That all of these cultural references are so separately obvious is the first major problem.  All authors borrow from other authors, and we all write from our personal experience.  The first maxim of all writing classes and workshops seems to be, "write what you know."  Generally, I think it's good advice; no matter how fantastical our characters, their adventures or the world they live in, we need to ground our writing in thoughts, feelings and ideas we understand.  It has to be, on some level, personal, otherwise our readers can't connect to it.  Elrod's writing isn't personal; she filters her ideas through her influences, alternately paying homage to one after another.  While I learned quite a bit about her cultural tastes, I learned absolutely nothing about her worldview.  I'm not sure if she lacks the courage to use her own voice--or if she's hiding the fact that she simply doesn't have one.

Regardless of genre, what makes great authors great is their originality.  It's hard to have much originality when you're stealing everything from other authors.  Tad Williams, for example, is hardly the first author to feature a teenage orphan with identity issues as a protagonist.  What separates Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn's Simon from other protagonists, however, is the fact that his emotions and issues are so incredibly real.  Williams forces us to go beyond merely understanding Simon, to actively sharing his life.  Elrod, however, features a protagonist whose thoughts are even more stereotypical than his actions.  Throughout The Vampire Files, Volume I, I reliably predicted each choice, reaction and belief.  Jack Fleming is not a complex character.  He falls in love with an obvious woman and feels an appropriate combination of tenderness, protectiveness and remorse over his "fallen" state.  He appropriates an obvious sidekick and feels an appropriate combination of brotherly love and irritation.  In short, he does whatever the hero is supposed to do.

Not only are Elrod's plots singularly obvious, but also they're identical.  She writes like an especially gifted sixth grader: you can see the lesson.  A plot needs a beginning, middle and end.  It needs the unknown, which creates suspense.  It needs a "race against the clock," which creates tension.  It needs interpersonal conflict, which creates drama.  It needs, at the appropriate moment, situational dark humor.  I felt like I was rereading it, even though I wasn't.

What saves The Vampire Files, Volume I is Elrod's obvious good humor.  It's a fun read, if you don't expect too much.  Her characters are pleasant, and her plots are entertaining.  I kind of liked that each book came with a reliably happy ending and a valuable moral lesson; it reminded me of the Care Bears movies of my childhood.  So many fantasy books are so lifelike, and sometimes, honestly, that's not what you want.  Sometimes you want the literary equivalent of reality television: pure entertainment with no redeeming value whatsoever that you won't remember an hour later.  The Vampire Files, Volume I is such a book.  We at The Accidental Bard occasionally enjoy a fun fantasy beach read that doesn't either tax our minds or hold our attention so much that we can't, if the opportunity presents itself, throw our books down and run off to romp in the sand without a second thought.