We Write Horror, and We’re Nice to Each Other.

With a fresh box of buttered popcorn in my lap, I watch the seemingly endless loop of Twitterati YA scandals unfold, laughing at the absurdity while nursing a paranoid thought about when they will come for me. As a horror writer, I’m guilty of many of these Twitter mob’s narrowly defined transgressions. Just recently, I learned that my use of gay male protagonists in not one but two of my horror novels is not me embracing my own vision of the characters I created, but fetishizing gay men. I wonder what they would say about my victim with Down syndrome being tortured in the basement of my short story, Traci. And I’m certain the two-faced (literally) hermaphroditic killer in my story, Janus, is some reprehensible affront to inclusion.

Just recently the mob turned on one of its own. The author, a gay black man, was initially praised for his #ownvoices narrative until someone posted a bold-typed “review” pointing out that his novel’s setting during the Kosovo War was insensitive to the people who actually suffered during those events, that the author’s views on it were too western and privileged. Apparently, expatriate narratives are no longer allowed in this ever-moving target of acceptability. Frantic attempts at damage control by the author begging “friends” to up-vote his book to temper the storm was met with further shunning by the YA “community” until the author (ironically one of the major stone-throwers during the Blood Heir scandal) decided to “pull” his book from publication, and issue a prostrate apology with the usual promise to “do better.” You’ll hear this mantra a lot whenever one of these scandals erupt, and there is something eerily sinister about it, more frightening than a Richard Laymon panty fetish.

While members of the YA book “community” are donning their red pointy hats in preparation for the next auto-da-fé, we horror authors are high-fiving each other for writing that flesh-flaying scene in exquisitely gruesome detail. We may swim the warm waters of sins of the flesh, but you’ll never meet a nicer bunch of folks. In my one year on BookTube, I’ve had fellow horror writers give shout-outs about my channel and my work, publish my stories in their anthologies and zines, and send me personal emails offering support, reading suggestions, or just a friendly hello.

I have found most horror writers (myself included) to be shy introverts, with a few nightmares of their own they’re trying to keep at bay with their fantastical visions. For whatever reason, we found balm of Gilead in horror. Barker’s Cenobites soothe us; real life generally does not.

If you care to traverse the rabbit hole of the latest YA controversy, Jesse Singal’s exposés are a good place to start. He was called a Nazi (he’s Jewish) by a YA writer on Twitter for even covering this topic. Scary times indeed.

If you are an aspiring author and all this is making you wary about your own writing endeavors, consider coming over to the dark side. Our stories may bite, but we don’t.

Advertisements

Vamp Lit

Screen Shot 2017-10-13 at 5.00.15 PM
Me before I’ve had my morning coffee.

October is the month for all things horror, but since that is generally most (not all) of what I read, I like to focus on one specific sub-genre. This time around it’s vampires. I read Dracula last year. I recently finished, and reviewed, Twilight  so that’s out of the way, thank God. So next up are two classics from the king and queen of horror literature: Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice and Salem’s Lot by Stephen King.

Here we go. Ladies first.

Continue reading “Vamp Lit”

Misty Daydreams

The days have been cool and misty. Fall is my favorite time of year, and this year feels like an early one. I don’t miss those balmy September days. Summer is over (perhaps not officially) and so is summer reading. Done are those cheap romance and horror novels I love so (well, maybe not completely). I read a lot this summer. I meant to read Dune, but it’s still sitting on my shelf. Mostly I read silly Gothic romances. I bought a bulk lot of them on eBay.  They are fun and mindless entertainment, but as the weather chills, I try to be more disciplined. It’s time to get back to my Gothic reading list. Next on my list is the Henry James classic The Turn of the Screw. I’ve seen The Innocents many times (it’s one of my favorites), but I never read the entire book cover to cover. It’s perfect reading for this time of year. After that, maybe some Hawthorne.

Besides doing a lot of reading, I’ve been writing a lot. Not only did I just self-publish my second novel, Black Magick: an Occult Thriller, I started two new stories. See them unfold in real time on Wattpad (strange name, but it’s my new favorite website). Wispy Hollow is based on a television pilot script I authored from a few years back. I shoved it in a folder and kind of forgot all about it until I was looking for projects to add to the site. The site and the stories I’m writing there are definitely geared toward the young adult audience.The second one is a twisted, Gothic tale inspired by My Cousin Rachel. It’s a

wispyhollowcousinb

Continue reading “Misty Daydreams”

Traci

traci.jpg

by R. Saint Claire

When Dudley Frank (Dud to everyone), a man thrice her age and the first friend she made when she moved to the city, offered Yvonne the keys to his summer home with a sympathetic pat on her hand, she accepted. They both agreed she needed a rest after what happened. Although she tried to keep it light when she told him over dinner that her broken engagement with Brent Harrington was a mutual decision (a bold-faced lie), she could tell by the way Dud’s eyes narrowed at the news that he was concerned, but also disappointed. He had come to regard them as a couple and was looking forward to helping Yvonne (parentless and without many friends) plan her wedding. As he signaled the waiter for the check, Dud reflected on how this remarkable creature sitting before him let slip through her manicured fingers the best catch in the city. He didn’t voice it, but the older man suspected he knew why. For all her stunning blond beauty, classic style, and good manners, there was something about the girl that was just off. Continue reading “Traci”

For Entertainment Purposes Only

It was my desire to escape the clinging neuroses of the dour Ms. Tyler that made me reach for a purgative in the form of a trashy 80’s horror novel I found at my local used book store. Enter The Dragon by William Schoell. Aside from the fact that the image appears more lithedragonke an iguana than a creature whose rage burned hotter than the fires of Hell, but I do appreciate the scaly texture of the embossed 80’s era cover.  The Dragon tells an enormous  story that begins with a pre-historic prologue in New Mexico where a dragon monster, Ka Kuna, lives within the belly of an enormous desert mesa, El Lobo. Ka Kuna is no ordinary dragon, but a living-flesh computer that (feeds) off the energies of the human brain. Human sacrifice is part of the milieu–Cool!

