This edition of Independent Writing Group is free for everyone. For all the benefits of being a paid subscriber, please click here.

With World Cup mania starting, I’ve been thinking of that old cliché where the coach informs their players not to get laid before the big game, with the idea that you need to save up energy for a better performance. As an amateur soccer player I can reveal… it’s kind of true. I’ve lost more than one game in finals where I watched our best player show up, googly-eyed with love. Her game off the field was good, but on the field that night… very weak.

This made me wonder if this is true for writing as well.

Now, we’re in a cultural moment that’s adverse to mixing talk of sex and career, or even to speak about the sex in our work. But if you know me—pause for laughter—it’s a topic I refuse to leave in the ownership of old-school chauvinist novelists. So I asked myself: have I too sat at the keyboard and put up a “Not now, babe, I’m writing” hand?

I started doing personal math and compared it against the dates of my Word files and some tracking apps. It turns out I wrote my last two novels not entirely abstinent, but definitely during cooler-than-usual times.

It looked like I did choose writing, when needed, and now I can say anecdotally: doing it does get in the way of writing. It makes sense. We only have so much physical and emotional energy, and our writing requires intense memory work drawing on all five senses. We’re locked in a relationship with our characters. (Not to mention clocking long chair hours.)

If you’re partnered this is probably a discussion to have, if you haven’t already. For singles there are lots of ways to deplete your energies—like trying too hard to get some—and it can impact our pages. And for those who are abstinent by choice it may be some other activity taking away your vital forces.

Is it time this week to say “not tonight, honey” to it all? See if you can fall in love with your book instead.

Subscribe now

You’re not crazy. The blurb industrial complex has gone into overdrive in the last few years and part of every book’s publicity plan is getting upwards of ten new blurbs if possible. This has meant pressure not only for those who ask for blurbage, but those who get asked. The tide may be turning but the pressure is still there. In my 15-year career I have accrued 10 pages of pull quotes, written by reviewers I don’t know from major publications around the world. Some of them are even complimentary. I also already have blurbs from absolute giants of both literature and the bestseller list, and I went through Preston Sturges–levels of striving and screwball comedy to get to them.

But there’ll always be the request: Nah, we’re going to need blurbs that mention this new book specifically.

So then I’m off to talk to the only people as awkward as I am: other writers. The sad thing is the quest for my own blurbs has started to take up the emotional space that I used for something I genuinely loved doing: writing blurbs for other people.

For me that’s part of the bargain of this art form. After all, those aforementioned giants helped me out with a few donated adjectives and that means I should use whatever clout I have to help my own friends, former students, or strangers. (And yes, in that order.) Yet the frenzy of the last few years has transformed this rite of passage into something like a desperate Kabuki play.

Here’s how to ask for a blurb in 2026 and make it a little less cringe for everyone involved.

Read more

TV series and Marvel movies have lied to you. No one cares about a minor character. Your main character is your star and that star expects the best lines and most screen time, or in this case, page time.

A successful novel needs a POV in all meanings of the term. Your world needs an entrance point through a character, as well as the novelist having a voice of their own to make their writing stand out.

Putting aside linked short story collections, the sure sign of a weak novel is too many characters, diffuse action, and a wandering eye. This applies whether it’s a literary novel or a genre book and please know I speak from the experience of having written a 500-page historical novel with eight goddamn individual POVs. At the time I thought I wrote a “brilliant ensemble piece” but the truth is I wrote a novel without committing to who the book was really about.

But let’s look at someone who continues to get away with it… Agatha Christie. Don’t even think of the movies, because every adaptation cuts or amalgamates two or three characters from the novels. You can’t call any of her supporting characters deeply written, but they are acutely described and do the job of fulfilling a type. The real stars are always her detectives, whether that’s Miss Marple or Monsieur Poirot.

So how do you find who your star is and how do you treat them?

Read more

If you’ve read this newsletter for a while you might know that we have a son named Henry, and Henry is autistic. Nothing has changed our creative lives like Henry has, but we generally don’t foreground that in our conversations or professional talks. We made the decision long ago to always try to put Henry’s voice first and make sure his struggles and hard work, going from nonverbal to speaking, mattered more than anything we experienced as parents. But as Henry has grown older, his agency has also grown. One of those ways has been through filmmaking, where he’s learned the tools of communication, storytelling, cooperation, and flexibility. (And the occasional star fit—also an important skill.)

Three years ago Brian came back from a two-week location shoot and Henry, then eleven, asked “Can I make a movie too?” We gave him a budget of $100 and a choice of neighborhood locations in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. He sat beside us and, with a few prompts, wrote script directions and suggested dialogue. Henry’s biggest inspiration was The Bad Guys book series, resulting in his own self-contained mythos, which is now at thirteen installments of freeform genre mashups. Like his inspiration, the Australian writer Aaron Blabey, Henry is aiming for twenty volumes. Perhaps not coincidentally, Henry and the Last Dinosaur 13: The Land Down Under is set in Australia. Though we filmed it in an old quarry in the Hudson Valley.

Early on, Henry began to build his life around film. (Wonder where he picked that up from?) Time had been a hard concept to grasp due to his autism and he used to hate it when we looked back at old photos. If we talked about the past, he would proclaim, “Back to the future now.” But writing down film release dates on the calendar for movies he wanted to see became his own understanding of how time works. Making films, and putting up with everything from our scheduling to waiting for batteries to charge, has taught him what time is: patience and effort.

While making his first films, dialogue was still difficult for Henry to perform and we had to help with voice over. Three years and many episodes later the budgets are still—mostly—$100, and filming days last about one hour of acting for him. But Henry is performing all his lines now and there is one more important milestone to this episode. This is the first script that Henry wrote completely—so we held back on adding notes like, “Are you sure you need another dinosaur battle?”

With the exception of a few improvised Australian beer jokes here, this is all Henry. We asked him for a message to the viewer, and he said: “Thank you! It’s awesome you’re watching my newest and latest release. I hope to see you again next time.”

He just came back to add, “Please subscribe to my channel” because he is our child.

Many thanks to Hannah Meyer, Olivia Jampol, Roberta Colindrez, Jennifer Makholm, and JD Davis for their help over the series.

Subscribe now

When A24 announced last month they were rebooting The Texas Chainsaw Massacre into several properties to be developed by Glen Powell, it came out in conversation that Emily Schultz had never seen Tobe Hooper’s 1974 film.

I think “film” is reductive here in describing Chainsaw. It’s more like Hooper weaponized experimental cinema and soundscapes to trap us in the worst day of anyone’s life, all to chronicle the downfall of the American dream. It’s an experiment in creating antimatter that has never been replicated. When Emily suggested Chainsaw as a Cinema Dirtbag commentary, I demurred. I thought maybe Emily was a better person for having never seen it. Then I watched Chain Reactions, a fascinating documentary that interviews superfans Patton Oswalt, Karyn Kusama, Takashi Miike, Stephen King, and critic Alexandra Heller-Nicholas— the film writer who has most altered my way of thinking about genre over the years.

Heller-Nicholas recalled the gatekeeping she experienced as a young girl, how boys thought she could never handle Chainsaw and when she did watch it she realized, “This is for me too.” Having now called myself out on the fact I was replicating that gatekeeping with Emily, I cued up a destroyed 35mm grind house scan of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. (One of the cooler special features of Dark Sky’s blu-ray of Chain Reactions.)

In the words of the film’s tagline, who will survive and what will be left of them? Read on to find out.

EMILY SCHULTZ: I should say that I did see the ending of Texas Chainsaw Massacre—I walked in on my brother watching it and he was like: This isn’t for you! And I was banished out of the room.

BRIAN J DAVIS: And that is exactly what Heller-Nicholas was talking about! It’s almost “This isn’t for you Dewy” from Walk Hard. Now, the interesting thing is your novel Little Threats—can we do spoilers five years on?

ES: Sure.

BJD: It ends with a chainsaw accident! A sudden, shocking comeuppance by chainsaw if you will. And if I recall, this was never mentioned in any review!

ES: The only person who mentioned it was one of my ex-girlfriends! She liked it. She is also Australian. But I will say, I do think the imagery from that one brief glimpse at age ten stayed with me—enough to creep into my work.

BJD: I lucked out in that I didn’t see Texas Chainsaw Massacre until I was like, a solid fifteen. And I could actually appreciate the weird artistry of it and why Tobe Hooper was doing what he was doing. By fifteen, I’d seen Stan Brakhage movies from the library and taken out Edgard Varèse albums.

ES: I don’t think I saw Stan Brakhage movies until my late twenties.

