Dawwwwww!
I'm running behind on my wordcount. I've written buggerall today. NOT! GOOD!
Just read the first five pages of Nichole Richie's 'Priceless'. My mind wandered to my dreamworld (yeah, I got a dreamworld, it is awesome
) on page two and Mikael was head-ramming a hole through the wall by the last page. And now he's not talking to me because...well, I don't know why, really. Maybe because there actually is someone else out there who is more vain than he is? Vain. Vein. Vain. Vein. WTF? There goes my vocab.
*whisper*
Oh, it's VAIN? Okay then. Well...anyway...my momentary ooh shiny moment aside, everyone knows that main characters are self-inserts of the author. Bella is self-insert-Stephenie, Jenny is self-insert-Lisa, and Harry is self-insert-J.K. Rowling. He IS - she admitted to be more of a tomboy than a girly-girl, and I'm the same, hence my main characters in my novels for the most part being boys. I mean there's Galen (whom I can't help but associate with Nero, because they're both cool but they just lack that...I dunno, that male testosterone oomph, I guess - it's also made me regret ever playing DMC4. Galen was awesome until he started reading like Nero._.), and then there's Joe (my dark side, really he is, but charming all the same), and then there's Mikael/Jeremy/Julian/Guy, whom hates me for giving him four name changes in the past 14 years and also my main muse who likes to be everywhere and mentioned in everything in one form or another...ahem... and then there's Kevin and Kyle, who are basically the epitome of me during my school years (very mischievious little runts, muahaha). And Andrew... I dunno... I think he's that part of me that I either don't want to admit exists, or that I really couldn't give a damn about. I mean the fact that he only got mentioned vaguely after six years of writing the Collins and Firestones (Adam you are awesome for letting me) and that it was only to state that he's the 'lost' Firestone brother that the other two had believed to be dead...well...I digress, I was ranting about Nicole Richie's literature dump.
Everything is shallow. The writing, the characters, the dialogue. EVERYTHING. Do you know when it became passionate? When it was focussed on the main character, Charlotte, and how she could have her way with just a smile, and how guys everywhere were mesmerised by her oh-so-flawless beauty, and how everyone wanted a piece of her and wanted to BE her, and blah blah blah blah.
Point: Nicole Richie is such a Mary-Sue, it's not even funny. No, it's NOT. Bella - now SHE'S funny in all her Mary-Sueness. Charlotte? Makes me want to burn the book and send it in ashes to Nicole. Yeah, I'll say it, even Twilight is better than Priceless. That's how bad it is.
Now, if she'd changed it from a work of fiction to an autobiography, like REALLY an autobiography told from a non-fictional perspective, maybe then I wouldn't have had to beat down the bile. Writing is an artform. GAH DAMMIT when are people going to wake up and smell the coffee?
/end rant.