Deleted All My Dating Apps

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by hiring a woman as a governess for my ward, being a brooding jerk toward her, and not telling her that I’m actually already married and that I keep my crazy wife hidden in the attic.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by sneaking into a ball thrown by my family’s arch enemies, falling in love at first sight, and then sneaking into her garden under her balcony, like a peeping tom.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by acting like a scruffy-looking nerf-herder until she realizes the guy she’s kissing is actually her brother.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by hoping she develops stockholm syndrome before the last petal of my enchanted rose falls.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by buying her a gift at the Araby bazaar.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by buying her ancestral home, marrying her husband’s sister, acting like an abusive, deranged, jerk, and brooding around the moors.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by coming unstuck in time, being kidnapped by aliens who don’t see time linearly, being kept in a zoo on their planet, and sharing my cage with a pornographic film star.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by removing the stone from the top of a well, working seven years for her hand, having her father dupe me into marrying her less-attractive sister, and then working seven more years for her hand.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by changing my name, becoming a bootlegger, throwing lavish parties to impress her–but not inviting her–and then staring longingly across the water at a green light fraught with symbolism.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by using a gorgon’s head to rescue her from a sea monster.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by sneaking into her room while she’s sleeping and biting her neck to make her undead.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by finding a sleeping princess and awakening her with a kiss.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by selling my soul to the devil in exchange for his help in seducing her.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by being poisoned by a nefarious knight, changing my name, and seeking out the only woman in the world with the knowledge to heal me.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by buying turtle food from my local pet store worker, and maintaining a relationship with her while training for a fight with the heavyweight champion of the world. Also, saying “yo” before her name a lot.

Deleted all of my dating apps so I could find someone the old-fashioned way—by answering the sphinx’s riddle, freeing the town from its tyranny, and marrying the widowed queen without asking any questions–eh, maybe not.

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Be sure to check out the links page to read some of my published writing, and to follow me on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook.

Coffee With Skullgate

Check out my appearance on Coffee With Skullgate in which Skullgate editor in chief, Chris Van Dyke compares my writing to James Joyce. We also talk about genre, science fiction, comics, and the new Skullgate anthology, Under New Suns, which includes my short story “I am I.”.

Revealed: Frankenstein’s Monster’s Name!

People who run in literary circles are fond of pointing out that Frankenstein is the name of the doctor* in Mary Shelley’s famous novel, not the monster. They revel in pedantically correcting people who refer to the monster as Frankenstein to such a great extent that anyone who is reading this blog has either corrected someone or been corrected by someone on this very point. But what is the creature’s (for such he is most commonly called in the novel) actual name? I’m sorry to say—and this will really tick off the literary types—it’s probably Frankenstein.

Allow me to explain: The titular character in the novel is the human scientist Frankenstein. He is the obvious protagonist, the tragic Romantic genius, the modern Prometheus, etc. This fact is not in dispute, and it is obvious to anyone who has read the novel. But Frankenstein is the doctor’s last name. His first name is Victor. His name follows the traditional western convention where his first name, Victor is his personal name, and Frankenstein, his last name, is his family name. He has inherited his last name from his father, Alphonse Frankenstein. Most of the other characters in the novel follow the same conventions, including Robert Walton Henry Clerval, Elizabeth Lavenza, etc.  Even the characters who are not identified as having both a first and a last name in the novel, are named with either a fist name or a last name. Presumably, they have the missing half as well. A character like Mr. Kirwin, for example, most likely has a first name even if it’s not related in the novel.

Now the creature, famously, is not given a name by Victor Frankenstein upon his creation. He is rejected and cast out, a fact which he laments later in the novel. But even through he doesn’t have a first name, the very fact that his creator is named Frankenstein would, likely, make his last name Frankenstein. True, he does not have a biological father as he is a hodgepodge of parts from various humans, but had the doctor raised and trained him to be part of society, legally—or at least by convention—his last name would, most likely be Frankenstein. When the doctor disowns him, he does not lose that appellation. The creature, himself, would have to disavow the name himself, which he never specifically does, and which, at least the first half of the story he would not likely do, given his characterization. Thus, while the monster’s does not have a first name, his last name, is, most likely, Frankenstein.

To quote one of the greatest anti-pedants of all time, “How do you like them apples?”

Like the famous philosopher Descartes, I welcome well-reasoned challenges in the comments.

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* Nowhere in the novel is Victor Frankenstein identified as “doctor.” Calling him “doctor” engages in the exact same kind of conflation of the movie and the novel that leads people to call the monster Frankenstein.