BJD: These are just the facts of a Brian conversation—I’m going to drop shit like that. But Tobe Hooper was an underground hippie filmmaker in Austin. His film before this was called Eggshells and it is a beautiful, tedious, mix of James Broughton and Brakhage, set at a commune. And it was actually filmed in the same house as the nightmare family house in Chainsaw. I recommend watching it to see an almost mirror reverse film. But they wanted to make money, a PG horror movie that could play drive-ins.

ES: So it’s kind of like when we try to sell out. It goes bizarrely wrong?

BJD: Exactly. And they’re vegetarians also. And they think, “Wouldn’t it be funny if people were treated like cattle?”

ES: I imagine that humor doesn’t come through?

BJD: It does not. There’s not a lot of onscreen violence in it because they really were aiming for PG. The violence ended up in the filmmaking itself.

ES: And my impression, having not seen it, I always assumed that this was going to be the goriest movie there is.

BJD: So I wonder for you if this is going to be like how I didn’t see Citizen Kane until I was thirty-five?

ES: You didn’t. That’s right. I came from a black-and-white household.

BJD: And I realized there’s nothing in Citizen Kane that has not been picked to the bones.

ES: Oh, speaking of which, it’s a dug-up corpse. Well, this would have frightened me at the time.

BJD: Essentially what they did is they combined the story of Ed Gein with the Manson family, and ambient 1960s anger still lingering.

ES: Okay, this is an art movie.

BJD: Shots of solar storms, that atonal soundtrack. They’re getting at some Herzog-ian take on nature. That everything is chaos and terror or…maybe it’s just really sunny in Texas.

ES: This is going to be a talkie movie, is it?

BJD: All human communication and rationality will leave this film soon so ask your questions now.

ES: Okay, I’m getting ready for it. Oh, no.

[The Hitchhiker starts cutting his wrist and performs rituals in the van.]

BJD: Oh, you lived through the ’90s. In ’94, the Hitchhiker would have been an opening act in Lollapalooza. He would have had a spoken word album on Sub Pop.

ES: He’s gonna keep the picture in his mojo bag.

BJD: Being photographed is tantamount to being cursed, so therefore everyone in this movie is now cursed.

ES: Why did the Hitchhiker take such a disliking to Franklin in particular?

BJD: I think you just had a player-know-player moment. Why are insane people really attracted to you the most?

ES: Well, Franklin was the nice one making conversation with him. I feel like this could be a Flannery O’Connor short story.

BJD: Good catch. Like in a Flannery O’Connor story, there is a morality to this movie. Just not an easily recognizable one.

ES: Could you have a more obvious butt shot?

BJD: That’s not even the most famous butt shot in the movie.

ES: I just don’t understand why Franklin didn’t get out to wash off the cut.

BJD: Come on. We’ve toured a lot. Have you ever been to a gas station that makes you feel dirtier after using it?

ES: I forgot about Lodi, New Jersey.

BJD: As you can see, this is really a landscape movie. Like a Herzog or Terrence Malick film.

ES: It feels like it’s unfolding in real time. That’s adding to the immersion.

BJD: Time is how Tobe Hooper messes with us the most. Going from the pastoral pacing to well…we’ll get there. But as an adult, I see how bold a decision it was to have a disabled character in this movie. He’s experiencing a different movie than the rest are, and we’re feeling it.

ES: A built-in empathy?

BJD: I don’t want to ascribe empathy to this movie. I don’t think that’s one of the qualities! But I love Franklin. He’s the actor here who should have been a star.

ES: He’s starting to get paranoid about the symbols surrounding him.

BJD: He’s the only one reading the scene.

ES: You know, I have stopped at a farmer’s shed to get gas.

BJD: Like this hippie about to die?

ES: Yes. The guy that I was with, he was driving his mother’s vehicle, and the gas gauge wasn’t working properly, so we ran out of gas. And we had to go to a strange farmhouse.

BJD: And how’d that transaction go?

ES: Well, I just stayed in the car.

BJD: Smart!

ES: The tooth falling? Oh, that’s great. That’s creepy. They’re not going to get gas and then go see Macbeth like I did.

I’d much rather be traumatized by art than people. In fact, traumatizing myself with art over decades has taught me how to avoid being traumatized by people.

ES: I guess I’m not talking anymore.

BJD: I just was enjoying you being speechless during the scene. The first installation art murder set in film.

ES: Oh my God. Well, this is fucking terrifying.

BJD: They thought “As long as we don’t show much blood, we’ll get a PG rating.”

ES: They didn’t get a PG rating did they?

BJD: No, they did not.

ES: Not the guy who looks like Fred from Scooby-Doo! Before he goes into the house, he has to find something that will make him pause.

BJD: So I see the movie is now officially playing you like a piano…made of bones.

ES: I know! Even though I know exactly what will happen next I’m still “I really hope he doesn’t go into the house.”

BJD: I like to consider this movie from Leatherface’s perspective. As a few people have pointed out, it is a home invasion movie from his perspective and he’s just trying to survive. I think that’s part of the Flannery O’Connor vibe you’re picking up on.

ES: But he had that little feature wall with antlers drawing people in too.

BJD: Gunnar Hansen was the actor who played Leatherface. He was a local poet and really took the role seriously and he actually volunteered at a home for autistic adults to study their mannerisms. And the performance hits me a little different as an adult.

ES: As a parent now with some knowledge and understanding of autism, you can see that he’s playing it as if he’s dysregulated.

BJD: Exactly. And I accept that as part of the all-around discomfort of this film. Like you have to process the discomfort of watching this as a woman. But in most other films where it’s done lazily, it’s something I can’t stand anymore—the horror trope of the disabled child becoming a monster or killer.

ES: Was the idea of disability a discussion during the filmmaking?

BJD: I don’t think so. I think when you’re operating from a place of originality, things are going to happen, because you let them. We like to think there’s a grand plan to original, maverick art but it’s just that the people who made them were open to doing things differently.

ES: I have to ask you, since we’re watching a horror movie and she just ran away while her brother was getting cut up, what would you do? Would you run?

BJD: I think any Texan can see a chainsaw sticking out of someone and declare “Ain’t no intervention here.” Wait. Are you calling Sally “yeller” for running?

ES: I’m just saying, do you run towards the chainsaw or away from the chainsaw?

BJD: That’s the choice in life. Either you run towards the chainsaw or you run away from the chainsaw.

ES: So wait, she’s running to the house, not knowing what’s inside. So this is like the original slasher?

BJD: That’s debatable. I would say that Mario Bava’s Bay of Blood is the first. But this is definitely the first Final Girl.

ES: She’s got lots of pans in there though. I’m like, Get yourself a pan, girl.

BJD: See, you have the wisdom of fifty years of Final Girls to draw on. You read that frame in a primal second and said “Cast iron will kill. Check. Chili will scald an attacker. Check.”

ES: What is the radio saying…?

BJD: The radio throughout is nothing but murder news. Hooper is using every avant-garde technique, all of the senses, to alter our consciousness while watching. And of course a part of this was that there was terror in the production: 18-hour days, 90 degrees at night plus these hot tungsten film lights, in a house full of scavenged roadkill.

ES: Hear me out. Wouldn’t it be nice if he just tied her up, put her in a burlap sack to subdue her so that he can drive her out of here so that Leatherface doesn’t know that he’s got somebody in the truck with him?

BJD: Are you fantasizing about a happier ending? That’s the bargaining stage.

ES: Oh, is that the guy that they picked up? Wait, he’s not going to turn around and be a hero, is he?

BJD: No hope. Sorry.

ES: You had said earlier, quoting the critic, that boys would tell girls they couldn’t watch this movie. And that happened with my own brother. I kind of get that now during this dinner scene. The usual slasher films fall within my understanding of teenage horror movies. In this, you’re in a real nightmare. Which maybe you don’t want to know that feeling?

BJD: I kind of do. I’d much rather be traumatized by art than people. In fact, traumatizing myself with art over decades has taught me how to avoid being traumatized by people. Look, they’re bringing Grandpa down.

ES: Oh, that’s creepy. Everything in this movie is so creepy. Is she tied over top of another person?

BJD: She’s in an armchair made of arms. I’ve always likened this movie to that time I did PCP by mistake, thinking it was mescaline, but then I just kind of committed to it. Not an easy experience, but holy shit was it a trip.

ES: Oh, okay. Second window jump!

BJD: Admit it, if they did a third window crash it would have been hilarious. She’d be like, “Damn. I am good at jumping through glass windows.” But now, the artifice of filmmaking is coming back after that dinner scene.

