Amphigori said something to me the other day, she said she thought it was easy for me to write horror at the moment because I was happy in my life. Like, because I’m happy, it’s easier for my brain to spew out all this nasty stuff and explore the dark side. I think this might be true. I think my brain likes balance, and I certainly couldn’t write horror a year ago when I was experiencing some emotional turmoil.
I guess it could also be a growing interest in the whole genre, reading Stephen King helped, because he showed me how to form the horror short story effectively. I’ve watched a couple of classics of the horror genre as well.
I’m not motivated to write my new novel at the moment, I want to keep going on the short stories.
Today I spent some time on my longish story Pestilence, which started life as a nightmare that demanded to be written and then I freaked myself out with the level of horror in it. I won’t let Lee read it, because Lee has the hating of the horror and I don’t want him to look at me funny. I value our marriage too much for that. A bunch of you lovely readers have seen versions of it though, from the very early stream of consciousness to the various redrafts. This is one story that I have had to put aside for weeks, even days at a time because I was just emotionally too close to it. I’m ok about it now, I’ve had enough time to distance myself and I spent this afternoon reading through it, making the sentences flow better and eliminating those sentences that didn’t need to be there.
If I felt like I could stay awake, I’ve give Famine a look over as well. (Yes, there is a theme forming.) But I have physical activities to do, such as constructing a guitar and a keytar and checking if my tiny air compressor will inflate my airbed. My life is so glamorous.
Point of Fashion: trackies
Current Obsession: keytar.