Love is a gift
It holds no judgement
Without a working laptop, I have done very little writing recently. This does have it’s advantages, as I have managed to catch up on some great reading. I have also had the poor luck of reading some not so great writing.
When I started writing Evelyn and The Shadowman, the idea was very, very different to what it now currently is. I had previously envisioned writing a novel in which the reader is never quite sure if Evelyn, is hallucinating the Shadowman as a means to process and deal with the abuse she suffers. As I began my first draft, with a very haphazard plan in my head, it soon took upon a life of it’s own. Evelyn and The Shadowman is a story about love. Now, when I say love, I do not mean romance and this is my problem with some of the fiction in which is filling up the supernatural genre. The love has gone.
Evelyn and The Shadowman is a story about a little girl, who has never known love and the friendship she forms with a creature which had been tasked with eating her soul. The love of a good friendship, the love of a parent, what is expected, what happens when it is not there. Love.
Love is not sex. Love is not just romance between two adults. Love is a family. love is a little girl who preferred to sleep downstairs with her pet dogs, love is the cat that follows it’s owner everywhere. Love is the stranger who risks their life for another, with no motive, other than compassion and empathy.
I worry, with the recent influx in the supernatural genre, that it is shown, a woman or man is only happy when they are in a relationship. Not only that, but a flawed, damaging and sexually obsessed relationship. That they need looking after, only being in a relationship are they complete. No, that’s fucking bollocks. You can not love, another human being, until you, yourself are already comfortable with who and what you are.
Love is genderless, ageless and without race or species.
Love is not an 18 year old girl giving up on life because her undead boyfriend pissed off.
Love is not misery.
Love should not complete you, it should make you realise you were already whole, and make you aspire to be the best version of yourself. It really is common sense. So why is it getting portrayed in such a perverse, crass and emotionally damaging manner? Give me a good novel about two best friends, or a mother overcoming everything for her child. Maybe it’s my age, maybe because I know love (being a mother and being in a very healthy relationship), that I just find myself rolling my eyes at some of the things I read.
Thankfully, great writers and great storytellers exist, fighting the good fight for the true portrayal of love within fiction. In the meantime, Disney, You’re doing good… don’t fuck things up by going back to the whole “Girl needs prince blah de blah.”