ES: When I first walked in on the ending, I came in on that scene where Leatherface’s leg gets cut. And is that how this ends? She’s escaping in the back of truck, but now insane and he’s dancing with the chainsaw?

BJD: It’s a nice touch isn’t it?

ES: Holy shit. Just holy shit.

[After some processing time.]

ES: I would say it’s a very unique horror movie in that it does capture the psychotic violence that takes place in America that you’re always hoping you’ll never encounter. And I think that’s why I felt it so much at the end from her perspective, because this is your fucking nightmare. That you’re going to be captured, tortured and nearly killed, screaming in the back of a truck, being driven away after a night of terror. But let me ask, how was it to watch the movie with someone who hadn’t seen it before?

BJD: Exactly what I thought would happen happened. The film is kind of weird at first, and kind of stoner-ish and real-time, which let us make jokes with a false sense of security. And that would slowly fade away as the utter terror of the movie took over. So, hypothesis proven. Conclusion?

ES: Well, at least I can say I’ve now seen the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Subscribe now

This Monday writing prompt is for paid subscribers. Paid subscribers can also book a one-on-one chat or Zoom with Emily, schedule permitting. Book it here.

Putting books aside for a moment, I also write scripts with my partner. Some are adaptations, some are originals. People ask me how does that literally work? As if they envision us side-by-side at the laptop like the Gershwin brothers with all hands on the keys.

The truth is most of the work is first done on a beat board—index cards taped to a board or wall to hash out the major beats. (Skip this step of screenwriting at your own peril.) We’ll drink Red Bulls, discuss, act out, argue, and move cards until we’re both happy enough to start writing. And the writing stage? It’s passed between us by the act. He takes the Final Draft file, then I take the Final Draft file and so on. That means there are days at a time we don’t know what the other is up to and that’s when things happen, as it did with an original script this week.

Emily: How is the draft going?

Brian: We’ll need a new final act.

Emily: Why?

Brian: The antagonist and protagonist became friends.

Emily: How?! They wanted to kill each other.

Brian: They started talking and they ended up getting along.

While writing a novel, it’s not that much different. The distinction is just the person you might be arguing about the next plot turn with is yourself.

I generally have two parts of myself when I’m at the computer: the part that wants to do everything as I envisioned it and take the straightest road to my destination, and the part that wants to rebel. She’s the one letting scenes run too long, dialogue get crazy, and the characters do things I didn’t mean for them to do! Both sides are important. The editorial taskmaster can’t win every time, or the book will be a drag—for the writer and the reader. There’s something to be said for letting the characters or the plot persuade you to take a twisty and even treacherous path once in a while. A novel without spontaneity can feel very, very dull. Like being on a guided tour for 300 pages.

You have a certain obligation, I think, to protect your work even from yourself—to guard its originality, and not allow yourself to dampen its spirit by chopping out all of the impulsive or curious moments.

This week…

Read more

I think I fell into being a novelist because serial relationships have always kind of suited me. And the relationship with a novel you’re writing—six months to two years—has around the same lifespan.

We covered when to know your book is done, as in pencils down. But pros here know that’s only the start of a book’s life. There’ll be agent submissions, and agent edits, then publisher’s edits. And then hopefully publicity. That’s when it goes right, and it is still a lot of work. It’s easy to stay stuck in a novel, especially during the submission and edits stage—unready to move on. You can feel like you’re in a time loop of small changes and final touches.

But you have to keep writing, so when do you let your head turn and start working on that new thing? (And I know you nonfiction writers are staring at your slutty writing schedules packed with book proposals, articles, and pitches, and asking what’s the big deal? For fiction writers, it is different.)

One of the reasons novelists have to start right away on a new project is to avoid large gaps in our careers. Because of publishing’s still-seasonal schedule and the length of time it takes to set up a book deal and then get it out in the world, you really must keep writing. If you get caught up in promoting and haven’t started anything new, it’ll take you awhile to come back down to earth again, and get back to your regular life before you roll up your sleeves.

For me, with my new novel, this happened once I got agent notes back — and two final notes from my partner — that wound up being MSG for the whole book. A couple of hours of final touches and it felt like the book was ready. And the very next day I wrote the first fresh page for something completely different. Now, a single page isn’t a relationship of course. But you never know what it could become.

As an exercise…

Read more

A lot of times we start writing with a big concept in mind rather than the details: the conflicts, nuances of a character or their story. That’s understandable. Concepts are exciting. But a concept can quickly put down its foot and say, “I’m the most important thing here.” And yet, a job or career is instant world-building and also puts your character in interaction with others.

Not only will your character’s chosen field free up your narrative space for other things, it’s something you can always come back to when you’re lost. What are your character’s actual life skills? Who do they tend to meet or cross paths with, and how can you use those to accelerate the plot?

This is far from nonnegotiable—sometimes you’re writing a character ungrounded in life—maybe their path is still uncertain. And yet a job can be easy shorthand for your character’s desires: thwarted, achieved, or otherwise.

That said there are possible downsides. Since writers do stick to what they know more often than not, the campus novel is well-covered territory. Likewise, giving your characters the job of “novelist” isn’t the flex you think it is after fifty years of postmodernism. To do either means you should try for a big swing. I already took “Campus novel but add a rabies-like virus.”

Read more

During the industry strike that inspired this Substack, we discovered Kristoffer Borgli’s Sick of Me, at a video store no less. We instantly bonded with the twisted Norwegian sensibility and, from our couch, even declared Borgli the new Buñuel. Of course, there are personal reasons for that, as you’ll see from our 2023 commentary that we’re re-posting here. In the film Signe works in a café in Oslo. Thomas, her oblivious boyfriend, is a conceptual artist getting famous for his installations of stolen furniture. Suffering as his nameless plus one at dinner parties and gallery openings, Signe hatches a Munchausian plan to attain her own media-friendly notoriety, one that includes taking a medication that will eventually alter her life.

It will be interesting to see how Borgli settles into studio filmmaking with The Drama, and its megawatt stars Zendaya and Robert Pattinson, when it releases this April 3rd.

Brian J Davis: Emily Schultz, what’s it like to have a boyfriend who is a famous conceptual artist?

Emily Schultz: I don’t know. It’s been so long since then.

BJD: I know! And I decided I want to talk about being shitty-famous and my shitty-famous breakdown ten years ago. I have never done this because the only thing worse than being shitty-famous, is talking about being shitty-famous.

ES: You should define shitty-famous versus—

BJD: It’s a couple of things. One, I’ve made some pretty good art in my time. But I got famous for my dumbest art. That doesn’t feel so good. Also, at the peak of everything, I was doing nothing but press for months, and it really wasn’t the same as having a good career. I was merely painfully available.

ES: Honestly, if anything, you made way more of a living as an artist when you were an unknown.

BJD: And that was feeding into my breakdown moment. I was being profiled by People Magazine, just like Chris Burden would be. At the same time your father was dying. So, I realized none of this matters. I just wanted to get through it, and maybe it would end. And then a couple of weeks after that I had a 12-hour day of interviews. Nine a.m. with the UK. Ended the day at 9 p.m. talking to someone in Australia. And then I lay down on the bed and screamed into the pillow because I never wanted to hear myself talking ever again. Then the next day I stopped. I kept my commitments and whatever exhibition schedule was set, but I decided I didn’t want this. I’m going back to writing. Being a DP. Anything. It took me a while to figure out I wasn’t upset with myself, or my work. It was the bullshit coming out of my mouth in order to partake in this thing.

ES: That’s the intensity of viral fame.

BJD: Fame is all viral now. Viral fame may be a redundant term.

ES: But there are famous people who are still permanently famous. We’re not them.

BJD: That’s celebrity. I constitutionally couldn’t be. I remember after my epiphany there’d be emails from Buzzfeed and The Guardian, or The Daily Mirror, and I would delete them, unread.

ES: What the fuck?

BJD: I would! And it was total freedom. And now that I realize that those emails aren’t coming back… I kind of regret that part a bit.

ES: It was also the worst year in my life and I know that only made things more stressful.

BJD: This is what this film really set off inside me. That I wanted to think about that time and how it changed us, almost physically.  And how culpable I was in it. I was entirely culpable! Being shitty-famous is an unforced error, like Signe in this film. But there is a difference between me and them.

ES: What’s the difference?

BJD: The difference is one day I lay down on the bed and screamed into the void I had manufactured.

ES: You’re right. There is an immense parallel between this movie and what was happening in our lives ten years ago. He’s getting famous. She is falling apart. Literally, pieces falling off of her.

BJD: I feel horrible about the gender dynamics that, despite your entire remarkable career, my quick burn internet fame was somehow important enough that your publisher at the time included me in your bio. 

