Babel Clash

Okay, now I really want to get down to brass tacks. Seriously we have been talking about the tone and the feel of horror and why zombies are so damn cool and that’s great. But I think the real reason I love writing zombies is this:

I like to blow shit up.

Okay, maybe I should be clearer just in case the FBI decides to read this blog and expand my file. I haven’t ever actually blown anything up. My brother used to blow up his GI Joes with firecrackers, but I wasn’t really involved in that. But the idea of blowing stuff up is soooo cool. And what gives you a better excuse for doing it than a zombie apocalypse? I mean, seriously. Anarchy is the name of the game in Zombieville. If you aren’t blowing things up, you are doing it wrong.

And it isn’t just the blowing up part. Nope, you can also shoot people. Or say… kill them with their own stiletto. Or with a toilet seat. There are a hundred creative ways to kill a zombie and no one even bats an eye about the murderous rampage you are participating in (or… writing. Yes, writing, not participating).

Apocalypses are different from regular wars, I guess. In regular war you get soldiers with weapons and they’re trained. In an apocalypse we’re all soldiers and everything around you is a potential weapon. Those with the ability to creatively kill will be highly valued.

Oh and speaking of that, after the shit goes down, what we value in general will change. White collar workers, I’m sorry but you will be useless. People who can grow food, drive heavy equipment, run the electric grid and kill stuff will be GODS. They will rule and have many wives (or husbands) as a reward. Because as we know, in the post-apocalypse we’ll all go Lord of the Flies or Mad Max and run wild.

Sounds pretty fun to me.

Except wait, Mira, in FEED… it kind of didn’t go that way. So what’s up with still having a political and social infrastructure, man?

So Jesse wants us to get into the funny.  That’s cool.  I can roll with the funny–and not just the sort of funny that involves erecting elaborate scarecrows around the edges of the campsite while everyone else is still sleeping (although that was pretty funny).  I’m a funny girl.  I have to be, because funny is an absolutely integral part of horror.  Allow me to elaborate.

Have you ever been scared?  I mean really, really scared?  I’m talking about the kind of scared that makes your stomach drop down to your ankles and your head feel like it’s full of helium while your feet feel like they’re made of lead.  Think about that feeling.  Now?  Think about the way you felt immediately after you realized that you weren’t about to be eaten alive by an undead clown made entirely out of spiders.  Are you giggling nervously?  Well, you’re not alone.

Laughter is a natural human response to fear.  When something scares you, you try to laugh it off.  You make light of it, make jokes about it, because that keeps your brain from completely overloading.  (The line between “healthy, cleansing laughter” and “scary, hysterical laughter that makes everyone inch away from you and consider taking their chances with the zombies” is tragically thin, by the way.  So try not to laugh too much.)

My favorite horror movies and novels have always been the ones that included an element of comedy.  Stephen King’s IT is a beautiful example of blending screams with laughter–the kids may have everything evil under the sun to deal with, but they still get the giggles, goof off, and generally act like actual people put into an unbearable situation.  Or take Slither, written and directed by James Gunn.  That movie is insane, and I mean that in the best way possible.  And yes, all those people keep laughing, keep making jokes, and keep getting obsessed with little things, because that’s what keeps you sane when things get unbearable.

I find it really troublesome when horror loses its sense of humor.  No, a decapitation shouldn’t be funny, but that’s an extreme, and there’s a whole lot of room on the other end of the scale.  If things get too grim, too unrelentingly dark and depressing, why should I even bother trying to make it through?  It might be better to bow out while I still can, and go enjoy a story that still allows for a little bit of giggling in between the screams.  (It’s also possible to go too far toward the funny, resulting in things like Jason X, which was a lot of fun, but wasn’t really a horror movie.  Finding that fine line is part of the art of writing horror, like walking a trapeze line over a swimming pool filled with hungry mutant piranha.)

You can’t spell “slaughter” without “laughter.”  And that’s exactly the way I like it.

