Me and Mr. Darcy: A Little Book Review

You'd have to have lived in a hole in the ground to not recognize the Mr. Darcy trend that's swept, and is currently sweeping, the literary market.  Women everywhere are losing their shit over the dark and handsome hero of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.  It's a fad comparable to Twilight and Harry Potter.  (I apologize to any seriously offended over those titles so closely seated in the same sentence.)

I've never been that intrigued, truly.  While I do love Ms. Austen and her novels, and I suppose Mr. Darcy by extension, I've never been so enamored with his character.  He's actually quite a jerk.  A cold, prideful jerk.

Which is where I'd like to start my little review.  Dear Author Potter has turned Mr. Darcy into a sterile, unintelligent mess.  The heroine, Emily Albright, is generally unlikable and immature.  If we're to assume that Potter is forcing similarities between Emily and Lizzie B - well...forcing is then quite an appropriate word.  If we're to believe that Mr. Darcy would feel any attraction toward Emily, when we don't quite like her, it's rather insulting to those of us rooting for Lizzie.

Here's a snippet from the back cover:

After a string of disastrous dates, Emily Albright decides she's had it with love.  She'd much rather curl up with Pride and Prejudice and spend her time with Mr. Darcy, the dashing, honorable, and passionate hero of Jane Austen's classic.  So when her best friend suggests a wild week of margaritas and men in Mexico with the girls, Emily abruptly flees to England on a guided tour of Jane Austen country instead...
 
The story had a lot of potential (like the snarky Spike Hargreaves, Emily's obvious intended) but I have a feeling that even the die-hard Darcy fans will not approve of this one.      

Where the Words Come From

I've been spending a lot of time working at night.  I seem to thrive in darkness...sort of like bacteria...and I feel more productive, more alert, when squinting at the sharp light of my laptop.  It got me thinking about artists in general, and how they procure whatever is needed to get the job done. 

As a writer, a relatively unemployed one at that, I can't say that I have a set schedule or method to the madness that is authorship.  I write when I'm inspired, not when the clock says I should.  I guess it's more "organic" that way, although not always efficient.  Usually my inspiration comes in small bursts, where I can write down portions of stories I might never get back to.  I'm not a very disciplined person where my hobbies are concerned.  I would consider writing a hobby.  I don't get paid for it, and I certainly don't do it every day, so I can't rightly call it a job.  But I've always liked most of my hobbies better than most of my jobs anyway. 

Creative Outlet: The Oneshot

I've always had some difficulty finishing long-term projects.  Perhaps I lose interest too quickly to seriously sit down an write a novel-length story.  Or maybe I'm inspired too often to start something new, and the temptation is too great to ignore.  It could also be both.  That's why I find the Oneshot so intriguing. 

Very similar to the short story, a Oneshot generally focuses on one character or idea and it translates into one complete chapter.  As far as I know, it's primarily a term used in Fanfiction and gives writers a chance to test strange pairings or premises with the target audience. 

Currently, I have multiple Oneshots in the works.  It's a nice change from the multi-chapter stories I'm slowly working through.  And I've always liked to dabble in other fandoms without the commitment of finishing 20-some chapters before such and such. 

Here's a snippet from a work-in-progress: 

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Harry Potter
Characters: Lucius Malfoy/Luna Lovegood 
Working Title: Freelancing

He hadn't made a habit of visiting Flourish and Blotts on a regular basis, although the intrigue of adding to his already burgeoning library at the Manor had lured him into the cramped store.  With the defeat of the Dark Lord, the Wizarding World as a whole had become more accepting of Muggle culture, and the tiny shop was no exception.  The usual mess of disorganized piles that littered the hardwood floors had been retrieved and cataloged on endless rows of additional shelving, making way for new tomes from the foreign world of magic-less creatures.

Hadn't that Granger chit taken over the place? 

The teeming shelves were situated too closely to accommodate Lucius Malfoy's broad physique, so he strode on partially sidewise, twisting his torso so not to dislodge novels from their seating.  It was certainly uncomfortable, and if he'd wished to make a scene on that chilled morning, he would have sought out the Muggle-born child and explained as much to her. 

