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Diaryland

I Start Fires!

Lexiroth
Her Rainess
Lizsama
'Cedez
Moonie
Pipey
Timofsky
Motro
Squeeky
Lady Maverick
DM
Shoisies
Chokie

2002-04-26

Piggy's specs were nicked at: 1:23 a.m.

Alas, I must now disappoint Lex, Adobe, Jet, and a few others. I mentioned in my last entry that I met an authour at an Indigo bookstore who was a real "son of a whore's crabs." However, I can't recall his name, or the name of the books he wrote. :(

They were, however, children's books. I was all prepared to go up to the bespectacled fuck and talk to him. I adore books for children and kids. My writer's craft teacher once told me my writing is best suited for juvenile audiences. I think he meant that as an insult since I obviously want a pen name like "Celestia LePlume" so I can write my dream novel ... a five-dollar romance mystery called Summer of the Golden Wolves. Starring a girl saved from a watery grave by long lost duke or some shit.

So I get in line to talk to this authour. The woman in front of me investigates the cover of one copy and asks, "So, you named the characters in this book after the kids you teach in your class?"

The bald little Slimjim yanks the book out of her hand and snarls, "No, I named them after my children!" ("And can't you just hear the inside of my penis-shaped head screaming, '...you stupid stupid non-smart girl thing!'")

Now, I was rather offended by this gentleman's rash behaviour, but in true Canadian fashion my disgust was subdued and I walked away fromFUCK YOU NIPPLE CLOWNthe table, keeping my comments to myself.

And that was my encounter with a real, live published authour. I wish I could meet one that matters like Margaret Atwood or Frank McCourt. Oh God, I'd love to meet McCourt.

Lex is the only friend I have who'll talk books with me. And shop books with me. All my other RL friends gag in disgust at the smell of newsprint (after dragging me along blocks of Gaps) and David hides in the magazines. Once I was shopping with Lex, and she happened to say, "Man, fantasy novels have the worst cover art."

I never noticed, but now I pay special attention. And I've discovered exactly why the fantasy genre sits patiently on store shelves for generations, their virgin pages unmolested. The covers do indeed suck.

There's almost always some strapping barbarian stud standing protectively in front of a dainty elf chick who just needs a strong wind to snap in half. The elf chick gazes off into the distance at an unseen menace with a troubled look on her face while cradling the dainty head of the couple's obedient dragon-mount. A bloody, orange sunset glows behind them. Sometimes there's a castle on the horizon, or maybe an evil dragon. You can tell it's evil because it's ugly.

Another topic that came up was the current state of dragonkind. Lex and a few others on a board I frequent say dragons should be dragons ... crafty, hoarding old reptiles as ancient as the mountains and as mean as tabassco soup. At first, I disagreed. I enjoyed (and still enjoy) the catalogue of varied dragons presented in the Dragonlance universe. I'm a great fan of silver dragons, after all.

But again, it was one of those niggling little thoughts that bore further study. And it seems dragons are becoming less of a legend and more like the "fire breathing ponies that every little girl wants," as Lex so gracefully worded it. I'm not about to disagree with that. I, for one, don't like the Pern series very much, and I certainly don't like its dried up bitter old husk of an authour. Maybe it's time I bring a dragon or two back to their roots in some stories.

Does this mean I'll be getting rid of my Mechadrakes? Does this mean I'll be killing off my Avianclaws and Bono, Lord of the hybrids Where the Streets Have No Name? No, and hell no. Especially not the Avianclaws. They're just too much damn fun.

But you won't be seeing any feminine "Let's mount up and fight the evils of the world, my scaly soulbond" stories from me, either. I look at some of the sad book covers I mentioned earlier where a tiny speck of a human is effortlessly commanding an enormous dragon, who gazes at its prey with steely intent. And I think to myself, "Jesus Christ, if I were a dragon, no masturbating monkey is gonna tell me what to do." I mean ... I'd be a huge, fucking fire breathing lizard! Why the hell should I let any creature with less than 2 rows of saw-edged canines shout orders at me like a trick seal?

I hate thinking too much, because things start to make sense. Making order out of chaos = bad.

The shitty fantasy covers is an unfortunate business, because there are some very good fantasy novels out there that don't deserve the elf-chick treatment. One of my favourite novels is The Doom Brigade which is by Margaret Weis and Don Perrin, a retired Canadian Army officer. Doom Brigade is gut-splittingly hilarious -- in a very good way. But it has a terrible cover that does nothing to help it stand out, a boring name, and a back-blurb that's as exciting as crackers without soup. And book authours, last I heard, have very little say in how their stories are bound and presented.

I guess the world of story publication is cold and cruel, mes amies. But I look forward to the fight.