True Blood

My latest story, The Old Sag, is coming along swimmingly. I’m halfway through my first revision and, for the first time, I can say with zest that I feel very positive about what I’ve come up with so far. Not to say that the rest of my work is looking like shit in comparison… this is merely a refined piece, mature, like a bottle of blood red wine.

Speaking of blood, I would like to interject this topic with my new found obsession for the sleazy HBO horror series True Blood, which certainly seems more like a romance paperback, the type you’d find hiding in your mother or girlfriend’s purse. It takes place in the deep South, a hotbed for religious fervor and supernatural sexiness. A tall, dark, and handsome vampire swoops into town and causes quite a stir. One woman, a telepathic waitress (of course), is enchanted by his brooding demeanor. In the last episode, they finally get it on, and at the near peak of orgasm, I hoped to death that he would bite her… and, boy did I get my wish. That fine motherfucker lapped up her blood, gushing from where he last kissed her. Like drinking from a water fountain. Carlos flinched; I squealed with delight.


I must say, with honesty, that I have a thing for sex and death. I do, and I don’t care how you look at me. If my pussy were a real person, it would be that hot creepy chick that is probably homeless, a vagrant, the kind that would kick your ass. That tinge of pain is beautiful, primal, a car collision of rights and wrongs… or, depending on how you were raised, one wrong smashing into another wrong. While we all have different tastes, I personally enjoy sexual encounters between vampires, werewolves, and invisible creatures (remember my story, right?) And while I can reenact these gruesome circumstances in my own bedroom, what I yearn for is the real thing, real enough only in my dreams and in my fantasies. So be it.

In order to satisfy my most deviant desires, I’ve started chapter one on a novel that shows resilient promise. I won’t give away the details yet, but I can say that it is a story that has been on my mind for YEARS now. I started a series of short stories five years ago, which were.. okay. But, because of a computer glitch, they were lost forever. Now, the ideas have been resurrected, taking a fresher shape and a personal perspective on the following questions (ahem): What if you had the powers of a vampire but you were still a mortal? You would live out your years like everyone else, only driven by the thirst for blood. Does that make you a monster? A serial killer? What? It reminds me of one serial killer in California, the Vampire of Sacramento as he was affectionately called, who believed his bones were turning into dust. To remedy the problem, he went on a killing spree collecting lives, organs, blood, and even a fetus or two. Now, what if he was immortal, a real vampire? Hm. That would suck (pun was totally not intended).

Anyway, amidst the chaos of change in my world, I’m having a blast writing these morbid tales. They give me a cheekier disposition on life, funnily enough.

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