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy."

Lucius's awkward positioning through the stacks had caused him to lose sight of those much shorter in stature, and he felt his forearm brush against something quite warm and soft.  He looked down.  It was that Quibbler editor's daughter. 

"May I help you find something?"

Luna.  He remembered that face.  It often peered at him from the darkness of his cellar, a memory he had tried repeatedly to forget.  It was gaunt then, her face.  Supremely white and shadow.  He didn't wish to admit any relief at the current roundness of her cheeks.  "Good morning, Miss… Lovegood – is it?"

Lucius watched her pause.  Perhaps she was considering his attempt at placing a distance between them, pretending they were strangers.  Or she had forgotten her own name entirely.  Draco had always said she was rather daft.   

The bright, almost vacant light of her eyes could give that impression.  Not to mention the soft lilt in which she spoke, as if caught in a consecutive dream sequence.  It was possible that he had been ignoring her for longer than was proper, but she gave no indication of feeling slighted.    

She exhaled lightly before smiling.  "Yes, you have it exactly." 

Currently In The Works: TMNT Character Study

I've always been a Leonardo fan, playing into my attraction toward stable and responsible characters.  However, my attention has been temporarily diverted to the temperamental and largely unstable brother, Raphael.

I'd like to argue that there's not much mystery to Leo's personality.  He works according a certain moral standard, which happens to be generally "goody-goody".  We expect that.  He's a green Captain America, in a sense.

Raphael doesn't work like that.  I wouldn't say that he is less of what Leo is.  Rather, he is often more.  Raph isn't confined to the responsibilities of leading a team, even if he occasionally wishes battles for the spot, but he doesn't lack responsibility.  Instead, he harbors a rather extreme sense of justice.  Leo considers what is best for the team, taking outside factors into consideration.  Raph acts on what is best for that moment, not wasting precious time to reconsider variables.  This doesn't necessarily make him a great leader, but he does get shit done.

Here's a portion of what I'm working on:

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ATLAS

"Raphael, you always bear the world's problems on your shoulders..."

Clouds of smog billowed overhead, compressing the scattered glimmers of green and red neon lights from the small corner shops below.  Florescent bulbs flickered in a few windows, occasionally illuminating the puddles of opalescent film that littered the streets before washing into the sewers.  Sometimes it collected in the fibers of a prostitute’s stockings as she teetered in poorly made knock-off heels, rushing to her first night’s appointment.  A few men might have followed behind, also on foot, leaving a trail of the grimy fluid with their polished loafers.  Crowds of similar types - whores, business men, thugs, and thieves - plagued the streets in intervals.  The entire place was damned. 

Perhaps that’s why he felt such affinity?

 From his perch on the ledge of an abandoned brick warehouse, Raphael waited for his first opportunity to intercede.  He had long become accustomed to the sounds of pain, and knew how to differentiate them from pleasure.  Although, he wasn’t so naïve to think they were mutually exclusive.  Long nights on rooftops made him privy to the strange interactions of human beings. 

Leo would a have a frickin’ heart attack.

The abnormally large turtle allowed a small smirk at the thought of his brother’s potential life-threatening shock and ultimately dismay.  Not that Leo was completely unaware of the odd rituals of human courtship.  They had the internet, after all.  And Mikey certainly wasn’t the only one viewing questionable videos when everyone should have been asleep.  Raph was just smart enough to not get caught.  The last thing he needed was to ruffle Leo’s already tight-ass sensibilities.

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Thank You Goodwill

I am frequently amazed by the unlikely finds I encounter at the local Goodwill.  By local I mean 30 minutes away, but close enough.

My haul this round:

1. Spirited Away 
2. Small Soldiers
3. Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister
4. Shark head cup holder

As you all know, thrifting is hit-or-miss.  There are days when I can't find anything worth spending 49 cents on, and others where I really should choose between the 50 cardigans in my cart.  I would consider this recent trip a success.

On another note:  I've been wanting to get into Gregory Maquire's books for some time, although I've never found them at opportune moments.  If the cover is anything to go by, this one appears promising.  Authors take note - I'm a sucker for a good cover.