Interview with the Vamp

As I lay asleep in bed last night a petite strawberry blonde woman in a little black dress suddenly appeared in the middle of a dream I was having. "We need to talk!" she announced, her pretty face frowning with annoyance and her arms confrontationally crossed beneath an attractive, heaving bosom.

"Who are you?" I think I thought.

"Foolish man!" she replied to my thought. "Of all people you should easily recognise me. You tend to go for youngish blondes or redheads with nice tits when you're writing your stories, so this is what you envisioned when I decided to appear in your dreams. You think therefore I am. I'm your female main character. Eff Emm Cee, but you can call me Effie."

I was surprised and almost at a loss for words, but I quickly gathered my wits and decided to continue with this strange dream. Focusing my thoughts, I responded to her. "How can you interrupt my dreams of your own volition, Effie? That doesn't make sense. I would have to dream you up and then I could make up this entire conversation."

"You really are a pompous buffoon! Do you think you're some sort of genius, with originality of thought and independence of mind? Stop kidding yourself. These days you spend most of your time watching television and drinking beer. No wonder you think you've got writer's block. I've got news for you. There's no such thing. You just need to make an effort. Sitting on your backside in an armchair all day doesn't help. That's hardly conducive to creative writing."

"You're right. Maybe I've been taking it easy a bit too much recently, but I've been feeling listless and uninspired."

"Well, while you're waiting for inspiration you could have tried re-writing someone else's story. Don't bother with any of the stories that are endlessly re-written by the same authors. Those have been done to death, but you could have borrowed one of George's, for example. Lots of people have done that and he doesn't seem to mind. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

"To borrow a phrase, Effie, that sucks. I wouldn't want to re-write someone else's story. I'd use the idea, perhaps, but none of the actual text. There's a difference between imitation and plagiarism. Mind you, I'm not sure I could actually be bothered to use someone else's idea. I've enjoyed writing stories in response to invitations, challenges and reader suggestions, so maybe I'll just wait for one of those to come along and give me some inspiration."

"You could do that, but don't forget it's your muse that truly inspires you. It's not your tiny pea brain working on a suggested theme of some sort. In the meantime, if you make a bit of an effort, your muse will awaken and do its bit. That brain of yours is only good for taking whatever seed of inspiration is planted by your muse and then processing it into your mangled, error-strewn version of a story. Right now it's your muse that's letting us have this conversation."

"And why would my muse do that, Effie?"

"You just don't understand, do you? Your muse is getting tired of you writing most of your female main characters as losers of one sort or another. Enough is enough. You need to write a new version of me. I can't continue to always be some sort of horrible, skanky bitch for as long as you continue to write. Of course I can't help it if I'm written that way, but you can change that."

"I don't always write you that way, do I?"

"Not always. I had fun as Witch Hazel, for example, even if you did get the dates of Halloween and Saint Andrew's Day mixed up. October 31 versus November 30. Nevertheless, you have tended to write me as a vamp."

"I don't recall writing your character as a blood-sucking vampire."

"Not that type of vamp, dimwit! A vamp, as in a woman who uses her wiles to seduce men and break their hearts. To some extent that's okay, because there's often room for tragedy in love stories. But recently you seem to have enjoyed plumbing the depths of that tragedy, leaving me to starve to death in a basement or making me commit suicide on a railway line. Those stories are entertaining if you like noir romance, but it's maybe not the best choice of reading material for some people in the middle of a global pandemic. Anyway, even if you don't kill me off, you punish me severely, usually by making my life miserable. For goodness' sake, can't you write me differently?"

"I suppose I could try," I responded, "but my preferred category is Loving Wives and the readers expect some sort of catastrophe one way or another. That's just the way life can be."

"I'm not arguing with that," she countered. "I agree that life, and fictional life in particular, is frequently blighted by disasters of one sort or another. I've lost count of the number of fictional American parents and grandparents that have been killed in fictional car crashes."

"I thought I was the only one who noticed that."

