So here goes. Because as you all know, like a good little wifey, I always do what hubby says. 
The truth is, I’m an opinionated biatch, but until you get to know me, I keep my opinions to myself. So what to pick on? Not politics. Politics are poison.
Two things are really annoying me right now, pedicures and True Blood. I think I’ll talk about True Blood today. If I use adjectives and adverbs, forgive me because, while they were once cool and in vogue, by all accounts adjectives and adverbs spell death for contemporary writers.
There was no one more excited than me to see nekked Eric. The instant I heard True Blood was in the works, my little human heart went pitter-pat. Season One was dynamite. Yeah, sure, I wasn’t completely sold on Jasons’s rewrite or Tara’s transformation into a major player, but I figured, what the hey, she surely has her legions of fans. I’m a big girl, I can overlook these minor discrepancies because Sookie, Bill, Eric, Pam, and Sam are all well-cast.
I remained loyal through Season Two, which I like to refer to as the All Maryanne All The Time Season, or in the vernacular… the If I See Tara/Eggs/Maryanne One More Time I’m Gonna Shoot My Television Season From Hell. The ADD-ish (hand)writing was on the wall, and I just knew Season Three would be FF with its overabundance of mix and match characters. It was like watching a vampire/shifter/paranormal version of Where’s Waldo. God help me, I hated Where’s Waldo when my kids were little. Stupid Waldo.
Season Four has lost me as a viewer altogether. I watched a single episode, Sookie and Eric doing it, in the swamp. After all the anticipation, how anti-climactic and mosquito-bitten was that scene… I was unmoved. Unbelievably, Eric’s appeal has diminished to about the level of Principal Skinner, and that’s me being extremely generous. Wait, maybe that’s too generous. Maybe Ned Flanders is a more apt comparison, but Ned’s a million times more interesting.
Too many characters to care about. Too many.
Here’s a story. Once upon a time I attempted to read a book by a NYT bestseller author - a paranormal romance, book one of a series. Because of the reviews I’d read, I expected greatness. Within the first five pages, I met, oh, maybe a dozen male characters, each built like a brick house, each saddled with an unpronounceable name, and each possessing a weird, individual supernatural power.
By the time the single heroine was introduced, I was so confused I couldn’t tell my ass from my elbow. I managed to make tortuous progress all the way to page fifty, referring back to the first five pages every other sentence. I never figured out who was who, or for the life of me, what role each character played. On page fifty-one, I made the decision to donate it to the library. I pity the fool who bought it at the yearly book sale. True Blood reminds me of that book.
I’m not just ranting, there’s a lesson here - keep the focus on your main characters or you’ll lose your audience. Eyes on the prize, ladies and gents. Don’t take meaningless characters down nonsensical tangential pathways. Stick with your featured players. They’ve paid their dues and earned every single minute in the spotlight. There is truth in the old adage - too much of a good thing.
Come visit me Thursday at Offbeat Vagabond! Interview and giveaway! Oops! She surprised me with a review of Captured first!
