Evil Men Never Wear Black Hats

You may think I live on the pages of a book where you can shut me into darkness.  Or, do you think I live on the movie screen where you can simply close your eyes and I will disappear?  No.  Villains are everywhere. You may think you are safe from us in real life, but that is where we thrive, we villains, as we feed on the goodness and hard work of those around us.  Slowly slipping, sneaking, some might say into your life.  At work you do business with me and are forced to endure my torture every day.  Yet, I wear no black hat to signify where my loyalties lie.  At friendly social gatherings, I lurk in the crowd waiting for the chance to carry out my evil plot.  Yet, I have no sinister laugh to signal those that I meet to tell them who I am.  When I finally find you, caught off guard, in a dark alley, with no one to hear your screams, I will not stop to explain my motivation in killing you.  With a flick of this blade you’ll be dead.  Can you feel it? The cold steel of the knife is pressed against your throat, and you thought I was fiction. 

In real life I have freedom.  I look like your friend, the one that smiles to your face just before you feel the blade piercing into your back.  I’m your co-worker that takes credit for your work and spreads rumors about you while you’re at home sick.  I sued you for thousands of dollars you didn’t have, just to line my pockets with your money.  When you came to me with a problem I took advantage of you. I could pay you what I owe you, but I want to vacation instead.  I bullied your child and there was nothing you could do about it.   And then, I lured your loved one away from you to steal a small sliver of your happiness.  But, you’re not happy now are you?  And the best part is you never saw it coming.  You never saw the trap I set for you.  You never saw it, because I look like you, I look like me.  Can you feel life slip from your grasp as I tell you what I’ve done?  Can you taste the thick metallic feel of blood in your mouth?  You trusted me and now you’re dead. 

Happy Halloween!

My hero, The Antihero

When it comes to men, I definitely have a “type.”  I don’t like men that are too pretty.  I like them ruggedly handsome and flawed in just such a way that makes them perfect in my eyes.  This has been true ever since I had my first crush.  All of my friends would fall for the cute boy with sparkling blue eyes and perfect teeth.  I would hold a secret crush for his dark eyed friend that was either a) rough around the edges, b) a prankster, c) always in trouble for disrupting class, d) had a few scars from sports and/or fighting, e) all of the above.

The same is true for my taste in fictional heroes.  From the first moment Han Solo stepped onto the screen in Star Wars, I adored him.  The snarky attitude, the trouble with authority, the dusty clothing, that scar!  He had his own set of rules for life, but when it came to honor and loyalty, you’d want this smuggler on your side.  My affection for the antihero continues to this day and crosses all entertainment mediums.  Comic books?  I’d take Wolverine over Cyclops any day and twice on Sundays.  Romance novels?  When it comes to historicals, my favorite hero is always the rake reformed or the working class, self made man with a chip on his shoulder.  In contemporaries, I lean toward the cynical cop that doesn’t play by the rules.  With paranormals, I’m a sucker for the over the top alpha vampire that has little regard for what society thinks.  You can have your guilt ridden, broody vamps.  I like mine unapologetic.

I’m sure you see the pattern here.  So it’d only make sense for me to write my heroes this way, right?  Well … not exactly.

While I do have a tendency toward the antihero, my muse is an inclusive lover of all male archetypes.  The hero of my WIP fits the antihero mold, but on my brain’s To Be Written shelf is one hero who defines the term.  He is upstanding, charming, honorable, and polite.  He even has blonde hair and blue eyes.   I never intended to write a hero like him, but the muse had other plans.  Turns out, still waters really do run deep and now that I've sketched him out, I adore him just as much as the others.

So what do you like in a hero?  Who is on your list of favorites?  Do you see a pattern in your affections?  Have you ever broken with your type tradition?

The Love List, An Ode to Mr. Alpha Male

I love to crawl into the warm Him shaped indention in the sheets in the early morning after he leaves for work.  That last 20 minutes is the best sleep I get all night.

I love it when he inserts my name into songs while he sings along with the radio in the car, off key and loud.  It makes me smile.

I love to listen to him read to our son at night, patiently reading the same Curious George story over and over and over.

