I have a theory.
Everyone, on some level, digs vampire stories.
How else can you explain society’s fascination with the undead? For years, stories of vampires have been told and retold and so-called evidence of their existence has been offered (I’m thinking here of Vlad Tepes’ empty grave). Writers, poets, filmmakers have returned to their bloody theme with impassioned abandon. Even Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1788) can be quoted as saying, “If ever there was in the world a warranted and proven history it is that of vampires.” People have discussed them, theorized about them, tried to emulate them and, some, even believe they are vampires.
And who wouldn’t love these bloodthirsty monsters? They range from the quiet, tortured Louis of Anne Rice acclaim, to the evil reality of Vlad Tepes, to the sexy Zillah of Poppy Z. Brite’s work, to the humorous undertakings *snicker* (Get it? Undertakings? AHAHAHAHA!!!) of Katie MacAlister. We love them. Even when we hate them we love them.
Otherwise, their fame would die out and people would move on to less bloody tales. (Or more bloody. I, for one, think war stories are wrought with much more blood than vampires)
I’m hoping this popularity continues. My dark fantasy series features a tribe (rather, several tribes, but focuses on one) of vampyres who live in another realm, with higher aspirations. (As in, oh….to rule over all realms) And the series I’m currently hard at work on is something I’m very proud of. It’s a young adult series, about a 14 year old vampire named (that’s right) Vlad. The title? Eighth Grade Bites. *snort* (I kill me!) As you can imagine, I’m pretty heavily invested in the idea that people will go on loving vampires the way I do.
If trends change…put a stake in me, I’m done.