ES: [Grumpily] Multiple publishers have included you in my bio.

BJD: I’d dump me at that point!

ES: It only made me work harder in order to defeat you.

BJD: There will be people who read this and say “Nice problems to have,” and that’s part of the problem too. That just reinforces that fame is the greatest value to achieve in life. Like, “How dare you consider it an illness or addiction?” You know what? You do a 2 a.m. Skype with German morning television. See how fulfilled it makes you.

ES: I don’t want us to portray this film as entirely about fame. It is about self and representation but also—

BJD: We haven’t even pressed play yet we’ve been thinking about it so much.

ES: Play it!

BJD: And welcome to Norway’s idea of a romantic comedy!

ES: This opening scene is playing so differently for me now that I know what’s going to happen.

BJD: They’re performing a dinner out as part of his art. It sets the tone for the entire film. And, interesting, she asks for credit as part of his art early on.

ES: This opening montage where he’s demeaning her in all these little ways.

BJD: And big ways.

ES: The resentment between them. It’s so well acted.

BJD: I wonder if that’s because of the no fuss no muss story. This is more or less a short story amount of plot and leaving that much space for the actors and not burying us with too much backstory keeps them in the moment all the time.

ES: Oh my god. The dog attack scene.

BJD: And she tells stories after about being the hero. This is why we’re so attached to her. As writers, we’re constantly polishing whatever story we need to tell during a day.

ES: Not just writers. Everyone is rewriting their experience now to suit their needs in whatever moment. The first time I saw this I thought she was so traumatized by the attack she couldn’t remember correctly.

BJD: She’s so alone that she needs to believe she was the hero. And that’s why we give her these 97 minutes. She’s covered in someone’s blood, and doesn’t clean up just so she can go home and maybe get her boyfriend’s attention. And even then—

ES: He takes so long! Agonizing minutes before he realizes she’s covered in blood. Really, now that I watch this a second time, I see that Signe is acting these moments.

BJD: I still feel sympathy for her, but nothing she is doing is accidental. She is contrived, but we’re all in a grandly contrived culture now.  Oh my God. Their food is so clean. I bet it was foraged.

ES: She’s saying the quiet parts out loud now at dinner parties.

BJD: Attention is giving her power! “At least it’s a small gallery, so the reception won’t look empty.”

ES: He did change the show title though, based on her criticism.

BJD: Everyone gets grace notes in this film. These are not cardboard characters acting out a thesis.

ES: The fake allergy scene. I love this scene. Actually, I’m in love with this entire movie.

BJD: You know, it was just ten or twelve years ago that only TV shows needed good ratings. People didn’t need ratings.

ES: Oh my god,  you’re right.

BJD: I looked at the reviews. Critics either loved the movie or they loathed it. And I think those ones did misinterpret it. In no way is it saying there aren’t people with lethal allergies, for example. It’s just charting Signe’s lowest common denominator approach for recognition.

ES: And he is still not acknowledging that she helped him with his art!

BJD: “I try not to let it control my life.” She’s starting to speak in prepared statements. There is a medical term for this happening in public. [Checks Google] Depersonalization! Seeing or hearing yourself in the third person. Have you ever felt that onstage or TV?

ES: I never felt that until I had to promote a novel during the pandemic. During Zooms I would feel lost in the moment, not sure if I was saying something I had said in a podcast that morning, or five minutes before.

BJD: I love everything about this movie. I would risk friendships to recommend this film.

ES: It puts us so completely in Signe’s world that we can’t help but empathize with her. We’re right there along with—

BJD: Her terrible decision making! Like deciding to take banned Russian antidepressants that cause a disfiguring skin disease, for attention.

ES: In the news article on the disease there was a flash frame of her with the condition. Everything in this movie so thought out.

BJD: It’s as streamlined as Ikea furniture.

ES: Everyone is this film is so disconnected or lonely. Even the dark web drug dealer wants Signe to hang out with him and his concerned mom.

BJD: And she does. Again, this film hands out the grace notes and it’s the secret to these kinds of characters.

ES: Lidexol. So White Noise.

BJD: One of the great reasons to buy the Blu-ray is the director interview and learning things like: Lidexol is based on the Norwegian word for “suffering.”

ES: That’s what really clicked in this film for me. What starts off as a game, or a crazy scheme, becomes an addiction.

BJD: Shout-out to Kristine Kujath Thorp. She’s performing a version of Signe “discovering” the onset of her skin disease, so it’s a performance within a performance and that is so fucking hard to do and she does it.

ES: One thing I want to say about that performance aspect of Signe is you can set out to do something so hurtful to yourself and still wind up genuinely helpless.

BJD: Let’s not forget to say: this movie is also completely hilarious.

[Thomas poses like a doofus during a photoshoot with stolen furniture he’s going to stack in a gallery.]

BJD: And that is shitty-famous, folks.

ES: It’s about vanity too. Look at him. He’s doing this while she’s destroying her beauty.

BJD: I don’t know if she’s destroying her beauty. During this first stage of her disease, her scarring is ornate and even floral.

ES: Well, she’s making herself more unique, I suppose?

BJD: Okay, here is my favorite thing this film does. As she’s making herself sick, she has all these fantasies of becoming famous for it: TV appearances, an alternative modeling career, a sold-out funeral. And when I first heard the plot of this film my expectations of what it would be like were more in tune to her fantasy scenes, and it’s not. Her fantasies fail. The film undercuts those. Her modeling career isn’t like the fantasy, it’s in fact a disaster. Her fantasy version of “success from illness” is what a lazier satirist would have stayed with.

ES: This is the best scene. This is every moment I’ve ever had with a doctor compressed into one.

BJD: A beautiful cameo from Anders Danielsen Lie, the costar of The Worst Person in the World. And now her sexy hospital selfie! My brain and heart have melted into a pool of confused awe.

ES: But her boyfriend hasn’t even told her friends she’s in the hospital.

BJD: And he brings her his cover story to make her feel better!

ES: “I mentioned you too. Not by name. But indirectly.”

BJD: One of my favorite scenes—he starts performing as the supportive boyfriend in front of a swooning woman on the bus.

ES: The sex scene. It’s such a tragedy. She fantasizes about him asking “How are you doing?” and it’s enough to make her orgasm. “Tell me about my funeral. Are people turned away?”

BJD: The critics who called this a cruel film aren’t that wrong. But it’s cruel with purpose, in the way Buñuel was.

ES: I feel like I’ve known so many of these characters. Intimately.

BJD: It has the simplicity of a myth to it. She gets what she wants. She’s famous. Then she destroys it because she can’t stop making herself sicker.

ES: That’s really my take. It’s about addiction, not to drugs, but to behavior.

BJD: My favorite boyfriend moment. He asks her not use that corner of their apartment for her interview and photoshoot because that’s where he did his interview and photoshoot!

ES: The face-melting nightmare. Got me again.

BJD: The key to Signe is that she doesn’t have inauthentic emotions. Even if she’s causing her own illness, she’s feeling things authentically. Thomas tells her—casually, offhandedly—that he thinks she’s brave for publicly talking about her skin disease and she breaks down. It’s the greatest moment of her life.

ES: This is my favorite image in the film. Walking across the square in slow motion, famous, tossing her hair. She’s disfigured herself for this moment, but she’s ecstatic. And now, like a novelist at Barnes & Noble, she’s arranging her magazine cover to be on top.

BJD: You know, maybe this is the remake of A Star is Born that we actually needed. A really dark, Norwegian comedy version of a A Star is Born.

ES: Now he’s walking into a furniture store despite the fact he is famous in Norway for stealing furniture.

BJD: He can’t stop. Neither of them can stop.

ES: I’m not questioning it. I’m marveling at it!

BJD: Now her interview scene at the diverse modeling agency. It is as good, if not better than any Buñuel/Carriere scene for impeccable farce. Every beat is perfect and I can’t even breathe while watching it. Here’s an example of cruelty with purpose. It’s the modeling agent who is so cruel but she thinks she’s the best person in the world.  She’s going to injure her arm patting herself on the back.

ES: Signe is asking her friends to toast to her bravery and modeling contract. This isn’t a fantasy?

BJD: It isn’t. She’s really like this now. “Thanks. We know what H&M is.” Scandinavian shade is the coldest.

ES: When I saw this before, I thought she and Thomas were on the same side—but they’re not. He’s only angry at the friends for what they say about him.

BJD: During the photoshoot she almost wins. I love that they let her get so close to a win, with everyone sharing these “I can’t believe she’s actually good” expressions, before it all falls apart again.