I love that the first time he told me he loved me was by accident at the end of a phone call; and he still ends every phone call that way.

I love that we’ve broken each other’s hearts into a million pieces and mended them back again, stronger than before.

I love that he orders for me when we eat out, not because he’s controlling, but because he knows me that well.

I love that he does dirty, ugly things every day that he doesn’t want to do; but he does them anyway for the survival of our family.

I love it when he bakes bread in the middle of the night because he felt like eating some bread; and brings me some bread because he thought I might like eating some bread too.

I love that he dreams with me and supports me in my dreams, no matter how crazy they may sound.

I love to be held in his powerful arms, it makes me feel small, and fragile, and stronger than I am alone.

I love that he always offers to say the blessing before a nice meal, and he taught our son to say “Amen.”

I love it when he plays with my hair when I can’t sleep, while I talk nonstop and he pretends to listen.

I love to watch him chop fire wood, sweat glistening off thick muscles, wood splintering into the air, sunlight glinting off the smooth steel of the ax, all while I sip lemonade in the shade.

I love that he obsessively irons his clothes, even when on vacation.  It makes me laugh at my wrinkles.

I love to listen to him talk eloquently and passionately about zombies and politics and society and plans for our back yard makeover.  It reminds me of how intelligent and completely insane he is.

I love that we have entire conversations in movie quotes, and we know exactly what we’re saying.

I love that he took me rock climbing on our first date, even though I barely remember the rock we were climbing, that day will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.

I love the beautifully ugly cake he baked me for my birthday.  The words on top looked like a child wrote them and I could taste the love he poured into it in every delicious bite.

I love that he never lets me say, “I can’t.”  And when I do, he gives me his half-time pep talk that always involves digging deeper for a larger set of balls, guts and glory. 

And, I love the beautiful future we’re going to have together when we finally run away from all responsibility, live in a thatched roof cottage, and become sheep herders.

Here I Go Again On My Oww-ow-own

If I sat around, always waiting on inspiration to strike, I would probably write once a week.  Tops.  Sure, I have an outline for my WIP.  Scene summaries.  Character sketches.  That doesn’t mean I can actually write the next scene.  As athletes call it, I have to be in “the zone” to write good fiction.  I get there through music. 

I have written entire scenes that came to me just because of a song.  If I’m at a loss or if my characters go quiet on me, I listen to songs that fit the scene or suit their personalities and, suddenly, I’m right back on track. I’m sure I’m not alone with my music loving muse.   Creativity lends itself to more creativity and music, for lack of a better phrase, really does it for me. 

To keep things simple, I’ve created character channels on Pandora (the free internet radio site).  I have one for the hero of my WIP, one for the heroine, and one for the overall feel of the story.  My hero, Cian, is Irish and a bit broody at times.  He lends himself to some Coldplay, old school U2, and a plethora of European rock.  He also has a tough outer shell with lots of rough edges, so there’s plenty of Disturbed and Breaking Benjamin in his mix.  My heroine, Hannah, is a sweet, southern, girl next door type.  She’s naïve and she’s been easily manipulated and hurt in the past, but she’s on a journey toward self discovery and inner strength.  Her channel has a lot of female lead bands and solo artists; plenty of Flyleaf, a little Paramore, even some Joan Jett to stiffen her spine.

What ‘s really interesting is when Pandora throws out the random, unselected, addition (which Pandora is known to do) that doesn’t fit with the channel or character at all.  I have been happily going along; rocking with Cian to some angry, alternative rock, when up pops Whitesnake and the 80’s hair anthem “Here I Go Again.”  Cian looked around with his “WTF?” face.  He is not an 80’s hair band type.

Now the hero of my next WIP, Sawyer, would’ve totally been in his element.  In fact, upon hearing the music, his voice perked right up.  “Bring on the ballads and the anthems of the 70s and 80s already,” he told me.  “No one wants to listen to that emo [crap] that Cian likes.  Give us something, anything, from AC/DC to Whitesnake … or any band you can think of ending with Z.  I wanna rock! And I want my turn as lead.”

Did I mention Sawyer can be a little overbearing at times?

The music feeds my muse.  What inspires you?