Yesterday Mira Grant welcomed you into the First Church of Romero. You know, the one where the primary tenant is “kill it before it kills you”? Yeah, I’m also a member, so you know it’s where all the cool people hang out. Come on in, grab a shotgun and stay a while.

However, unlike Mira I was baptized into the church in a slightly different way. I was not allowed to watch horror movies as a kid. I once cried until I nearly threw up at a preview before another movie for a Freddie movie, so that pretty much ended my mother’s flexibility on things that went bump in the night for me. Add to that that my little brother sharpened a piece of wood into a stake and kept it behind his door “just in case” and the two of us were pretty much cut off from all things terrifying from the jump. It may have been just self-preservation for our parents.

But, the one thing that was utterly supported in our family was comedy.
 
My mother says the first joke I ever “got” was when my brother was still a baby. She was putting him down to bed and she heard a huge crash from the living room. She ran in to find me, all of about three and a half, laying on the floor under the couch. I had fallen off the couch laughing at “Young Frankenstein”. The part I thought was so funny? When Gene Hackman’s blind man sets the Monster’s thumb on fire, thinking it’s a cigar. By the way, that scene still gets me.

So let me reiterate… a movie where teens set the bad guy on fire in order to save the world from his monster squad… BAD in our family. A movie where Gene Hackman sets someone’s thumb on fire (who is also pretty much a zombie BTW)… GOOD in our family.

So, since I got old enough to take myself to horror movies, I’ve always been drawn to horror that was funny. “Scream”… funny. “Shaun of the Dead”… funny. “Fido”… funny. And then there was “Zombieland” and suddenly I had an idea for a zombie story that combined divorce, death, mayhem, cults and was… funny. Suddenly a whole world opened up for me.
 
Like Mira said yesterday, make your survival plan be about escaping the zombies and suddenly the whole world has an opinion. And making a story about all those sort of NOT funny things (you know the aforementioned divorce, death, mayhem, cults, etc) funny meant it was okay to talk about them. I started wondering out loud to my husband about strange ways to kill people (my favorite in Married With Zombies is still a creative use of a toilet seat) and he never even looked at me cross-eyed (but when I watch True Crime shows on A&E he gets nervous, go figure). When I called my brother asking if he’d like to be in a cult, his immediate answer of “yes” was perfect, not troubling.

So maybe that’s what appeals to me most about zombies. They make the unspeakable speakable and the totally terrifying funny.  And if you like jokes about exploding heads and jumping out of two-story windows, I might just have the one for you.

Sometimes I feel like I’m a missionary from the First Church of Romero.  “Hello.  My name is Mira Grant.  Are you prepared for the inevitable zombie apocalypse?  Have you accepted the shotgun, chainsaw, and cleansing flame as your personal saviors?  Would you like an informational pamphlet?”  Like most missionaries, I feel very strongly about my message, and have grown accustomed to having doors slamming in my face.  Accusations of insanity are not uncommon.  (Unlike most missionaries, I’m not worried about going into bad neighborhoods, because very few faiths are as well-armed as the First Church of Romero.)  The end of the world as we know it is coming, people!  When the dead rise, will you feel fine?

I started preparing for the coming of the monsters when I was about nine, and booby-trapped my closet to prevent the large, hairy, hulking beast I was sure lurked behind my clothes.  My mother was afraid reading Stephen King would give me nightmares, but let me tell you, the man had nothing on C.S. Lewis.  I’m pretty sure we can blame Narnia for an entire generation growing up convinced that their closets led to a magical wonderland…of death.  Stephen King was much more upfront about things, and I appreciated that.

My introduction to the inevitable zombie menace came, not from George Romero, but from old episodes of Doctor Who and issues of Creepy and Eerie magazine.  Their many, many iterations of the undead had only two things in common: they didn’t stop for anything, and they were planning to eat or convert us all.  Pretty straightforward.  I like a straightforward monster.

I like zombies.