"There are far too many fatal car crashes, bloodthirsty ex-forces heroes and dangerously unhealthy diets involving steak, meatloaf, pizza and breaded pork chops. Frankly I'm quite content that you normally choose other geographical settings for your stories. The Mediterranean diet is a particularly healthy one, even if the occasional goat has to get killed. On the other hand, I suspect I might not survive living in a fictional USA."

"Well I'm glad you're not totally pissed off at me, Effie, but I just might situate you in a fictional USA some day. I've been to lots of places all over the real USA, so I could easily do that."

"That's up to you, but what I really dislike is that you almost always set me up for a fall of some sort. Not only that, but in some of your stories I'm no more than a two dimensional, simplistic caricature of a woman, with few redeeming qualities and lacking positive emotional behaviour."

"But you are two dimensional, Effie! I make you up. You only exist as words in a fictional story."

"It's not that simple. I also exist in the readers' minds and I think you could paint a more convincing picture by investing me with emotions that are closer to real life. Don't take it badly. You're not totally hopeless. Feedback from your readers shows some of them seem to think your characters are actually real and that the story is some sort of 'docu-drama', as one of your fellow writers puts it. I think you're on the right track, but maybe you could do a bit better at emotions."

"A writer can always do better, Effie. According to Hemmingway, 'we are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master'. As far as I'm concerned, feedback from readers furthers my apprenticeship in creative writing and helps me improve what is often called the writer's craft."

"Does that mean your desire to improve is the reason why you enable scoring and reader comments? You're not just vainly looking for praise?"

"Exactly. It's about trying to improve. In any case, the overall score doesn't provide much more than a general idea of how well or badly the story has been received by the readers. Some of them score the story based on whether the outcome is what they wanted to happen. They might only be interested in whether the bitch got burned badly enough, for example. Others score the story based on liking or loathing one or more of the main characters, as if they were real people, and the score reflects approval or disapproval of those characters and their actions. However, I would like to think there are lots of wise heads out there who act as a counterbalance and score the story based on the extent to which it is well written and entertaining, irrespective of any bias for or against the fictional characters, the outcome of the story or the personal foibles of the author."

"So how do the reader comments help? A lot of them are just vitriolic abuse of the main characters, more often than not the women."

"There are plenty of helpful comments, Effie, and I'm grateful to people who take time to point out where improvements might be made. Unfortunately, any writer who wants feedback to help improve their writing has to put up with a certain amount of wackiness. Some commentators are damaged goods and others are just fuckwits. Maybe they've suffered at the hands of others and need to vent, or they have mental health issues and leaving a nasty comment is therapeutic for them. Bear in mind that human beings have a history of attacking one another, it's hardly surprising if a few readers want to have a go at you or me."

"You're probably right, but it annoys me when they get so worked up about me and start spouting off about what a shitty person I am. That's just the way you wrote me."

"So it's my fault?"

"Well, I suppose you could blame some of it on your muse, but you're the one who takes an idea and builds a story. The final product is yours, so you have to take ownership."

"Fair enough, Effie. I'm glad we agree my stories are my own, even if I owe a debt of gratitude to my muse. I accept ownership, but before I wake up from this strange dream, why don't you tell me how you would ideally like to be written?"

"Ideally I'd like some very enjoyable sex and plenty of love, with lots of positive emotions and an easy life. I'd like to be a nice person with a talented lover and a loving husband with loads of money. My lover could be a hunky star athlete or a handsome actor and my husband could own a nationwide retail chain, several holiday resorts or some vineyards in sunny climes. I'd also like it if you could avoid any car crashes and hold the meatloaf."

"Okay. I'll do my best to steer clear of car crashes and meatloaf and I'll see what I can do about improving the emotional profiles of the characters in my stories. I can't promise you an easy life or a happy ending, but I will try to write you as a nice person sometimes. As for star athletes, handsome actors and billionaire husbands, it's unlikely you'll get any of those. They make suspension of disbelief a difficult task for intelligent readers, but you'll just have to wait and see."

"Thanks. I suppose that will have to do," she said. "Now get on with it!"

Then she disappeared just as suddenly as she had appeared and the next thing I knew, the alarm clock was noisily jerking me awake.

Somehow I felt inspired.