Hello, my name is Georgia Bell and I like vampires.
I used to be able to say this without a blush. Without feeling as if I just outed myself as a lunatic or a sad, lonely loser who has nothing but her Twilight novels to keep her company. Vampires used to be cool. And scary. Now, I feel like mentioning my love of pop culture vampirism is something that I would only tell people once they get to know me. And won't judge me. What happened to vampires?
I can trace my attraction to the long toothed undead right back to 1979 when my mother and I were living at my aunt's for a few weeks. Pretending to do my homework, I was both terrified and mesmerized by a television miniseries they were watching about vampires. Nightmares ensue. Flash forward to 1985. My best friend and I go to the movies with her older sister. Not wanting to act like the kid I was, I pretend that Fright Night was a great choice. Nightmares ensue. For weeks. But I was hooked.
And how could I not be? The sex, the angst, the immorality, the cravings for blood. Essential ingredients for great storytelling, no? So many creative, talented people have done vampires right (Bella Lagosi, Anne Rice, Joss Whedon, Charlene Harris and my girl crush Julie Plec, to name only a few), but in one fell Stephenie Meyers sized swoop, the coolness has been sucked right out of the genre. Or perhaps Meyers is blameless and instead the Twihards and Twimoms (ugh) that took to the streets in droves to proclaim their undying love for Edward and Bella should bear my wrath. Regardless, I'm now much more discreet about my love of this genre, quietly rejoicing in finding the Jeaniene Frost Night Huntress series this past summer, or secretly anticipating the season premiere of The Vampire Diaries. I'll bide my time, until the Twihards are forgotten, and sparkly vampires, like acid wash jeans, are a punch line to a joke that hardly anyone remembers.