B Movies and the Writing Process . . . Who Would of Thought It?

Yes, I love B movies, and I love BAD movies.  That's right.  As many of my friends know I make it a point to track down the worst movies ever made and watch them.  I enjoy them.  Few people can understand WHY I like bad movies so much . . .

I think I've finally figured it out.  They help me write.  Now wait, hear me out.

One thing bad movies really do for you is help hone your ability to pick out what is feasible and what isn't feasible in a story.  What's campy and what isn't campy.  Bad movies help you to identify what's wrong with a scene.  That can really come in handy when you're into writing scenes.  If it reads like a bad movie . . . you will be aware of it and make the changes necessary, unless you're purposely writing camp.  (Which I occasionally do for the fun of it.)

So, my fellow writers, don't look down your nose at that one or two star flick!  Break out the pepto and the barf bags, or the beer, or the wine and cheese depending on how prepared you are for bad movies, and WATCH and LEARN!

(I've been looking for a way to rationalize my love of crappy movies, and now, I've found it.  Huzzah! XD)

Movie suggestion:  Troll 2 :)

Morning Writing Weirdness after a Night of B Movies: Untitled

It was after 11 at night, and his wife and children were in bed by now.  He picked up a bound group of papers from the stack on his desk, leafed through and scowled.

”They have to be kidding me with this crap,” he hissed. “Just when I think they’ve outdone themselves in stupid legislation, they raise the bar.”

“Humans continually amaze me with the heights of their stupidity,” a soft voice with a slightly Slavic accent commented.

The President jumped, startled as he looked at a man dressed in a black trench coat standing in front of him.  He was pale, with neatly cut black hair and black eyes.  There was a slight smirk on his face.

He looked like an escapee from the Matrix.

“How did you get in here?” the President demanded, his hand moving to the button that summoned his Secret Service agents.  It didn’t matter how this turned out.  Someone’s ass was getting fired.

“I wouldn’t press that button, Mr. President,” the man said.

Suddenly the President found his wrist clasped and yanked away from the button as the man leaned over his desk, his brow furled.  How had he moved so quickly?

”This doesn’t have to be a messy visit,” the man added.  “I’m only here to offer you my services.”

The President yanked his hand away from the iron grip.

”There are channels to go through, protocols to follow, conditions to meet.  You can’t come directly to me. There are other methods. How’d you get in here?” the President demanded.

”I have my ways.  I’m very good at getting into places I don’t belong,” the man replied, straightening.  “My name is Victor Carrabas.”

Here Victor gave the President a stiff, formal bow.

”Well, Mr. Carrabas, you’ve violated several laws entering White House grounds uninvited,” the President said, trying to keep in charge of the situation.  Hell, this Victor might have a shotgun under that coat, or worse, be strapped with bombs.  He was so going to fire every fucking Secret Service person on the payroll if he survived this.

“I’ve violated more than that in my time, Mr. President.  And I was invited here, a century or so ago.  You see, once a vampire gets invited someplace, it is, shall we say, a standing invitation,” Victor said.

”Vampire,” the President spluttered.  He then started to laugh and dropped back into his seat.  After about 30 seconds of laughter he looked at Victor from between his fingers.

“Great joke!  Who put you up to this?  Secret Service? Jay?” he asked.

”I assure you it is no joke, Mr. President,” Victor replied as he slowly drifted upward toward the ceiling, inverted, and stood on it.  Neither his trench coat nor hair dangled.  Gravity didn’t seem to affect him at all.

The President stopped laughing.  His eyes shifted too the button again.

“Don’t do it.  All I ask is that you hear me out, Mr. President,” Victor said warningly, drifting back downward headfirst, then stopping and inverting before standing on the floor again.

The President swallowed and composed himself, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest.

“All right, Mr. Carrabas.  You have my full attention.”

”Very good.  Now as I said, I wish to offer you my ‘special services.’  You’ve been having a bit of a hard time in the Middle East, haven’t you?”

”Understatement.  Not to mention North Korea, China and a few other nations,” the President agreed.

“I would like to help you find ‘troublesome elements.’  The people who are difficult to capture,” the vampire said.

“You should approach the military,” the President responded.

”No.  I want to deal with you,” Victor stated flatly.

”All right.  Say I was interested, Mr. Carrabas.  Why would you want to help the United States of America?  What’s in it for you?” the President asked him.

“Besides a varied cuisine?  Satisfaction at doing something for a nation that has been so good to me,” Victor purred.

The President shuddered a little.  He could only imagine what “good to me” meant to a vampire.  It involved a lot of dead people.

“Besides, I am a citizen.  I was naturalized in the early 1800’s, when I left the occupied Russian lands to come to this great land.  I was quite successful during the Gold Rush.”

“Okay, you’re patriotic.  Why now?  The United States has been in difficult straits before this.  Why didn’t you offer your services then?”

