I have decided, Gentle Reader, in my infinite wisdom that one can pretty much divide the world into werewolves and vampires. And no, you don’t get to pick which you are, you just are.
You see last night I was mooching about casting my book as a movie for a blog and I was trying to figure out what actor could possibly play Lord Maccon – who’s a werewolf. One of the thespians I ruminated over was Clive Owen, a personal favorite of mine, but I had to reject him on the grounds of overly vampire.
This made me realize that too much urbane, too much of that way of holding the head, or the look of “tasty neck” in the eye, and there was no way the actor could be a werewolf. And it holds true in the other direction. There is a certain large-jawed scruffiness to someone like Sean Bean, which says “I could only play a werewolf” and there is nothing to be done about it.
I’m thinking this theory can be applied to myself and the people I know as well. My parents, for example, definitely werewolves. I sense a quiz in the making.
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Quote of the Day:
“You know, all writers are vampires and they’ll look around and they watch you when you’re not even thinking they’re watching you and they’ll slip stuff in.”
~ James Gandolfini