ES: Is bleeding from the scalp normcore?

BJD: And that’s how you feel after a 12-hour interview day! I think this fashion shoot crew are cowards. Benetton would be photographing the hell out of her collapsed on the ground in a puddle of blood. That would be a Benetton centerfold in 1993.

ES: I never did it, but I remember girls literally collected Benetton ads for their lockers.

BJD: They’re such a forgotten part of radicalization in the 1990s. All things aside, “Regardless” is an amazing name for an overpriced bullshit fashion line.

ES: I said before her fantasies are about connecting. I take that back. Not in this fantasy when she confesses everything and gets a book deal.

BJD: She’s hoping to do the American-style hustle of playing both sides of sin and redemption. But it’s not going to work in Europe! These people invented Krampus.

ES: I’m surprised that the boyfriend sticks around through everything.

BJD: Again, this movie actually has so much heart. They have each other.

ES: I think it might not be the best relationship.

BJD: Show me a good relationship!

ES: I’m trying!

BJD: We all are.

Subscribe now

This paid edition of Medium Cool has been unlocked for you by Lou Reed’s Nephew, Jim Hanas’s newsletter about work, art, and tech.

Subscribe here

We’ve all been at a party in a great conversation circle, but then you say something you think is brilliant or cutting and the response is not what you’d hoped. The mood cools, people look around and mumble things like, “I really need to go say hello to my ex’s new girlfriend.”

Readers can also react this way to when you make a misstep. For either fiction or nonfiction creating tone is about being precise in your word choices and sentence structures, and finding a rhythm that suits the genre and material, but it’s more than that too. It’s about decision making and reading the mood of the room you’ve created. If you’ve been told you have “tone problems,” it’s usually a signal that you need to go back over your whole project and smooth it out—that you nailed the tone in one place but not in others.

In my forthcoming novel, the biggest change after getting my agent’s notes was the death of the most likable character in the novel. I did set it up so that the death had impact on the reader but let’s say I went too far. The novel itself is a dark satire. Not a meditation on the brutality of humanity. After all, I’m Emily Schultz, not Cormac McCarthy. It was too heavy.

Expectations will dictate the tone, but so will the genre, so let’s look at that first. You’ll notice each of these examples is just two or three sentences, but they convey the vibe of the larger piece. Let’s look at a standard mystery, a satirical thriller, and dystopian fiction.

“In the restaurant car all was in readiness. Poirot and M Bouc sat together on one side of a table. The doctor sat across the aisle.” Murder on the Orient Express, Agatha Christie

Tone: Orderly and assured. Just the facts.

“Mix the nitro with sawdust, and you have a nice plastic explosive. A lot of folks mix their nitro with cotton and add Epsom salts as a sulfate. This works too. Some folks, they use paraffin mixed with nitro. Paraffin has never, ever worked for me.” Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk.

Tone: Dark but casual, fast, conversational.

“He tried to orient himself: Was he looking north or south? It was like dragging a fork through gruel. The ash smeared the city’s palette into a gray hush on the best of days, but introduce clouds and a little bit of precip and the city became an altar to obscurity.” Zone One, Colson Whitehead

Tone: Desolate, ominous, but grounded in everyday details.

To understand and practice tone, try a couple of these exercises.

1. Identify your genre and try to write two sentences that embody the genre and go with your character’s conundrum (or your own, if writing nonfiction). Think about pace—how quick or slow you want the progression to feel. Languorous and dreamy, or edgy and quick?

2. Write about an event or something that has meaning for the protagonist, but which they are trying to downplay the impact of. Focus on sensory details and expressing how the person feels by using images or carefully selected verbs, rather than stating it.

3. Write two sentences about a character kicking or catching a ball (or choose your favorite sport). Try to inject as much speed and vigor into the words as you can to make your reader feel very immediately placed in the scene.

Tone is style, vibe, mood. Discomfort is part of the pallet and at least in writing you can always backspace over it and try again for the right mix... unlike when you say the wrong thing at a party.

Subscribe now

The chat this week is scheduled for Thursday at 6 p.m. EST. Pop in, say hello, and tell me a bit about your project. You can wait for the new thread email to remind you or bookmark this link: https://www.themediumcool.com/chat

When Medium Cool launched this writing group, I wanted it to be a place for professional writers to be able to check in, unwind, and talk. It has been that and I want to thank everyone who does stop by to read or chat—it’s been a balm for my writing life this year to connect with you all. That said, I know a lot of people who are just starting to write also read this, and you might not know the first steps of publishing.

So to the lifers: sit these questions out for now, or share your wisdom in the comments. What advice would you give a new writer asking questions like…

Do I need an agent?

Do you have a book yet?

Maybe. Do I have to finish the book first?

Yes, you absolutely do. Go finish it. Pitches and unfinished manuscripts (called “partials” in our lingo) are reserved for nonfiction books, annoying personalities who rode a zeitgeist, or very established fiction writers. In the past this was less rigid, but in 2026 publishers have lots of options and will always favor a finished book.

Do I need a freelance editor to go over my book?

It can’t hurt to have a manuscript polished, but it can be expensive. If your budget is tight or you’re just starting out there’s an amazing number of resources on Substack, often for as little as 10 bucks. There’s—cough—IWG, but I also recommend Amy Shearn and Kathryn Mockler.

Do I need an agent?

I promise. We’ll get there. But first you have to ask…

What do I want my publishing experience to be?

You need to ask this first because publishing in 2026 is a very large thing, but it is not one thing. I think of it like ecosystems. There are five large presses in North America who do the things you think publishing does: own tall buildings in New York staffed by people who live in Brooklyn, and they publish everything from literary fiction to memoir, to history books, as well as thrillers, horror, and romance. But there are also dozens of large independent presses and hundreds of small indies across the country who do the exact same thing. If you’re an academic, there are also great university presses. The difference among all of them is going to be resources.

So…agent?

If you want the resources of the large presses then yes, you really do need to get an agent. Follow Kate McKean for more info on how to do that.

What are the benefits of the big presses?

They have their own marketing and publicity departments, and their own distribution. You will get paid an advance on sales that will be anywhere from the cost of a used 2012 Subaru, to around a year’s salary. If there’s a lot of interest, the book may be pre-empted with a low six-figure offer. About 0.04 percent of books every year crack the million-dollar advance ceiling. If that seems crazy, it’s usually done as a form of marketing, so every bookstore in the country will stock it. (Given that result, it’s actually relatively cheap as an investment for the publisher.)

So I’ll get rich?

The funny thing is no one knows what will sell or not.

What are the benefits of the small presses?

The people who work in the small press are absolutely dedicated to this business and often have a niche: experimental, literary, or genre. That means they can put your book into the hands of the right readers. They are often open to unagented submissions but the advances will be not be big. That said, you may actually earn royalties, have more say in your book’s production, and small press publishers are always happy to share a joint with you.

What kind of publishing is right for me?

It takes a while for most of us to figure that out! So many times I’ve watched new writers work their way down a list, starting at what they think the top literary agency is or the most prestigious magazine, submitting to those first and picking up rejection letters and PTSD along the way. Observe where other writers who are at your level are placing their work, especially if you like them and feel you have something in common. What is in their bios?

Can’t I just use AI to create books and flood the self-published market?

I’m no expert but over the last 25 years I have seen every reputed “publishing killer” start-up, app, or tech company totally flame out. Save for the effect of e-books on the mass market paperback, publishing is pretty much the same as always and that must be down to something more powerful than mere nostalgia. Maybe it just works.

Subscribe now

The chat this week is scheduled for Thursday at 6 p.m. EST. Pop in, say hello, and tell me a bit about your project. You can wait for the new thread email to remind you or bookmark this link: https://www.themediumcool.com/chat

For all the thousands of vampire films out there it’s surprising not one of them has won a non-technical Oscar yet—especially given how deep the mythos sits in our collective psyche, drawing on the cinematic appeal of sex, death, and otherness. The genre is so worn in and pliable that it has long given filmmakers a framework to say whatever they want, from the profound to the insipid, at budgets of 10 bucks to tens of millions. The only rule for inclusion here is that one of us had to have seen the movie, even if we occasionally needed a YouTube clip reminder. If we’ve missed your favorite, take wing to the comments section.

JUMP TO THE TOP 20

45. Zoltan - Hound of Dracula (1977)

BRIAN J DAVIS: I bet you didn’t know that Dracula had a dog?

EMILY SCHULTZ: And he had trouble rehoming him?

BJD: The hilarious thing is a studio would now make a movie this stupid, but spend $60 million and take the fun out of it.

