This time of year is about celebrating the spooky, the scary and embracing the fears that make us all human.
Of course, I might be a touch excited, because I’m about to go to New Orleans, and everyone knows that city is awash with vampires – revenants, Nosferatu, the undead. Never sparkly; never vegetarian. These Ricean beasts characterize NOLA, and I can’t wait to reconnect with them in my 16 year old imagination, and mentally run a little wild in the heat of the swampy south.
But, of course, I’ve also learned a few things about where these creatures came from, and why they so haunt us, even after their reworkings and mainstreaming at the hands of certain authors. Also, it’s Wednesday. So, science!
Following are links describing various musings on why vampires are with us. Some suggest they only exist in the mind, while others proclaim they walk among us for real. All are entertaining:
The Science of Vampirism
The Science Behind the Myths: Are There Clinical Explanations for Vampires, Zombies or Werewolves?
Rabies: A Possible Explanation for the Vampire Legend
Vampire Science: Young Blood Recharges Old Brains
New Orleans Vampire Association
So much more is out there on this stuff. You will quickly see that vampires are a lot more than monsters born of superstitious mentality.
Now, for something a little more romantic, or at least completely scientifically unhinged, check out my own attempt at vampire fiction.
In going back and reading the earlier parts of this story, I realized that I should make it clear that this isn’t meant to be anything astounding or well planned. I will only say that it is loosely (oh, so loosely) based on the Irish myth of Cessair. I’m just writing blind for fun here, folks. Such a novel idea, I know.
If you want to start from the beginning, here’s Part 1.
When we got in the tent I changed my skirt and hung the other to dry near the hearth. It was one of my favorites, even in advanced age and with numerous snags. Despite Fintan’s attempts to convince me to turn it into a rag, I insisted on keeping it as a garment for fishing, berry picking and other outdoor tasks. It was just strong enough to be practical, and just delicate enough to let me feel like a grown woman.
Fintan went to work preparing the fish for dinner. I’d not caught much, but it would make a nice meal for the two of us. I’d try again tomorrow for a larger catch that we could dry.
“Who was that small man, out there with everyone?” It came out of my mouth suddenly, as if by suggestion. I almost looked around to see if he were there with us.
Yup, it’s happened again.
Life and work got in the way of the really important things, like ice cream and Ugly Betty and blogging.
I beg your forgiveness as our Jeep died for good and I’m just about 37 weeks pregnant. I think those are viable excuses.
But, I couldn’t leave you without anything to read, so below is a link to a long list of short stories. If you have a few minutes, pick one from the list, read it, and enjoy a little free entertainment.
The Author’s Den – Short Stories
Have a lovely weekend, darlings!
Parts 1 and 2. Here’s a short little Part 3:
“Fishing,” I answered, and kissed him on the cheek. The soft bristles that tickled my chin reminded me how glad I was that Fintan was growing a beard.
“Well it’s a good thing we weren’t counting on that for dinner then, isn’t it?” he grinned at me and winked, teasing me in the way he so often did. He took the fish and my basket in one hand, putting the other around my shoulders as we started in the direction of our tent.
It’s been a while… here’s Part 1.
I awoke with a start to the flapping sound of wings. The gull that had been digging though the crumbs of my basket, scared by some shift of the wind, rose high into the air above my boat.
I immediately thrust my head over the side to look for what I both hoped and dreaded to see. But there was nothing more than water bugs and sediment, ripples from the breeze. I felt relief, but under that a curious disappointment.
My attention quickly changed when I realized I’d been on the lake much longer than I’d planned, and that there was no doubt a group of concerned family members wondering where I was and why dinner wasn’t ready. Only briefly did I worry about knocking anything – or anyone – in the head with my paddle as I made my way to the beach.
Oh dearies. I’m going to cheat today. It’s just been too busy busy busy…
The following link is to a fiction piece from the New Yorker. I chose it because the title is my birthday.
Tenth of December by George Saunders