Vanessa A. Ryan's Blog, page 8

Vampires and Garlic: Where Did That Legend Come From?

We have all heard that vampires cannot stand garlic whatsoever. To use garlic on a vampire would make them turn away in disgust. It’s the classic method of protection from the bloodsucking undead and a weapon that any true vampire hunter has on them at all times.


 But where in the world did that legend come from? Out of all the herbs, why is garlic the one that does the trick? 


Garlic originally got its reputation way back in ancient Egypt. It was believed that garlic held powerful healing powers. From Egypt, its legend grew, and garlic developed more uses and powers. It was later known to be powerful protection against the plague and also held up for its ability to stave off supernatural evils. In southern Slavic regions, it was used to protect oneself from demonic forces, witches and sorcerers. 


In southern Slavic countries and Romania, garlic was used to find vampires and to prevent vampires from entering buildings or rooms. A vampire in hiding could be spotted by his or her unwillingness to eat garlic. Romanian churches distributed garlic during services, observing those who refused to eat it and using that person’s reaction to garlic as their main way of figuring out if the person was a vampire.  


It wasn’t just the Slavic areas that used garlic. In Malaysia and China it was rubbed on children’s foreheads to prevent vampire attacks, and in the Philippines it was rubbed under the armpits. The populaces of many countries simply hung garlic from their doors to ward off vamps. 


When it comes to vampires and garlic now, most authors and scriptwriters decide to have their vampire characters unaffected by garlic. Some, however, stick to the traditional and their vampires still don’t like garlic, but it is generally explained that they have a heightened sense of smell and, of course, garlic has a pungent smell. One famous author who did use garlic as protection was the famous Bram Stoker in Dracula. That may be one of the reasons garlic and its use against vampires became so well known. 


Perhaps the most notable scene in the book was Van Helsing protecting Lucy from the Count by placing garlic around her…

We went into the room, taking the [garlic] with us. The Professor’s actions were certainly odd and not to be found in any pharmacopeia that I ever heard of. First, he fastened up the windows and latched them securely. Next, taking a handful of the flowers, he rubbed them all over the sashes, as though to ensure that every whiff of air that might get in would be laden with the garlic smell. Then with the wisp, he rubbed all over the jamb of the door, above, below, and at each side, and round the fireplace in the same way.It all seemed grotesque to me, and presently I said, “Well, Professor, I know you always have a reason for what you do, but this certainly puzzles me. It is well we have no skeptic here, or he would say that you were working some spell to keep out an evil spirit.”“Perhaps I am!” he answered quietly as he began to make the wreath, which Lucy was to wear round her neck.

What Made "Twilight" Such A Popular Vampire Read

High school vampire romance Twilight was one of the biggest publishing successes of 2008. Stephenie Meyer's tale of love in America's rainy northwest was reprinted no less than 18 times in the UK alone. The novel was first sold in 2006, but the real success of the novel took two years and was due to the release of its movie adaptation.
Vampire love stories are nothing new at all, so what made Twilight so popular?
It was written specifically for teenage readers but managed to cross over and become a hit with many adults. Just skimming the book, you can see it it wasn't difficult to tell how the book sold so well. Seventeen-year-old narrator Bella Swan is likeable, intelligent and a very independent individual who sets little confidence on her looks. Bella is a heroine for every young woman who wants to be valued as a person rather than rated for her attractiveness. Any sense that her love interest, Edward, is not actually a neurotypical 17-year-old can be explained by the fact that he is a vampire. In Meyer's universe, vampirism seems to take a decidedly original form that avoids all the usual clichéd vampirisms—stakes, coffins and garlic. Bella's gradual discovery of Edward's abilities is a key part of the plot's interest.
Meyer gives Bella a sense of social awareness that will endear her to any reader who has ever felt she doesn't quite fit in with the cliques at school. Bella likes her classmates but is clearly not one of them. She wonders whether she has a glitch in her brain and reveals she does not relate well at all to other people. Some have suggested that Bella's love interest, Edward Cullen, has Asperger's; but Bella herself seems a more likely candidate for the syndrome.
The development of Bella's relationship with Edward is the main element that fuels readers to keep turning pages in Twilight. Readers will recognise the vampire as the stereotypical ideal male of heterosexual romance. He is mysterious, handsome, physically powerful, intelligent, rather tormented and very protective towards Bella.
Bella never seems to have much trouble keeping on top of her routine. She spends most of her time, when not dreaming about Edward, doing homework, cooking for her dad and washing dishes. But this is dull and not the lifestyle she wants. She aspires to be like Edward's vampire family, the Cullens. They have wealth, beauty and effortless style, and are compassionate and good.
While most vampires of fiction are either tortured by the guilt of killing humans or revel in their monstrosity, the Cullens drink only animal blood and live among humans. The family patriarch figure has Christian values and is a doctor.
Vampires are often metaphors for outsiders in our society, but in Twilight, they are metaphors for aspiration. Bella decides early on she wants to be turned into a vampire. She has very human fears, including old age, and wants to retain youth and beauty and be part of an idealised family to escape her dull, clumsy humanity. For many readers, this same escape could be the key to the books’ popularity.