“I fought in the civil war, on the side of the Confederation.  I was a plantation owner you see, and the economics of hiring paid help would have decreased my profits.  It wasn’t anything personal against the slaves. Just business.  But then again, you don’t have an African-American slave lineage, do you, Mr. President?”

The President didn’t say anything.  He didn’t.

“As to why now, well, with your election, I thought this nation would be ready to accept the abilities one of my kind, after accepting the abilities one of your kind,” Victor said.

”One of my kind?”

”Yes.  The skin thing you humans go on and on about.  Take it from me, you all basically taste the same,” Victor replied.  “I might catch a subtle touch of hot sauce here, a hint of cheese sandwich there, some barbecue, or a soy burger, but basically, you are all the same under the skin.  Delicious.”

The President blinked at Victor, not quite knowing how to respond to being called “delicious.”  He hoped the vampire didn’t like the taste of ham, which he had for dinner with some greens and cornbread this evening.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

”Are you coming to bed?  It’s getting late!” a female voice called from the other side of the door.

”My wife,” he mouthed at the vampire, who looked toward the door with an arched eyebrow.

“Yes!  I’ll be up in a couple of minutes,” the President called back.

”All right.  Don’t make me come back down here again,” the voice snapped, then went silent.

“Your wife is quite, luscious, Mr. President.  I’ve always admired women with strong female attributes,” Victor said with a smile.  For the first time, the President saw his fangs.  “Her arms are my favorite aspect, followed by her hips.  Simply bitable.”

“Don’t worry about how ‘luscious’ my wife is,” the President snarled, bristling. “Or her arms or hips.  I’m sure you can be staked . . .”

”Calm down, sir.  It was meant as a complement to your taste in female flesh.

”Let’s keep it business,” the President fumed.  He’d break off a chair leg to plunge in this bastard’s heart if he had to do so.  His family was off limits and he’d do his best to kick some vampire ass before he’d let Victor get within a thousand feet of them.  He might be wearing a suit and in the Oval Office, but he was no slouch when it came to moving furniture around.

“Of course,” Victor said, shaking back the sleeve of his coat and looking at his Rolex watch.  “But I am afraid I have to go now.  I have a ‘meeting’ to attend.  I will visit you again, Mr. President.  Think about my offer.”

The room seemed to bend around the vampire, and then he was gone.  No doors or windows opened, but the President sensed he was alone.  His hand immediately went for the button to summon the Secret Service, but he hesitated before pushing it.

What the hell would he say?  That a vampire broke into his office, walked on the ceiling and offered to kill terrorists for him?  Yeah, that would look great in the papers, just before his Impeachment trial for insanity.

The President blinked and moved his hand away from the button.  He knew it would be a trying job being the first President of color of a nation in turmoil, but he never dreamed it would get this weird.

***************************************

A/N:  This little one shot came to me early this morning after watching a number of bad vampire fics.  What if we had a patriotic vampire in our military ranks? Lol.  I know.  Another B movie in the making.  Still, I had to write it.  Thanks for reading it.

The Ability to See the Magic in the Mundane and Everyday

Our modern world is full of gadgets and hee haws that we take for granted.  But these everyday appliances, tools and devices would be wonders to people who have never had access to them.

If you've ever seen the movie "The Gods Must Be Crazy" you'll remember the Coca-Cola bottle that a peaceful tribe of pygmies found.  They had never seen anything as smooth and as strong.  They believed it came from the gods.  It was very useful for grinding yams, but soon the tribe began fighting over it, and eventually the bottle was used by one tribe member to strike another one.  That was when the leader of the tribe decided to give it back to the gods because it was an evil thing, and went out to find the edge of the world to throw it back.

A Coca Cola bottle.  Extraordinary.

But there are a lot of things we take for granted.  In another movie, the ability of writing to convey a message was considered either magic or the work of demons by a society that never learned to write.  The white man scrawled a secret a native had told him on a paper, then handed it to his friend, who read it, and told the native what his secret was.  Unfortunately this kind of "magic" was frowned upon and the story didn't end well, but writing was a wondrous thing.

Imagine the glory of a sink faucet to someone who has always had to seek out precious water, or the wonder of him seeing his own image on film.

A car would be seen as a nearly indestructible  beast made of stone that carried people in its belly and spread noxious fumes from its behind.

Stories about magic are very entertaining, but our real world seen through eyes of wonder can be just as exciting.

In my novel Sahara, the heroine is completely taken by many modern conveniences, such as the refrigerator, and the wonderful toilet bowl that just swirls the muck away.  At first, she thought it was a little pool to drink from.  lol.  And let's not forget the fun of the toilet paper roll.

The point I'm trying to make is that it is important to see the magic in the things we take for granted and be able to convey that feeling of wonder to others in a story.  We really do live in a wonderful world.