Vampires That Don't Twinkle
I've begun tweaking and futzing with the rough of The Little One, my vampire play. Although it still needs work, and I'll continue to work on it for the next few months, at least it may not be the horrific embarrassment I had originally convinced myself it was. But then again, who knows? Maybe it still is (and will be). Only time will tell.
I'm certainly aware of this reasonable attitude towards the glut of vampire fare hitting pop culture right now, and am also certainly aware that staging a play about vampires has to overcome a lot of hurdles. "Vampire fatigue," if you will.
I think I've written something that breaks away from the Anne Rice/Twilight/True Blood molds. In other words, The Little One isn't about teenage lust. Nor are the vampires in this play sensitive emo twits. They don't twinkle in the sunlight. They don't romance, date, have sex with, or otherwise have any sort of interaction with humans (apart from using them as a source of sustenance).
They're Fucking Vampires.
Does that mean it doesn't have flaws or clichés (or will be flawless and free of clichés after I complete my multiple revisions)? Of course not. I've written a story in a sub-genre that's been done to death and that's currently being mined and plundered ad nauseum. Do I think it will be worth an audience's time and attention once we stage it? I think so, because otherwise I wouldn't have written it.
Although The Little One is hardly an "old school" vampire story, I do think I may have written it as an attempt at telling a vampire story where the subjects aren't "namby-pamby wimps," as James Berardinelli succinctly puts it.
Covering himself in glitter,
James "Pretty Vampire Fan" Comtois