At The Bouchercon 2014 - Mystery Writers Convention in Long Beach

What luck! I recently joined Mystery Writers of America as an active member AND got to go to their annual convention because this time it was held in Long Beach. It's called the Anthony Boucher Memorial World Mystery Convention, or the Bouchercon (Boucher rhymes with voucher). Anthony Boucher (William Anthony Parker White, 1911-1968) was a founding member and an early president of Mystery Writers of America, formed in 1946. As an editor, writer and critic Boucher promoted mystery and crime fiction long before it became mainstream.

At the Bouchercon I met a lot of mystery writers and fans at the various panel discussions,which  included listening to Sue Grafton (A Is For Alibi) talk about her mystery series and attending a high tea at the Westin Hotel, given by the local chapter of Mystery Writers of America. Here I am at the book room at the Hyatt Hotel, where bookstores and publishers had tables of their books. As you can see, I am somewhat exhausted from all the running around I did that particular day. But I had a great time. And got inspired to write more mystery novels.

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My Daily Boost of Quiet Time

 For me, writing novels takes concentration. If my mind is cluttered with the distractions of everyday life, I find it hard to sit down and create. To quiet those distractions, I take a daily walk in a nearby park. I look at the trees, feel the breeze on my face and work off my frustrations. I also use this time to think of twists and turns in whatever story I'm writing.   

Researching My Upcoming Mystery Release, A Palette For Murder

A Palette For Murder, my first cozy mystery, takes place in Santa Fe, New Mexico. And one of the places involved in the mystery is the Saint Francis Basilica, which is in the center of the downtown area of Santa Fe. Because the scene in the mystery describes a side entrance to the church--for accuracy, I revisited the church to make sure it had a side entrance accessible to the street.
Whenever I've read novels that describe real locations I'm always enthralled when I can visit these places. 
 The Saint Francis Basilica front view.

                                                      This leads to the side entrance

 This is coming in from the side entrance. It's a quaint church that figures briefly in the story.Watch for A Palette For Murder, coming Spring 2015Published by Five Star Publishing/Thorndike Press   

Getting Inspiration

People always me where I get inspiration for stories. I find it inspiring to take a daily nature walk at a nearby park. It's where I hash out my ideas, formulating what I'm going to write later that night. Here's a shot of where I like to walk:

 Of course, sometimes the inspiration ends up as a painting, rather than as a story:   April Dusk

An Excerpt From A BLUE MOON (urban fantasy/horror) #samplesunday

Looking for a horror book with dark humor? Here's an excerpt from A BLUE MOON, a wild urban fantasy by Vanessa A. Ryan:

Madam Grace leaned back in annoyance. “Give me your watch,” she said.
Finding this alarming, I hesitated, wondering if she was going to steal it. But I gave it to her.
She held it to her cheek and closed her eyes. She said, “You are in a state of––how you say?—dull, mediocre. But that will not last. You––” 
The doorbell rang and she got up. “Excuse me,” she said. “I must get that. Make yourself comfortable until I return.” Seeing my dismay, she smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t be long.”
After she left, I peered out the window. A young, sallow complexioned man with dark hair stood on the porch.
I heard Grace speak loudly to him in a language I didn’t recognize. He answered her in that same language. Something about their conversation—not to mention the heat in the room—and the fact that she still had my watch––made me uneasy. It wasn’t because I thought she was after my money or that he might be in on it. That was a given. No, it was something I couldn’t put my finger on. I knew I should have run out then, watch or not, but moments later the woman came back, and it was too late.
“I am sorry you have been waiting.”
“No problem.”
She sat down, closed her eyes, and again pressed my watch to her cheek. Then she opened her eyes and gave me back my watch. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I see that your boyfriend is crude––not civilized.”
“That’s him, all right.”
“He has strange habits. Why do you put up with him? Why don’t you find someone better?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. I’m lonely. I can’t seem to find anyone else. I guess I like having him around and he said he would help me with my career. I like him, though he’s not what you’d call a good catch in the normal sense. What else do you see? Will I marry him? Will he help me with my career?”
“I see that you don’t really know men. You let them treat you like dirt.” She looked down at the cards. “It is because you never knew your father.”
Maybe she was psychic. “That’s true. My father died when I was a kid.”
“Beware. I see danger around you. There is a plot against you. For another fifty dollars, I will pray for you at the church in the mountains. Only I can break this dangerous spell.”
I knew I should have known better. But I was determined to get my money’s worth. “Well, I have only the fifty for the reading. What about my career? I’m an artist. Is my boyfriend going to help me with my career? He has a lot of connections.”
She gave me an annoyed look. “Just keep painting, or whatever it is you do.”
Abruptly, she got up and went to the cardboard box. She took the lid off, reached in and pulled out a small blue velvet pouch. “I’m going to give you something to help you. It’s something I wouldn’t give to just anyone. It will bring you good luck. It is a medallion to wear around your neck.”
She took a necklace out of the box and held it up so I could see it. The medallion was large and irregular in shape. It looked cheap. Fake gold, most likely, and not worth more than a few dollars. The inscription on it was in some ancient language, probably Arabic. The chain, made of the same cheap gold, was much too long for it. It would probably hang down below my waist.
“Here, take it. Put it on.” She dangled it before me. Then she looked away as if she hated to part with it.
“Oh, I couldn’t take this,” I said. “It looks too expensive. I can’t afford to buy it from you either.”
“Please. I want you to have it. For your safety. There is a terrible plot against you." She held the medallion close to my face. "But if you wear it,” she continued, “you will have nothing but good luck from now on.”
She pressed the medallion into my hand. “Tomorrow night is the blue moon. If you put this on now, your good luck will begin with the blue moon. Take it. It’s your only chance. Since you don’t have the money for me to pray to the church in the mountains, take it. For free. I am only trying to help you.”
She was just trying to get me to pay her more money for the reading. She didn’t believe in this medallion anymore than I did. She was a fake, even if she did seem to pick up on Marty and on my father. But what the hell? It was part of the deal and she was so insistent. I put on the necklace. Then I paid her the fifty bucks and got out of there. She wasn’t going to get any more out of me, if I could help it.
 
  A Blue Moon , is available at Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble.

Vanessa A. Ryan is a writer and actor in Southern California
Follow Vanessa A. Ryan at:
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The Leprechaun On My Street Shows Herself Again

In my last post I wrote that an unknown, homeless-looking woman weeded and swept the parkways on my street, including the oleander bush on my patch of parkway. My sister called her the mysterious leprechaun. It turns out she's not homeless. She lives down the street. She just likes wearing old clothes when gardening--smart, huh?

On Thursday, when the battery in my car died as I was about to leave for a dental appointment, I opened my garage door to wait for the Auto Club and saw the woman cleaning up the debris around my oleander bush. Feeling no shame, because I hate gardening, I thanked her for doing this.

"Well it needs it," she said. She told me when her kids were young she used to sweep the alley behind their house so they didn't play near any broken glass.

After cleaning my parkway, she swept a few others down the street and went into her house.

Mystery solved. Should I have told her about my backyard?

