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Having a
muscle car in a well-written book is like icing on a very
delicious cupcake. But I’m not the only one who thinks so.
If you’ve
read (or watched) any of the popular urban fantasies out
there, you’ll see the bad boys of steel out there. They are
the quintessential boy that Mama scolded us about but in a
form that makes him much more…attainable, if I may say. The
car’s a solid piece of badness that never lets you down
despite the horrors and things shot at it. Until of course
comes the time when it either finally dies protecting the
main character, redeeming himself in true scoundrel fashion
and becoming the hero or survives the conflict with a few
dents but with his sexy wink and smile intact.
That kind
of bad piece of steel is seen in Rachel Caine’s Weather
Warden series as Joanne Baldwin’s multiple cars but
first starting off with a vintage Ford Mustang named Delilah
and C.E. Murphy writes of a purple 1969 Boss 302 Ford
Mustang named Petite in her Walker Paper series.
(Yeah, I know, they named their cars with women’s name but
stick with me or deduce what you want out of that
relationship, I’m talking muscle cars here). And let’s not
forget the sleek lines of Supernatural’s black 1967 Chevy
Impala, nicknamed the MetalliCar by its devoted fans.
Proof
evident? You scoff, maybe? Ah, but that lust does exist, and
the words on the paper are there for a reason. You see,
these cars all really exist. And invoked an undying burning
lust in the authors and/or writers.
Well,
certainly it’s obvious about the Impala because we see it
(her) on Thursdays being driven by what is certainly a prime
definition of a classic bad boy but the others are stealthy
memories of a longing that remains burning in some parts of
a writer’s heart.
When
Rachel Caine was out here as a guest for one of San Diego’s
more intimate conventions, we got to talking about cars and
eventually landed on the topic of Joanne’s love of muscle
cars. From what I remember of the conversation (and mind
you, it was a long weekend filled with lack of sleep, lots
of coffee and some great Chinese food from Golden City), was
that one of Joanna’s cars was inspired by a former
boyfriend’s muscle car. Rachel had fond memories of that car
and I think that love/lust is clearly communicated in the
pages of her Weather Warden series.
In C.E.
Murphy’s case, Petite is a car that she would lust after
while living in Alaska. At least I think it was Alaska. Once
again, long weekend (Comic-Con) filled with lack of sleep,
coffee, great Chinese food from Golden City and a
Supernatural panel. Petite is as much a character of the
Walker Papers as anyone else, a vibrant force albeit a
fairly silent one with the exception of a growling engine.
(Edit: Catie just confirmed it was Soldotna, Alaska.)
So the
question is, why do we love them? Why is there that thrill
of lust that runs through us when we see a wide-bodied,
sleek muscle car?
God, I
wish I knew.
I can tell
you from experience that my car lust is pretty strong. I
have a deep and abiding love for two muscle cars, a 1979
black Pontiac Firebird and a 1969 Ford Mustang Grande Coupe.
Why? Why?
A muscle
car is temperamental, expensive and can get you into trouble
like you can’t even imagine. The police, society’s highway
watchdogs, drool when they see a muscle car on the highway,
their writing hand itching along the palm at the thought of
the ticket that they can write and most “modern” mechanics
dismiss a muscle car out of hand because after all, they are
a bitch to work on and the engines are organic pieces of
machinery that can be thrown off by a single notch of a
bolt.
If ever
you paid a $400 bill to find a knocking sound in a 301
engine only to discover the noise is a loose engine mount
bolt, then you know my pain.
Trouble.
Enormous trouble.
People
around you .. sometimes (im)perfect strangers…always have
advice for you, like the car is a wayward husband that they
can bring into line if only you’d listen to them. People you
don’t know will give their opinions on the paint job, the
non-stock rims or the colour of the interior. Some hate the
sound of the engine while others get pissed off because the
motor starting up sets off their car alarms.
A muscle
car — you can’t change who they are; thick-bodied,
loud-mouthed rebels that growl on the best of days. They
look best wearing black leather (interior) and when they’re
noisy, it’s like a laugh you can feel in the back of your
teeth. They drink a lot and never the cheap stuff and if you
have one coming up behind you, it’s a bit intimidating and
there’s always the instinct to move aside, just in case.
But if you
can get past that, you will find a deep and abiding love
inside of you. Sure, sometimes it seems like it is an
unrequited love but really, do you expect anything less from
a scoundrel? They complete some unknown part of us that says
“lust”. Need. Want. Must have. We wonder what it’s like to
own one, to come home and find one squatting in the garage.
We know better. We do.
And like
every single bad boy before them, despite every warning that
we’re given, lust override common sense.
The point
of this rambling? Lust exists not only for flesh or words
but for steel. So, keep writing and if you find yourself
needing a character in your book, consider a sleek-bodied,
throaty bad boy. We’ll thank you for it.
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