44. Underworld (2003)

BJD: Social commentary! But the filmmaking is everything I hate about the aughts: Matrix teal, big beats, mall bondage wear, British actors saying ridiculous things.

ES: Action as a genre is really forgettable. I have a gun. I jump through the air.

BJD: Harsh.

ES: This is much more action than horror. And how dare they do this to Bill Nighy and Michael Sheen.

43. Andy Warhol’s Blood for Dracula (1974)

BJD: After Udo Kier died, I revisited this one. He is hilarious in this.

ES: Dracula as a needy stunt queen. It works!

42. Blade II (2002)

BJD: Okay, Blade I or II? Which is better? This is going to be a battle of “blood rave” versus “Massive Attack and Mos Def” entrance music! I still work out to that track.

ES: This film seems so generic now!

BJD: Come on. We only went to see Blade II because you’re such a del Toro fan girl.

41. Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter (2001)

BJD: Low-budget and high charm from Canada’s capital city Ottawa! We saw it at the Bloor Cinema in Toronto, mostly because you lived across the street at the time.

ES: My favorite thing was being able to read what was playing on the marquee from my living room window. So this is…like Suicide Girls meets Monty Python?

BJD: I’m including this mostly because I’m happy someone had fun in Ottawa somehow.

40. Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat (1989)

BJD: I saw this back on VHS and don’t know why it’s not a more well-known cult hit. There are a few vampire Westerns, though one would think vampires would avoid deserts.

39. Vampire’s Kiss (1988)

ES: I was really into Nicolas Cage when I was in eighth grade, because of Raising Arizona, and sort of remember this, but also, don’t.

BJD: I rewatched it a couple of years ago. It is not as good as I remembered. Insane Cage performance: Yes! But the satirical bite, if you will, is kind of weak. It’s a comedy but not funny.

38. Ferat Vampire (1982)

ES: Wow. This is very ’80s. Cars were so loved they’re alive, and in this film, undead.

BJD: In Soviet Union, car drains you!

37. Interview with the Vampire (1994)

ES: In the words of Norm MacDonald, “Not gay enough!”

BJD: I saw this in Detroit with a row full of Detroit goths in front of me. Real ones with fang implants, and like crows in their hair. And they were shouting “Bullshit!” and “This sucks!” throughout. They screamed like they had been staked when Guns N’ Roses came on during the credits.

36. Vamp (1986)

ES: Cliff from My Bodyguard!

BJD: Rudy from Meatballs!

ES: I definitely saw this at a sleepover. It’s After Hours, “but make it vampires.”

BJD: You could say it’s an analogy about a group of young men who travel to a club downtown and become part of a community that likes dancing, Grace Jones, and Keith Haring art.

35. John Carpenter’s Vampires (1998)

BJD: The closest we’ll get to “Cormac McCarthy’s Vampires.” But still, kind of on the waning end of Carpenter’s powers.

ES: That’s the problem of having made some of the greatest films of the ’80s—the bar is high and yes, I’d rather watch The Thing.

34. From Dusk Till Dawn (1996)

ES: Only…and I mean only in the 1990s could this movie have existed.

BJD: I can’t believe you haven’t seen this, because: Salma Hayek dance. [Cues up on YouTube]

ES: Okay, my jaw went slack for a minute. No! Not the toes! I need a Magic Mike chaser.

33. Love at First Bite (1979)

BJD: I checked with my mom and apparently when I was six and we watched this on the ABC Movie of the Week together, and I loved it way too much…. Richard Benjamin, the communism jokes. That was the first time she thought, “This one is the weird kid.”

32. Twilight Saga: Eclipse (2010)

BJD: Okay, back in the aughts it’s safe to say we’re total snobs, far above anything to do with Twilight.

ES: Correct. But then we end up jumping in on the third movie, totally lost. Why do My Chemical Romance control all the vampires? Why is Anna Kendrick in this for one scene? Why are Abercrombie & Fitch models fighting?

BJD: What happened was my niece was staying with us and how do you entertain a then 14-year-old? We take her to Twilight: Eclipse. And I have to say, seeing the movie through her eyes? She believed in all-powerful love for two hours. And that’s when I accepted the power of Twilight.

31. Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992)

BJD: You’re not a fan of this movie?

ES: There was so much hype leading up to it, and then for me it was such a letdown. I’m not dissing on actors I love, but in a vampire movie, you want chemistry.

BJD: Oh, I think wolf-mode Gary Oldman had lots of chemistry!

30. Requiem for a Vampire (1972)

ES: Oh I remember this one. They end up in a saucy castle. It’s episodic right?

BJD: “Dreamlike” would be charitable. The only Jean Rollin film that is almost a proper film. There’s no beating the surreal opening of two clowns having a gunfight.

29. Abigail (2024)

BJD: I’m still angry about this. A great fun movie kneecapped at the box office by a horrible ad campaign.

ES: It will be a cult film one day.

28. The Blood Splattered Bride (1972)

BJD: You know, girl meets vampire girl, they kill men, make out in a grave. That idea.

ES: Every woman has that moment in her life, that’s why these plots are popular!

27. Blade (1998)

ES: Oh my god, Stephen Dorff, the blood rave…. The sequel has a young and clean-looking Norman Reedus. But this really is the best Blade.

26. Def by Temptation (1990)

ES: It’s Dwayne Wayne!

BJD: Def by Temptation is awesome. It’s nearly a Spike Lee film—Ernest Dickerson as DP, Samuel L. Jackson. And it looks like an ultra-violent Luther Vandross video.

ES: I didn’t see this. But why didn’t I see this!

25. Nadja (1994)

BJD: As close to a Hal Hartley vampire film as you can get. Elina Löwensohn, Martin Donovan.

ES: It’s gorgeous. I need to watch this now that I have a TV larger than nine inches.

BJD: I’m on my second Pixelvision camera that I bought that doesn’t work! I’m jealous they got theirs to work.

24. Blacula (1972)

BJD: Blacula is exploitation as much as Ganja & Hess is authentic, but still there’s so much awesome. The slow-motion vampire running down the hall? Childhood nightmares courtesy of WKBD Detroit.

23. Cronos (1992)

ES: Ron Perlman! You just don’t have a del Toro movie without him!

BJD: Really, this is every girl’s relationship with their grandfather. “What’s that weird machine connected to you? Are you dead?”

22. Lifeforce (1985)

BJD: People can read our full talk about this one here, but I’ll leave it with your memorable blurb…

ES: It’s like a horny Ghostbusters.

21. The Lost Boys (1987)

BJD: Okay, Lost Boys. I don’t get your love for it.

ES: It’s like a giant grilled cheese sandwich. There’s nothing original, but all the elements are satisfying.

BJD: This is your Highlander. I accept it.

ES: Exactly.

20. Shadow of the Vampire (2000)

ES: I think this is fused in my mind with Herzog’s version of Nosferatu.

BJD: But this one has Cary Elwes as the cinematographer saying the immortal line, “The camera is loaded…and so am I.” And of course, Willem Dafoe would go on to…

19. Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu (2024)

ES: I admit it. I fell asleep.

BJD: An honest response to the first half. That part really put me off in how traditional it was then…Robert Eggers goes the full Georges Bataille’s Eroticism, and it is lunatic, and worth waiting for.

ES: I will rewatch.

18. Alucarda (1977)

BJD: Mexico knows how do a vampire movie: Nuns on fire, goat men, exorcisms, blood-drenched vampires. Frolicking in a glen.

ES: I’d roll down a hill with Alucarda too!

17. Vampyros Lesbos (1971)

ES: It’s really the soundtrack, isn’t it?

BJD: Life-changing music! Maybe I like vampire movie soundtracks better than vampire movies. But Jess Franco actually made good movies, better than this. She Killed in Ecstasy is amazing.

ES: Lesbian vampires do not move quickly.

BJD: As in mortal life!

ES: You know what, if this was all you had before the internet…it really delivers on the title.

16. Rod Hardy’s Thirst (1979)

BJD: I really like this Australian gem. It’s a TV movie budget, but it’s about an elite group of blood drinkers searching for a new leader—a descendent of Elizabeth Báthory who has no idea she is. It’s more emotionally intense than you think. And the human farm scenes with all these Australian hippies!

ES: We’re maybe only two years away from the discovery there really are blood drinking elites.

BJD: Salmon sperm is a slippery slope. Next is “Hey guys, working-class blood on the skin gives it such a sheen.”

15. Park Chan-wook’s Thirst (2009)

ES: Holy shit, I remember that was an intense film.

BJD: All Park Chan-wook’s films are beloved, except for this one and I don’t know why. It really pushes the vampire conventions.

