Color me Mary-Sue
When I sit myself down to write, I first purge myself of all Mary-Sueesque tendencies that might be lurking in the shadowy corners of my questionable psyche. The last thing I want is for my character to be a ridiculously romanticized paragon of everything you could ever possibly want to do or attain. Mary-Sues cheapen your stories, making them parodies of your original intentions. But Mary-Sue lurks in every writer, and just because you exorcise yourself before each writing session doesn't mean that you've banished her to the far-flung reaches of the 9th dimension where she belongs. She's only temporarily subdued, waiting to shoot herself back into your soul to skewer what's left of your respectability for breakfast.
That's why I can enjoy books by Anne Rice.
Writers all around the world should parade this woman about town on a giant palanquin with only the slightest hint of envy and indignation gnawing away at their heart of hearts. This woman, you see, has accomplished what no other writer has done as successfully on such a grand scale--she has made a career out of writing purely about the Mary-Sue in her triply distilled essence. No self-respecting writer will ever admit it, but deep down they've all thought about their unwritten Mary-Sue under lime* lights, a vast multitude of rabid fans groveling at her feet in rapturous adoration. Write a famous Mary-Sue, and her fans are your fans by very definition. You yourself will live on through her immortality, stand on her pedestal erected by the literati. Don't try to play it like you've never wanted it.
You have. But as a self-respecting writer, you've never done it. And that's where Anne Rice buys your soul through a simple PayPal transaction. She writes all the word porn you've ever secretly dreamed of but didn't think you could bring yourself to writing.
Everyone who is anyone in Ricedom is beautiful. Ethereally beautiful. Alight with the magical glitter of a thousand supermodel faeries kind of beautiful. Then they become vampires and they become, get this, even more beautiful.
Everyone who is anyone in Ricedom is a fucking genius. But not in the completely unsexy way that Einstein or the creators of Livejournal were geniuses. This is intelligence from having spent their entire privileged aristocratic lives reading books that nobody reads but everyone quotes from. Then they become vampires and they become even more freakishly well-informed. And they can read minds. And they can learn anything else they want to learn in one night. And they can beat any Jedi Knight in a contest of mind control and vampires don't have to stoop to using any pansy-ass force to do it.
And finally, everyone who is anyone in Ricedom never has anything permanent happen to them, because physical rules don't apply to them. Not even rules applying to vampires in Ricedom ever apply to Rice vampires. If you get into a fight, you can kick everyone's ass because you're the strongest vampire to exist EVER. If you lose an eye while on safari through the outer reaches of Hell, you can just go back to fetch it. If you try to kill yourself, enough of you will remain alive so that you can recuperate and your fans won't jump out of their windows. If you decide that you love another vampire, they'll like you back because all vampires are promiscuous whores.
Everyone who is anyone in Ricedom IS Anne Rice.
I always picture Anne Rice sitting at a throne made of her own books, held together by the sticky residues of what used to be her writer's dignity. I never picture her as sad, though. Rather, I see her content, eyes hooded, gazing contemplatively into the crimson light of an evening horizon. See, she's saved the lot of us. She's Mary-Sue enough for everyone else combined.
*Edit-- I originally wrote "limey lights" in an attempt to be cute with the made up words and such. Apparently, Limey is an actual word, and used properly, should make any man of British origin thrash you soundly. Apologies. I'm just a dumb American.
That's why I can enjoy books by Anne Rice.
Writers all around the world should parade this woman about town on a giant palanquin with only the slightest hint of envy and indignation gnawing away at their heart of hearts. This woman, you see, has accomplished what no other writer has done as successfully on such a grand scale--she has made a career out of writing purely about the Mary-Sue in her triply distilled essence. No self-respecting writer will ever admit it, but deep down they've all thought about their unwritten Mary-Sue under lime* lights, a vast multitude of rabid fans groveling at her feet in rapturous adoration. Write a famous Mary-Sue, and her fans are your fans by very definition. You yourself will live on through her immortality, stand on her pedestal erected by the literati. Don't try to play it like you've never wanted it.
You have. But as a self-respecting writer, you've never done it. And that's where Anne Rice buys your soul through a simple PayPal transaction. She writes all the word porn you've ever secretly dreamed of but didn't think you could bring yourself to writing.
Everyone who is anyone in Ricedom is beautiful. Ethereally beautiful. Alight with the magical glitter of a thousand supermodel faeries kind of beautiful. Then they become vampires and they become, get this, even more beautiful.
Everyone who is anyone in Ricedom is a fucking genius. But not in the completely unsexy way that Einstein or the creators of Livejournal were geniuses. This is intelligence from having spent their entire privileged aristocratic lives reading books that nobody reads but everyone quotes from. Then they become vampires and they become even more freakishly well-informed. And they can read minds. And they can learn anything else they want to learn in one night. And they can beat any Jedi Knight in a contest of mind control and vampires don't have to stoop to using any pansy-ass force to do it.
And finally, everyone who is anyone in Ricedom never has anything permanent happen to them, because physical rules don't apply to them. Not even rules applying to vampires in Ricedom ever apply to Rice vampires. If you get into a fight, you can kick everyone's ass because you're the strongest vampire to exist EVER. If you lose an eye while on safari through the outer reaches of Hell, you can just go back to fetch it. If you try to kill yourself, enough of you will remain alive so that you can recuperate and your fans won't jump out of their windows. If you decide that you love another vampire, they'll like you back because all vampires are promiscuous whores.
Everyone who is anyone in Ricedom IS Anne Rice.
I always picture Anne Rice sitting at a throne made of her own books, held together by the sticky residues of what used to be her writer's dignity. I never picture her as sad, though. Rather, I see her content, eyes hooded, gazing contemplatively into the crimson light of an evening horizon. See, she's saved the lot of us. She's Mary-Sue enough for everyone else combined.
*Edit-- I originally wrote "limey lights" in an attempt to be cute with the made up words and such. Apparently, Limey is an actual word, and used properly, should make any man of British origin thrash you soundly. Apologies. I'm just a dumb American.