I Think I've Been The Recipient Of A Random Act Of Kindness

People say February, in honor of Valentine's Day, is the month to practice random acts of kindness. I think someone gave me and the rest of the people on my street a random act of kindness. I have no other explanation for it, unless you can think of one. Here is what happened:

The past few months I have been so busy writing book two of my vampire trilogy, Horror At The Lake, that I have neglected the plants in front of my house. I don't have a front yard, so my landscaping is confined to the parkway and consists of a sprawling oleander a neighbor's gardener saved from certain death and a small juniper yearning to become a larger one if only I would water it more. There is also an assortment of weeds growing in the crack between the sidewalk and the garage door, but I'll get to those later.

When I say I've neglected these plants, I mean small weeds grew around them, as well as piles of dead leaves from the trees down the street that lose them every fall. I think current batch dated from the fall of 2012. The saga of the decline of the oleander started when the neighbor next door insisted I cut it down. She thought it was a dangerous tree. It's actually three plants, each buried in metal containers that are now encased in cement. It used to be tall and willowy and it hid my side gate, which is also my front gate, from the street. Before my neighbor demanded that I cut it down, I never saw the leaves, trash and weeds accumulating underneath it. The brush was too thick.  I had the gardener of the neighbor on my other side trim it down to four feet to keep the peace. Then a year later, the oleander started to die--one plant at a time. It really looked sad. The gardener said I had to water it and I had him cut the dead leaves off. I never had to water it before. It used to grow like a weed. I like the neighbor who wanted the oleander cut down, but she isn't a tree lover. She got the city to cut down a cottonwood tree on her area of the parkway, because its roots grew in her pipes. They grew in mine, but because I installed a cleanout, the city agreed to clean out the roots in my pipes. None of that is necessary now because she made them cut it down. I should add that she made me cut down a palm tree that grew in my backyard planter along our adjacent fence. It had been there for years as a small plant, but after a cat had kittens in the planter, it grew twenty feet tall.

Every afternoon I like to walk to the park. A few days ago, on my way to the park I noticed a gruff- looking woman, about fifty or so, sweeping my neighbor's parkway--the neighbor whose gardener I hired for the oleander--not the tree-hater. The woman had on clothes so gray and grimy she looked like a homeless person. But she was intent on her task of sweeping and cutting grass on the parkway with a small pair of scissors. The gardener has a helper but he doesn't employ women. And when he shows up, he always parks his truck in front. This woman didn't have a car.

As I continued walking, the woman moved to the house next to that one, sweeping the parkway and snipping weeds. I knew she didn't work for the city because city workers wear black or white vests with orange stripes on them.

I didn't ask her why she was tidying the block. But two days later, on my walk to the park I noticed all the dead leaves and weeds around the oleander and the juniper were swept clean. And even the weeds growing in the sidewalk crack that runs the length of the garage door, were gone. Snipped away.

I couldn't believe my luck. I had planned to work on the parkway in the spring, but now it's done. The only downside I experienced was today, when I watered the geraniums in the backyard, the hose nozzle was loose and the water squirted all over me.  I don't know how someone got in my yard--it's gated. Oh, well. It was hot out.

 It looks a whole lot better now that it's swept
  Vanessa A. Ryan is an actress in Southern California. She was born in California and graduated from UCLA. When not writing or acting, she enjoys painting and nature walks. Her paintings and sculptures are collected worldwide. At one point she performed stand up comedy, so her writing often reflects her love of humor, even for serious subjects. She lives with her cat Dezi, and among feral cats she has rescued. Her latest release is the urban fantasy, A BLUE MOON. Watch for her vampire trilogy, HORROR AT THE LAKE, coming soon from PERMUTED PRESS .

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Not True Blood, But Vampire Fans Will Interested

After a blogging hiatus due to an overabundance of holiday merrymaking and some unfortunate and unexpected dental surgery, I'm back on my computer working on book number two of my vampire trilogy. Horror At The Lake , the first book in this trilogy, is going to be released by Permuted Press in the upcoming months. Tentatively, my second book is titled  The Way Of The Vampire . I'm not going to reveal too much more about the trilogy now. Just that I'm working on it, word by word.




Vanessa A. Ryan is a writer/actor in Southern California
  A Blue Moon , her wild urban fantasy is available at Amazon.com and
Barnes & Noble.

Follow Vanessa A. Ryan at:
https://twitter.com/vryan333
http://vanessaryanwriter.blogspot.com
https://www.facebook.com/VanessaRyan33
http://about.me/vanessa.ryan.752/