Vampires and Self-help
You never know what story will change a person’s life
Hello, fellow writer! You’ve stumbled across my old Substack on your writing journey. However, never fear, I am still talking about crafting a joyful writing practice, writing collaboratively with my partner, and just musing on writing in general over at my other Substack, Petra Glyphs. I’d love to see you over there. (And you can find all these past articles over there as well.)
In this time of social media, pandemics, climate insecurity, mass loneliness, and extremism from both political sides, my inner creative has felt confused and torn. I’ve always had the urge to create, but over the last several years I began to feel the urge to try and save the world, too! If I wanted to be a good creative, if I wanted to be a good person, I had to do both.
To save the world I felt I had to get people to care about everything I knew was important. That meant I had to write something so good no one could ignore it. (That’s not asking much of myself, right? 😝)
But how could I save the world with light-hearted fantasy? Or adventurey science fiction? Or spicy romance?!
I honestly didn’t know. But damn did I try. I tried to get every idea that mattered to me into every story I was working on. But, as the world kept turning and the people on it kept doing stupider things, the list of stuff I needed to include kept growing. And I started to get preachy about it.
It became impossible for me to weave every string of righteous preaching into every story I was working on. And I would know about ‘righteous preaching’, I grew up around a lot of pastors. (My dad was one, although not the ‘righteous preaching’ kind.)
So I languished in half-finished, not good enough, too preachy, and — worst of all — boring stories. It’s funny how trying to turn a story into a very tall soap box takes the joy right out of writing.
But preachy, boring, righteous stories weren’t what I was personally consuming. They never have been. In fact, I was enjoying stories I thought were absolutely ridiculous. Stories I now realize I desperately needed.
In 2015 things were not going well for me. I was very ill (but didn’t know it), and I was severely depressed. It was Thanksgiving night and I left dinner early because I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I came back home feeling absolutely blank. I curled up on the couch eating whoopee pies, my dogs sniffing me concernedly, and I knew I couldn’t be alone with my thoughts.
So, what did I do?
Watched Netflix, obviously.
And that’s when I discovered The Vampire Diaries.
When I say The Vampire Diaries was a balm for my broken soul, I am not exaggerating. Is the show cheesy? Yes. Is it (at times) formulaic? Yes. Is it filled with ridiculously good looking people? Yes! And was it precisely, exactly what I needed to feel okay that night? Yes.
That show held me during some very dark times.
A show about vampires and magic and werewolves and witches and, ultimately, death, helped me cope. There wasn’t any preachy subtext (or overt-text). It was a cheesy story about what matters most — being human and how we deal with it. Oh, yeah, and sexy vampires. Why does that make everything better?
But, as grateful as I was for that story, I didn’t stop to think about what it meant for me and my writing. And, as is the trend in my writing adventure, I didn’t learn from that moment until much later.
Up until last year, every time I sat down to write, I would still try to save the world with righteous preaching in my writing. I would get frustrated and confused and exhausted and Adam would say, ‘remember The Vampire Diaries,’ and I would shake my head and roll my eyes and ignore him. I ignored him because I was discrediting my own experience. Just because I enjoyed something cheesy, just because something fun and ridiculous soothed me, didn’t mean that I had permission to ignore the dilemma that was the world and create something simply for the sake of my own enjoyment. I had to be better than the stories I enjoyed. It was my duty to be better. Because I had to save the world.
However, Adam’s gentle reminders were shifting me slowly, and there was something else that also whispered to me quietly — a book review someone gave Manly Hero.
I happen to be a writer who reads my book reviews. I like seeing what people take the time to say, critical or glowing — I find both equally interesting. And in March of 2013 Manly Hero received this five-star review on Amazon:
I had no idea this would be a self help book X)
This book is filled with silly laughs, and is a welcome distraction from everyday life. As a late twenty-something who is also a late bloomer, recalling little gems of wisdom and humor in this book actually made me happier at work. That is the weirdest review I've ever made for a fantasy book...and I feel a lil awkward right now. Anyhow, I highly recommend this book. Get it. Read it. You'll enjoy it.
I definitely teared up when I read this review. It summed up exactly what I wanted our book to do, but hadn’t been entirely aware of until that moment.
Adam and I wrote Manly Hero when we were in our early thirties. And even though we didn’t fully know it at the time, we were encapsulating a lot of what it felt like for us to be confused, scared twenty-somethings looking for hope. But that wasn’t why we wrote the story — we wrote it because one night of spitballing while doing the dishes had us laughing so hard we couldn’t not write it. All that twenty-something confusion was in there because it was in our actual lives. The hope was in there because we ourselves needed to believe there was something better ahead. And someone else recognized that and walked away from our book feeling better!
It took until last year for me to finally let go of my crushing attempts to save the world with my writing and incorporate what the review and my own experience were trying to teach me. I can’t tell you what exactly changed. (I’m voting for the two years of therapy — now three — from a mental health therapist that was finally the right fit.) But when it changed, it snapped right into place. It all suddenly made sense. The stories I enjoyed consuming were valuable because I enjoyed them. The stories I enjoy telling are valuable because I enjoy telling them. I can value what I enjoy.
Of course I can’t fix everything with my writing. I can’t save the world. I’m just one writer. I’m just one me. And if I take all that on, I’m going to get squished. And not in the pleasant, bear hug kind of way. Instead, I just need to write my stories. Tell the spicy romance stories that bring me more enjoyment than I ever expected. Tell the cheesy science fiction action/adventure stories that give me goosebumps when I imagine them made into movies and tv shows. Tell the funny, heartfelt, chosen family fantasy stories that Adam and I talk about non-stop, love to create, and use to make each other laugh until our stomachs hurt.
And then, all I can do is put them out into the big scary world and hope they find the people who need them. Hope they find the people who want to cuddle up in them while hugging a dragon Squishmallow (because I’m going to write my fantasy stories), or wearing an awesome post-apocalyptic space helmet (because I’m going to write my sci-fi stories), or grabbing a box of delicious chocolates — or an adult toy, your choice (because I’m going to write my spicy romance stories).
We can never know what stories will change the world. Or, more importantly, we can never know what stories might change someone’s life, help them get through the day, give them hope and encouragement and phrases to repeat to themselves when things are tough. And to me, that’s what — that’s who — stories are for. The people who need them.
Today, instead of trying to save the world when I write a novel, what I want most is to wrap a reader up in a metaphorical story-blanket and let them play pretend for a while. And maybe walk away feeling a little bit better about their day, and, hopefully, a bit more prepared to face the scary world. Because that’s what stories have done for me.
I still hold that self-help review close to my heart, and on days I feel myself tempted by story evangelism I remind myself of it. All I can do is tell my stories. The stories that entertain me. The stories asking me to tell them. The stories that will change me with the telling.
And, if all my stories ever do is distract someone from a tough time or brighten someone’s day for the few minutes or hours they read it, I will count myself an enormous success. Because I am so grateful for the story tellers who have done the same for me.
Love you, Petra ❤️
Inner Adventures
I know we’re all busy, so these inner adventures are only here as an offering (and may not be in every post). I’m including them as a little assist on the journey. Please feel free to ignore them if they don’t serve you. Or change them if you think there’s a better question for you — basically, ask the question you wish I had asked. And remember, no one is looking at your answers, so let loose.
~ Is there a book, TV show, or movie that has helped you get through a tough time?
~ Is the answer to the above question surprising to you? Would you have guessed that story, or that kind of story would help you? Why or why not?
~ What would you say to the creator of that story if you were given the chance to write them a letter or talk to them?
~ What would be the most meaningful compliment someone could give you about something you wrote?
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