I like their flexibility.  Zombies are the Unitarianism of monsters–there’s room for everybody in here, as long as you’re willing to work with a few very simple core tenets.  Zombies will eat you.  Zombies used to be you.  Zombies will make you into a zombie.  Once your mother has been bitten by a zombie, she’s not your mother anymore.  There’s room for fast zombies, slow zombies, viral zombies, parasite zombies, alien zombies, even nanotech zombies.  Some zombies are alive, some zombies are dead, but all zombies want to eat you.  It works for me.

I like that–with very few exceptions, most of them recent, although “I Am Legend” is definitely the granddaddy of this particular branch on the family tree–zombies are the monster you can kill without feeling bad about it later.  It’s not that I’m a bloodthirsty person.  It’s just that, in a world where vampires, werewolves, even unstoppable serial killers and mutant sharks, can have feelings and families, it’s nice to have something where the rational response is “kill it with fire.”  Kill it with fire, I can do.

I like that everyone has a zombie apocalypse plan.  Some of them aren’t very well-thought-out, but they represent a step toward disaster preparedness that many people would never take unless it was directed at a fictional event.  “Do you have your earthquake kit?” is a morbid question.  “Do you have your zombie kit?” is an excuse to start talking about water purification after the infrastructure collapses.  People are weird.  And weird is good.

So this is me, ringing your doorbell, knocking on the door of your underground bunker, transmitting wirelessly through the wall of your hermetically-sealed shack, and asking: Are you prepared for the inevitable zombie apocalypse?  Have you accepted the shotgun, chainsaw, and cleansing flame as your personal saviors?

Would you like an informational pamphlet?

It seems like I started working on Babel Clash just last week, but it’s already time for me to hand it off to someone else.  I’ll be taking on a completely different set of responsibilities here at Borders.  I won’t be able to resist checking in on Babel Clash and commenting every now and then (especially considering the super awesome - and I do mean really, really, really awesome - group of authors we have scheduled over the next few months), but day-to-day operations here and on Twitter now belong to Mark & Dane.

Welcome to Babel Clash, Mark & Dane!

Well, guys, was I right about buckling up or what?  Jaye & Nicole, it has been a laugh riot having you both on Babel Clash.  You’ve made me blush (which is actually quite easy despite the fact that I come from a long line of sailors) and you’ve made me think.  Jaye, you’ll have to send me a “Destroyer of the Innocent” business card once you’ve had them made.  Nicole, I don’t think we’ve ever had quite as sensational of a final post as yours.  Cheers, ladies!

Next up, we’ll be going for a zombie apocalypse theme as we welcome Mira Grant & Jesse Petersen!

Mira Grant’s Feed envisions a world in which we’ve cured cancer and the common cold, but created something far more deadly in the process.  This new virus slowly takes over bodies and minds with one simple instruction: FEED.

Jesse Petersen’s Married with Zombies, on the other hand tells the story of Sarah & David, a couple on the verge of divorce and in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.  Will the couple that slays together stay together?

Welcome to Babel Clash, Mira & Jesse!

I’m not even going to attempt to top a post about ephemisms for sex organs. First, I’d probably get myself banned from Babel Clash for life if I tried. And second, well, it’s Monday morning and I haven’t had nearly enough coffee to be scandalous.

Instead, I’ll simply thank Borders and Terry for having us. Also, thanks to everyone who stopped by over the last two weeks to watch us make asses out of ourselves.

Nicole and I both spend a lot of time making light of what we do, but, while we may not take ourselves too seriously, we do take writing seriously. And it’s extremely awesome that we get to share the fruits of our labor with all the passionate urban fantasy fans out there. You guys rock!

Y’all behave yourselves. Or don’t. That’s fine too.

Because I love it when they do! I gotta admit: I’m a swearer, as is Jane. I sometimes wonder how I got such a potty mouth, then I go home and watch as various members of my family drop F-bombs like they’re pilots during the Blitz. It’s like I was raised by a horde of Midwestern pirates prone to stubbing their toes. Cover your ears if you go to the Peeler’s, people.

