that was just Round 1. Christmas with the inlaws in the wilds of Western Pennsylvania was Round 2, and if you’ve never driven six hours through the pouring rain in weekend traffic with three bickering children, a brewing migraine, and broken windshield wipers? I recommend it as a test of a mother’s love. Mine is in damned fine shape, as proven by the fact that all three spawn continue to breathe without the assistance of a tube.

And heaven bless patient editors. If I ever again undertake to meet two deadlines within days of Christmas? Well, never mind. It’ll never happen. I think my husband will see me buried under the house first.

“I don’t know, officer. She was here last night. Telling me about her brand new story that’s due on New Year’s Eve. Seemed real excited about it. Then — poof. She was gone. Left her van, her clothes…even her purse. Don’t know where she went, but we sure will miss her. Eggnog? It’s really good. Yeah, she always did make great eggnog. Oh, mind the tree. It’s a little wobbly.”

SelahMarch.com – Romance of Dubious Virtue

Butter my ass and call me a biscuit!

A few months ago, I went all twitchy because I’d just submitted LIE TO ME to Romantic Times Book Reviews and was unsure about its reception there. This was my first go-round with the magazine, and as much as all review submissions are a crapshoot relying on subjective opinion (is that a redundancy? I think it is.) I was especially nervous about this one given its potential to affect sales. Erotic romance told from first person point of view isn’t altogether common, and my heroine is not what you’d call “likeable” right off the bat. I was prepared to receive 3 stars, and was steeling myself for 2.

Damned if Leigh Rowling, RT’s “Erotica” reviewer, didn’t up and give LIE TO ME 4 whole stars.

She says:
“With its fast start, good suspense elements and strong erotic tone, March’s story will keep readers well entertained.


Drew Donnelly and MJ Peters are about to get up close and personal. The question is, does Drew know MJ’s secrets before he seduces her? Also, what will she do when she discovers the truth about Drew? This smart-mouthed, sarcastic woman has good reason for the secrets in her life. Before Drew showed up in her small town, she was doing pretty well. With him in her bed and now in her head, all that is about to be shaken up.”

To celebrate, I immediately went online and bought a two-year subscription to the magazine. And had some tequila.

Not necessarily in that order.

If you get a spare minute, check out the free story (titled Dark of the Day) I’ve posted as part of the 2006 PBW Ebook Challenge. It will be a permanent part of my website, but it’s specially written for this time of year…the dark, windy days of November in the northern part of North America. (Those of you living in New Zealand and Australia can maybe pretend it’s May.)

Have a lovely Thursday. :)

SelahMarch.com – Romance of Dubious Virtue

Nothin' Like a Kick in the Ass

So PBW made her usual Thursday-ebook-challenge post this week on the topic of slackers like me.

Read it here.

Subtle she ain’t. But reading it at 5:30 this morning was a more effective jolt than a triple-shot of espresso.

Today? Is a writing day. Four thousand words, if it kills me. And if does kill me, I’ll go with a sense of satisfaction and a determined grimace on my puss.

Yeah, yeah, I know. EVERY day should be a writing day. I’m working on it. Way of the Cheetah, indeed. Most days, I’m lucky if I attain Way of the Box Turtle.

Oink….FlapFlapFlap…

So, about that conference…

Orchestrated by the Southern Tier Authors of Romance (STAR) chapter of the RWA, it was held at the Holiday Inn in Ithaca, New York. The gathering was small–around fifty attendees, I believe, not counting speakers, editors and agents–which allowed a casual, “we’re all in this together” kind of atmosphere not found as often at larger cons.

The highlights:

Friday night kicked off with a lecture at the Lost Dog Café in which I learned more than I ever wanted to know about the Romanov murders–where and how the various members of the last Czar’s family were shot, bayoneted and bludgeoned, how exactly the bodies were disposed of, why acid was used to burn away their facial features, why the four daughters didn’t die as quickly as their parents, and how long it takes to burn a human body as it lies stiffening in the mud. Fascinating, every bit of it, but I was glad I hadn’t overdone on dinner, because I’m a HUGE wussy about that stuff unless I’m the one who’s making it up. We also heard all about the unsolved murder of William Desmond Taylor, a famous 1920s film director, which was somewhat lighter on the gore, but included a reference to one of my favorite movies of all time: WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE? (pic)

Saturday morning began with a talk by NYT bestseller MaryJanice Davidson on “The Knockout Punch.” Basically, MJD promotes the idea that you need a fantastic, hooky, grab-’em-by-the-throat-and-don’t-let-go opening line that will insure your manuscript/book gets read by an editor or agent or bookstore browser, and not tossed back into the pile or onto the shelf. You could practically hear the wheels spinning as every member of the audience recalled their various opening lines and cringed. I know I did. My first lines tend to be…uh…less than unforgettable. But I think it’s good advice, so when I got home, I did what I could to punch up the opening line of book I’m prepping to submit.

A lovely lunch was accented by NYT bestseller Sherrilyn Kenyon‘s keynote speech, “There Will Be Pork In The Trees By Morning.” (Original quote: The Lion In Winter. When Richard says to Eleanor “When pigs have wings!” she replies, “There will be pork in the trees by morning.”)

Lordy, was Ms. Kenyon’s tale one of ultimate triumph in the face of endless woe. Seriously, if you tried to make this woman’s experiences into a book, an editor would tell you that you were over-selling the pathos–suspension of disbelief only gets you so far, and nobody’s life sucks that hard. When Ms. Kenyon could not get a new contract to save her soul, and had lost pretty much everything but her will to write, and her RWA membership was about to expire, and she had to borrow money to buy paper for that last proposal…and her father was dead of cancer…and she lived a roach-infested apartment from which she was about to be evicted…and her agent had dumped her…and Christ, the baby had COLIC…

And folks, this was AFTER she was already a multi-published author.

I dunno about anybody else, but I was worried about the state of my mascara. Who knew I’d have to go the waterproof route for a romance con?

Take home message? PERSEVERE. No matter what, keep going. And when they scoff and say you’ll make it when pigs sprout wings? Tell ‘em you spy a flock of Bacon Bits on yonder horizon. Thank you, Ms. Kenyon.

As mentioned in my previous post, I also attended a workshop with a lovely agent who did, in fact, have a lot of good things to say about author promotion. I don’t even necessarily disagree with her about the whole “don’t be controversial on your blog” thing–I’m sure what I say here will, in the end, lose readers. And the fact that I don’t care more about that may make it harder for me to find an agent or even an editor who’s willing to work with me. I don’t think it’s bad advice. I just don’t think it’s the right advice for me.

And now, because I simply can’t let a day go by without stirring the shit, my quote and links for the day:

“You could say the new Iraqi Constitution is going to be a bit short on rights for women. You could also say the Arctic in January is brisk.” Will Durst

“Between 2001 and 2004, 4.1 million more Americans slipped into poverty while the upper 2% of the country’s richest became 55% wealthier. So, say what you will about Bush’s policies. They’re working.” Will Durst

And finally:

GRANDMA GOT RUN OVER BY INJUSTICE

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