14. Ganja & Hess (1973)

ES: Okay, I can’t say if I saw this or not, but there are images in this that are very burned in my mind. I must have.

BJD: This is another gem I saw because we grew up outside of Detroit and WKBD played this once a month. I believe my first joint at fourteen was while watching this at one in the afternoon. And it’s still astounding.

ES: This is what you get when you ask an artist for a horror movie.

13. Habit (1998)

ES: We saw this at a film festival held in a mental health hospital.

BJD: But we weren’t patients there! They just had a cool festival.

ES: I remember really liking it.

BJD: It’s one of the better vampire-as-addiction films. And a great 1990s NYC indie time capsule—“Kelly Reichardt as Party Girl.”

12. Kiss of the Damned (2012)

BJD: This is a great film from Xan Cassavetes. I think it’s the only contemporary movie to capture 1970s Euro-cult: the music and mood is stunning.

ES: This movie is about how hot you’ll get for someone and overlook every red flag. Good date movie.

11. Lair of the White Worm (1988)

BJD: My first Ken Russell movie! According to Hugh Grant, Russell was hammered by noon every day and would tell the cast, “The script is shit, so make it up.”

ES: I hated this the first time you made me watch it. Ten times in, I’m coming around to it.

BJD: There are pagan priestesses with strap-ons and it is still not the weirdest Hugh Grant movie.

ES: Which one is?

BJD: Have you seen Love, Actually?

10. Salem’s Lot (1979)

ES: I didn’t see this as a kid. I saw it as an adult. But if I had seen it as a kid…it probably would have been as formative for me as The Exorcist was for you.

BJD: I was a creepy floaty vampire kid, so this representation really speaks to me still!

9. Sinners (2025)

ES: It’s not a perfect movie. But it’s a really entertaining one.

BJD: Again, the music history montage—sublime.

ES: The ending is a little rough around the edges.

BJD: Novelists! You’re never happy with endings.

8. The Hunger (1983)

BJD: How can I account for discovering Bauhaus, Catherine Deneuve, and male-gaze lesbianism all in one film?

ES: This movie tells the truth. When two women kiss for the first time, opera music plays out of nowhere.

BJD: My favorite Hunger story is that mega producer Don Simpson was up on coke at 4 a.m. when The Hunger came on cable and he thought it was the best movie ever made, then hired Tony Scott that morning to direct Top Gun.

7. Byzantium (2012)

BJD: If you like what risks Sinners took with the vampire mythos, you’ll love Byzantium.

ES: Vampires go to gender studies!

BJD: Vampire Women versus the Vampire Manosphere.

ES: Caleb Landry Jones and Saoirse together, that is some twee hotness!

6. Only Lovers Left Alive (2013)

ES: I like this more with every rewatch—it’s a subtle vampire movie. And again, about addiction.

BJD: Addiction to art! Which is a message I love, and I love how much it loves Detroit for what it is. It doesn’t project.

5. Daughters of Darkness (1971)

BJD: The Citizen Kane of Belgian lesbian vampire movies.

ES: I still can’t believe Delphine Seyrig leaves her vampire girlfriend for the boring blonde!

4. Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979)

BJD: I’ll say it. Werner Herzog’s best narrative film. He dives fully into German consciousness and gives us an apocalyptic movie about fascism as an infection.

ES: Damn. The images in this film. The caskets on the ship and the rats. Haunting.

3. Let the Right One In (2008)

ES: I really love this film.

BJD: It is so profoundly haunting. Only Scandinavians could make the most heartbreaking kinder-vampire movie.

ES: It’s a testament to the power of loneliness.

BJD: Okay, let’s watch the cat lady scene, because there is humor in it!

2. Near Dark (1987)

ES: The most perfect vampire movie. It is everything you want in a vampire movie.

BJD: The Wild Bunch as vampires. Flat out, the fucking best. Bill Paxton, The Cramps, Tangerine Dream, Kathryn Bigelow.

1. What We Do in the Shadows (2014)

BJD: How can you make another vampire movie after this?

ES: I don’t know how to talk about things I genuinely love.

BJD: The secret to this movie is that it’s not just funny. There is melancholic gravity throughout.

[Emily bursts out laughing]

ES: No there’s not.

BJD: There are stakes to the storytelling!

Subscribe now

It’s been thirty years since Apple last sponsored a writer, going back to this very real, very 1990s PowerBook ad featuring Henry Rollins. (See the full ad below.)

Unfortunately, that also means professionals have been on our own to acquire and maintain the tools of our job. Ever since I traded my 1997 Power Mac for my first laptop, I have a) never bought new, and b) resisted writing at a proper desk. We’ll talk more about the physical effects of writing more below, but first let’s make sure you’re not wasting money.

Buy used

Since my partner and I run a production company we’ve invested in a well-made expensive desktop computer for multimedia work that will last ten years. Laptops, however, are poorly made aluminum butterflies and they will inevitably break whether you buy new at $2000 or used at $400. None of them really survive the pounding of daily writing either. So if you’re like me and you have a “one book, one dead laptop” motto then you should buy used: Mac of All Trades, OWC, and eBay are places to find great prices.

Keyboard ASMR

I’ve never been fond of the barely there flat keys of Apple laptops. I like a loud clacky keyboard that sounds like I’m filing an article about Watergate in All the President’s Men. I may never remember to plug mine in, but the mechanical keyboards loved by desktop gamers will give you that tactile satisfaction. Plus, it will add a few years of life to your laptop.

Do the Amoeba

Around our house I’m called “the Amoeba” because of my talent for falling into any spot or crevice for hours-long writing sessions. Whether I’m hunched at the kitchen table, cradled in a pouf in my son’s room, or standing at a counter, I can write. Obviously this is partly me self-treating ADHD, as I need to move around. But being an “anywhere but a desk” girl has its drawbacks: guaranteed physical torment.

Read more

Landing that first line is like executing a triple axel: it looks effortless but it is the result of years of hard work.

• “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.”

• “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.”

• “I rose up sopping wet from sleeping under the pouring rain, and something less than conscious, thanks to the first three of the people I’ve already named—the salesman and the Indian and the student—all of whom had given me drugs.”

The maxim “make your first line matter” is inescapable, especially for new writers. When I edited for Joyland, a grabber could lift a piece out of the inbox, but it always helped if the whole first paragraph sang as well. And the quality, of course, had to continue beyond that. With famous opening lines there’s also something of a retrospective effect: when a book becomes iconic so does its first line, first edition cover art, etc.

Of course, first impressions matter, and a captivating opening line can compel a reader to start your book or story. But during the first or second draft, how can you be sure that the beginning will be the one that stays? You wind up struggling to write the absolute best line you can, and eventually you put it in the garbage. As I progress in a project, I often realize I can start much later—that the early pages are just me convincing myself, and I inevitably wind up saying goodbye to some of them. Given this reality, is the emphasis on the first line a little unfair?

Years ago, I gave my creative writing students a full page of standout first lines, including the ones above. The main discussion was: how many of those authors wrote those lines from the outset, and how many revisited them after toiling away and finally understanding what they were truly trying to say?

I’m a strong advocate for stepping away when the work isn’t flowing. Some of my best opening lines have arrived while I was doing something else entirely. The opening for The Blondes came to me while walking home with heavy bags of groceries. I thought, “Women have stupid dreams…”—a reflection of my own feeling that I wanted everything at once: a great career as a writer, to become a parent, a great relationship, and even good meals that came from nowhere. (This was a couple of years before DoorDash.) This statement felt provocative, loaded, and even mean, yet I was sure it was deeply relatable to others. I went home, wrote it down, and never changed it. However, other openings were often changed several times, sometimes with the final first line even coming from my editors.

Read more

“Write what you know” does make sense for nonfiction. After all, you’re likely to be an expert on what you’re passionate about. But when you apply this to fiction writing the advice can turn into a liability. In college, before I learned to fictionalize enough, I once too accurately detailed a romance in a story I’d written. I deeply regret this, and not just because afterwards my ex-girlfriend, an artist, made a literal installation piece out of our breakup to set the record straight. A steel bed in a gallery with the words “You Lie” etched in it (proving who will win in an artist versus writer fight).

The problem of course was not that I lied—but that I hadn’t lied enough.

I shouldn’t have written what I knew. Fiction is by its definition lying. Good lying. And so in a novel you must invent. Write what you don’t know.

Of course, I’m not talking about stealing someone else’s story from Facebook, or appropriating a specific cultural voice not your own. I’m asking you to trust your imagination and curiosity. And if you don’t know the difference between the two approaches, social media will help you know which is which when you’re caught doing the wrong one.