So, I don’t mind swearing, and I’ve already established I adore a little filth. I also like it when people poke fun at sex, because it is funny, and I have Jane’s libido say some purposely ridiculous things. What I don’t enjoy is when people mean the F-word…and then they say something else. You know what I’m talking about.

The Dreaded Euphemism.

Now, I get it that writers have to be careful. An author writing a sensual scene might not want to risk sounding porny by going all Lawrentian and throwing about the “C” word. There are also a lot of times when a softer, more subtle approach that closes the door gently in the reader’s face works wonders for the imagination as well as the libido.

What I don’t like is when people write what’s pretty intense sex…but don’t use a single “real” word. Instead, they attempt to disguise their writing in euphemisms, as if sex and sexuality need to be stuck in evening dress to be presentable. Here are just a smattering of my least favorite, fairly commonly used euphemisms. Huge thanks to my friends on Facebook and Twitter for helping me compile this list:

Firstly, there’s the “garden variety” euphemism. I don’t know about you, but I sometimes wonder why I want to start planting flowers after I read some sex scenes. Then I remember that “petals” are now labia, which have been described as drenched in “dew.” “Rosebuds” have taken over for bits that are anything but(t). Other people have reported spotting “purple tulips,” “aching buds,” and “nests.” But not the kind sparrows live in! Finally, there’s the dreaded “manroot.”

Then there’s the group of euphemisms that I normally associate with jewelry, but what do I know? Clitori becomes “pearls,” which are not to be confused with “beaded,” as in nipples, unless they ARE confused, and then you should just go ahead and rub everything vaguely pointy. But be careful, in case the nipples are “rubies,” or “diamonds,” or “pebbles.” Fruity pebbles?

And where do I begin with the Weapons-Grade Euphemism? “Swords” fit in “sheathes,” but not so much the “lances.” They just poke at high speeds, presumably. As do “shafts.” “Torpedos?” Really? But I’ll take a torpedo, any day, over a “battering ram” charging at my “gates.”

Finally, and this is where I always get a little squicked, there’s the adjectives. Now, don’t get me wrong. I know that describing sex shouldn’t always be scientific, and I know that a lot of words of which I’m not a fan will push another person’s love-nubbin-of-pleasure. But here’s a short list of words I’m either tired of seeing, or a little squicked out by:

• Throbbing. Do you need an Advil, for the love of all that’s holy?
• Pulsating (see above)
• Fleshy. Does one ever grasp the thing described this way and discover, to one’s shock, it’s TITANIUM?
• Oozing. I know things ooze. I know it’s accurate. But there’s the whole “connection to sores” thing.
• Straining! I see puppies. Happy, frolicsome puppies.
• Turgid. Turgid Turnips Turnabout!
• Spicy. Nothing ever described as “spicy” really tastes “spicy.” Ever. So don’t go thinking you can make a curry.
• Moist! That is all.

And then there’s my absolute LEAST favorite . . . the thing that makes me both vomit, a little, in my mouth AND makes me crave some chips and dip . . .

• Creamy.

I can taste the cool ranch, even now. Now where DID I put those Lays?

How about you guys? What euphemisms have you read, heard, or (gods forbid) said that really knocked you for six?

I love how Nicole is an unapologetic hedonist. It’s one of my favorite things about her and her books. But me? Well. I grew up Catholic. Which means we did everything everyone else does only we felt guilty about it.  Which also means I have a lot of fun playing with moral conflicts and grey areas in my books. But that’s a blog for another day.

Anyway… You won’t find a lot of guilt-free orgiastic sex in my books. Yet. But you know what you will find a lot of? Guilt-free violence. Which, when you think about it, isn’t always that different from sex. Especially when one is writing about an assassin with a major jones for blood who hasn’t been laid in a quarter century. Or a horny — yeah that pun is intended — Mischief demon who takes out his sexual frustrations in an underground Demon Fight Club. (Which is not to be confused with Hairless Cat Fight Club, featured right).