This week I handed in my new novel to my agent and I’m a little exhausted. But I want to share some of the details of the novel to prove my point. After writing two Brooklyn-set mysteries in twelve months I was ready to leave for someplace else, in my imagination at least, and somewhere quite darker in a new thriller.

I’m not a serial killer, but anger has been one of my great obsessions as a topic. I’m also fascinated by what motivates people to do terrible things and why they think they won’t get caught.

I’m not an influencer, but I am a woman online and I obsess over my appearance more than I ever did before. It doesn’t help that the bra I browsed is now following me endlessly around the internet until it haunts me in my dreams.

I don’t live in San Francisco, but I felt comfortable setting my story in the Bay Area because I’ve visited family there often enough, walked its streets, watched it change, and even thought about moving there. It’s also a city on the edge of the world, ripe with bizarre crime history: the perfect city for the story of a serial killer falling in love. In San Francisco that could happen. In New York City, it’s less likely. (Dating is just harder here.)

A curiosity about how life is lived is pretty much a prerequisite to being a writer. All subjects have a door you can walk through that has some connection with your own world.

You do know what people feel, and how they react to various situations. And that part of the novel, yes, that does come from the what you know adage.

YouTube is my number one stop for nurturing a new obsession, especially ones that will help my writing. For the new novel, I watched a scary quantity of lock-picking videos.

For this week’s prompt, go to YouTube and seek out something you’re interested in (gardening, guitar repair, possessed dolls) but not an expert on. Try turning that subject into a scene or character detail—either for something new or that you’re already working on.

See what doors it opens up.

This was a free Independent Writing Group post! Paid members can also take part in the weekly chat. The next one is scheduled for this Thursday at 6pm, EST. You can wait for the new thread email to remind you or bookmark this link: https://www.themediumcool.com/chat

Subscribe now

Since we’re looking at bad writing advice this month it makes sense to ask: Where do writing rules come from anyway?

Editors certainly have their style bugaboos from so much reading, and creative writing teachers are often desperate to convey anything concrete about the art form. If something is pithy and short enough to fit on a coaster, it will get repeated, wrong or right. That’s just how humans learn—mostly through drink coasters. Does that mean it’s all subjective? It can be. There’s a great firing scene in the movie Full Frontal where David Hyde Pierce’s character is told, “You’ve mistaken your quirks for standards.”

One rule that is repeated so much it can now be considered a standard is: Show, don’t tell.

It is often the first piece of advice given to new writers, because active scenes are great. But follow this advice too much and it can steer your work towards being vague and underwritten, like a tired Ernest Hemingway. That comparison is not an accident. Hemingway had his own theory of spareness that came to be called The Iceberg Theory.

If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about, he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an iceberg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water.

No matter the branding, these rules favor a certain kind of writing: American modernism of the early twentieth century. This is when novels were being challenged—and changed—by new technology like films and television. A format that let us “see” the events. But that time is over, novels survived, and they are not scripts. If prose writing has a superpower it’s that there is room for your voice, and you can make clear statements anytime in your writing. Or you can lie. Unreliable narrators are more well liked than you think!

Read more

This next month I’ll be looking at bad writing advice. Lucky for me, as a blizzard has brought New York to a standstill, I already wrote about what I think the single worst writing advice is. (Thanks to Amy Shearn for commissioning this back in 2021.)

You’ve heard the advice many times before, probably from an overworked teacher reaching for any easy-to-convey technique, or from that workshop bro who wanted to win a story argument without putting in too much effort. The advice is “kill your darlings.”

I hate that I have to point this out, but killing something you love is psychopathic and illegal.

Like all trite advice there’s truth hiding in the kernel. If you’re being edited well, you really will cut things you’re fond of in service to the book as a whole. Scenes and phrases do get in the way of the story, especially in the opening chapters when a reader is still deciding if they’re committing to you. These are vital discoveries to make during editing. A plot needs to move, the characters need to show us who they are, and the themes and images need to emerge as easily as turning a page. The problem with “kill your darlings” is that it has curdled into an ideology that what you like in your writing should be viewed as suspect. In my opinion as both a writer and editor, if you really like something — an unusual turn, or an off-kilter rally of dialogue — it may be the best part of your writing voice.

Apologies to all who believe they have a William Faulkner quote tattoo, but it was Arthur Quiller-Couch who coined “kill your darlings” in 1916. (It’s understandable though if you continue with the misattribution — it’s hard to think of a quote tattoo as badass when it’s from someone named after furniture.)

“Kill your darlings” has had so much staying power since then because we often have no clue whether the cuts we’re making are harmful, especially when we’re deep into the process.

Read more

“The world is too much with us,” Wordsworth wrote. All of 2026 replies in unison, “No shit.”

Everything in your feed is violent, discouraging, and makes you want to scream. So do it. Go find a place where you can be alone and give a good yell. Or open your window or go up to your rooftop like in the movie Network. I’m ready to shout out of all my windows. Because we have limits, and it’s really hard to write in chaos. It’s hard to do anything in chaos.

And yet—people do and always have. How?

Martin Luther King Jr. wrote his “I Have a Dream” speech in a hotel the night before delivering it in front of 250,000 people. He only had eight minutes to speak. In eight minutes, he delivered the most iconic speech of the twentieth century, cobbled together in a hotel lobby and partly ad-libbed. Even after his speeches were typed and mimeographed, there would be notes written all over the margins. As a press copy of the speech shows, the refrain of “I have a dream” itself was improvised.

But he had a clear purpose, as a leader and activist. The purpose of a novelist, story writer, or memoirist is sometimes more abstract. When the news and world events are tough to process, going into an imaginative space can feel...selfish. Not enough. Yes, I know it is important work and we do mirror our social values and our politics in our stories, even when they’re fantastical ones or based in other worlds.

So how can we make an agreement with chaos? Put it on hold for one hour to give ourselves time to go into a different headspace? You can’t even wrap the world in a blanket and lay it down like a baby in a crib, then tiptoe out of the room. Or can you?

Try telling the world, I’ll be back in one hour. Saying that to my partner when I was a new mother saved my life.

See what you can write without judgment of yourself or your reasons for doing so. Allow yourself a tiny escape from everything that has been screaming and fighting for your attention.

Try writing differently than you usually do:

• Write before you look at a newsfeed or social media.

• Write in longhand and see if the personal format gives you more freedom.

• Speak into a recorder or voice memo as a way to write.

And if your fire is truly lit and you want to channel your mad-as-hell energy, then I would challenge you to sit down and scrawl out something entirely new—something based in this now that we are in. A poem, a story, an essay, a tirade. Don’t worry about whether it is good enough. Write something you’re worried you’ll regret. Even if it does not change the world, it may change you.

This Independent Writing Group post was free for all. If you’d like to have access to weekly writing prompts and the live chat group, subscribe below.

The chat this week is scheduled for Thursday at 6 p.m. EST. Pop in, say hello, and tell me a bit about your project. You can wait for the new thread email to remind you or bookmark this link: https://www.themediumcool.com/chat

Subscribe now

In my twenties, struggling with my first novel, I found myself at a bar where I ran into another writer who was celebrating: he’d just finished his most recent novel and he and friends were raising shot glasses.

“But how do you know it’s done?” I asked him.

“What do you mean?” he responded, the warmth and certainty now gone from his voice. “I finished it. It’s done.”

I wasn’t being an asshole on purpose. I didn’t realize I was ruining his moment—every ending and every draft deserves to be celebrated—it had more to do with my curiosity over how he could declare his novel “finished.” I was in knots over where to go next with my own book—in my third draft, I still hadn’t come to that sense of completion. Maybe this was a super power known only to men? Or men with a bottle of Jägermeister in hand?

Questions of confidence and alcohol aside, when do you know a book is done?

Read more

In the summer of 2019 we adapted Emily’s cult novel about a hair-based virus, The Blondes, into a scripted podcast. Starring Madeline Zima, Yvonne Zima, Rob Belushi, Helen Hong, and Bree Elrod, the podcast was a moderate hit for the then-new medium. A few months later the world plunged into the Covid lockdown and things got weird from there.

To mark the fifth-ish anniversary we remastered the original episodes and got together in front of a mic to talk about The Blondes’ strange journey from satire to the uncanny.

You can listen to this talk below, and all the remastered episodes on iTunes, Spotify, or on Youtube.

We discuss what happened along the way, what we got right about pandemics, and what we got wrong. We share how the series ended up a worldwide hit, what the French don't find funny, and the craziest thing ever said by a network executive. We also talk about why a DIY ethic work matters and give an update on the future of The Blondes.

Subscribe now