With that in mind, I thought I’d mix it up a little today and give you:

Jaye’s Guide to Writing Sex and Violence, Or Both of These Things are a Lot Like the Other

7. The same music can get you, the writer, in the mood for either activity. Try Nine Inch Nails’ Pretty Hate Machine. It’s a classic for a reason, people.

6. Both types of scenes are best when the characters can really let themselves go. Worrying about the faces they’re making isn’t conducive to either getting or kicking some ass.

5. I don’t give a crap what the critics say, both activities are only enhanced by stilettos. Leave the sensible shoes at home.

4. Is it me or is it a coincidence so many weapons are shaped like phalluses? Phallusi?

3. Rage and lust are kissing cousins. The wise Perry Farrell said, “Sex is violent.” And for some characters, violence is sexual. Not always. Not every character. But you should establish this during foreplay (pre-writing) or risk leaving your characters (and readers) unsatisfied.

2. If you’re doing it right, both sex and fight scenes involve copious body fluids.

Also? And there’s a reason this is no. 1, people, so pay attention.

1. Both are most satisfying with a noisy climax.

So there you have it. I was going to come up with ten reasons, but then I decided that to leave the last few spots up to you guys. Anyone else want to opine about how sex scenes and fight scenes are alike?

Also, I’ll leave you with proof that while my books may be violent, Nicole Peeler is the more violent author in real life. Never. Ever. Turn your back on Dr. Peeler. You’ve been warned. 

Jaye and I’ve been going back and forth about humor, heroism, vulnerability, et cetera, and I really couldn’t think of anything to add, especially after Jaye’s great latest post. To be honest, I was a bit stuck. Then I went back to square one, and began thinking about what else I think makes my Jane a bit different, as a heroine.

When I wrote Jane, I was playing with an idea that really attracted me. This idea was inspired by two things: the fact that Jane’s part selkie (a mythological creature that can be quite hedonistic), and the fact that I was a little tired of reading about women who were Much Better People than I am.

The idea in question was that of my favorite vice: Greed.

I am a very greedy girl, on a number of levels. When I like something, I want lots of it. Whatever it is, I want to roll around in it, immerse myself in it, have it till I can’t take any more. And then I want something else.

It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but neither am I ashamed. In fact, I think it’s a facet of my personality that’s at the root of some of my greatest strengths as well as a few of my greatest weaknesses. But it’s there, and I know I’m not the only one who shares a similar vice.

That said, the women in books tend to be so…good. They say no, and they say no, and they say no, until they don’t say no. But by that time, whatever it is they want (whether it’s a man, a lifestyle choice, a new job, a new adventure) has been proven to be so throughly good for them that it’s lost a little bit of the sinfulness I, for one, like lacing my indulgences.

So when I was thinking what kind of heroine I wanted to write, to shake things up a bit, I thought about writing an unrepentantly hedonistic female character. A female character who doesn’t apologize for her lust for pleasures of all sorts, or, better yet, a character who’s really never even considered apologizing.

The idea of such a woman fit in well with the selkie myths. All in all, and except for the risk of clubbing, seals seem to have a pretty good time rolling around the waves and carousing on beaches. Add in the fae element, with selkie men and women (especially the men) known for doing more than their fair share of seducing the mortals, and I had the makings of a very unapologetically sensual character.

From these ideas sprang Jane. She’s gonna eat carbs. She’s gonna have that one last drink. She’s not gonna have to be in love to have sex. And she’s definitely, definitely going to let herself have a wee moan when she really enjoys something, even if it’s not entirely appropriate.

For me, it makes Jane fun to write, because I like people who like stuff, and I love seeing other people enjoy things. We live in a weird world where everything is so abundant, and yet so bland; we have so many opportunities, yet we’re taught to fear our own capacity for pleasure. Jane’s my little black-eyed answer to such first-world demons. And I love writing her pleasure.