Fast forward ten thousand plus years to where Eddie Drake, professional photographer and grieving widow, is convinced to join an old school chum, archeologist Lawrence Foster, on an excavation of….cue drum roll…the El Lobo mesa. Eager to put behind him the horror of his wife’s murder, Eddie takes the job despite his reservations about his egotistical friend who includes on the excavation team his bitter wife and his young mistress. The rest of the team is rounded out by a few cliché characters including the homely girl, the old man, and the black guy. As a reminder that 1989 was a more innocent time before the corrupting influence of political correctness (sarcasm intentional) racist and sexist language abounds (the characters not the author) . I must admit it took this reader back a bit; although nothing can offend a true horror fan. Continue reading “For Entertainment Purposes Only”

Indie Horror Fiction Review #2

A Sinister Six by Steve Boseley

A few months back I sent out a random tweet announcing I was looking for indie horror books to review and Steve Boseley (a nice English gent) sent me his collection of A Sinister Six: A Collection of Six Darkly Disturbing Stories. It took me awhile to get through them (not due to the quality of the stories, just the fact that I tend to read too many books at once ), but it allowed me to savor each one; some more than others, but that should be expected with an anthology.

asinsitersix

Mr. Boseley’s collection is definitely in the realm of quiet horror, which I always find more satisfyingly frightening than the genre’s riotous little brother splatterpunk. The word sinister with its snaky sibilance is a good title for what transpires within these tales. The stories, like the author’s mostly milquetoast male protagonists, creep up on you slowly, lulling the reader into a comfortable world of banal middle-class normality and mundane complaints of everyday life until–with the deft flick of a pen–sad little flats and row homes transform into blood-soaked charnel houses. Cool!

Continue reading “Indie Horror Fiction Review #2”

Why I Write (horror)

I’ve never been good at tooting my own horn; in fact, I suck at it. But I have to share how pleased I am to see positive reviews for my horror novel Unmasked. The development of this book has had a long history. Inspired by my youth spent reading trashy horror novels and watching TV Movies of the Weeks which were frequently occult themed, I decided to write a screenplay using a summer camp setting. I put a twist on the usual teenage slasher set-up by casting middle-aged characters with a gay protagonist at the helm. And speaking of twists, my novel has quite a few, and the fact that they’ve worked (so far) on my readers brings me (a sick) joy. I play with a lot of classic horror tropes: a Gothic mansion, a mad scientist, a whodunit, a glamorous villain, and spatters of sex and gore. To me, successful horror is the thrill of the Cyclone at Coney Island. I know what’s coming, but I want to ride it again and again.

unmasked-ad

Continue reading “Why I Write (horror)”

Today’s Twisted Short Story

janus

JANUS 

by R. Saint Claire

I’m not what anyone would call a sensitive guy as the many girls who’ve slapped my face have told me (in so many words); But if I had known when I woke up this morning that by the end of the day I’d be fleeing for my life through a blizzard I’d have broken down and cried like I’m doing right now. At nineteen I’m too young to die. I have a life to live, many women to conquer, and I’d like to graduate and tell my Dad that I’m sorry my senior year in high school was such a shit-show. I know he’s still really pissed about that.

The flakes are huge, but I can still make out that farmhouse with the green siding up ahead. I hope the snow will cover up what I’m leaving behind me: deep footprints with a trail of blood between each one.

Continue reading “Today’s Twisted Short Story”

I wrote a novel. Now what?

It’s finished! It’s done! It’s on Amazon! Hurrah! Open the champagne! Does all that red wine I drank while I was writing it count?

There is no celebration. I don’t throw a party, and no one surprises me with one. Cue violins…

After much, much work, the damn thing is done. I finally hold the printed copy in my hand. There is a feeling of accomplishment, but also terror. I open it to a random page and notice that one sentence is missing a the. Even though I’ve been over it with a fine-tooth comb about twenty times, I’m sure there are more embarrassing errors. But then I’ve found similar ones in every Donna Tartt novel I’ve read. That thought comforts me, a little.

I send a copy to my mother. I warn her about the explicit content. She says she’s curious to see what’s really going on inside my mind. A few days later she says it’s a good idea I used a pen name. I shyly drop a copy off at my local bookstore. I meet a writer who tells me all about her book. I listen politely and forget all about mine. I run into a neighbor who tells me another neighbor has also written a book. It seems I’m surrounded by writers. You need to push yourself my husband tells me as we walk away. I’m quiet for the rest of the stroll, thinking about this friend of a friend who sent me a copy of his book to read and how I ended up blocking him because he became so aggressively persistent. Nothing is more annoying than the ABC (Always Be Closing) personality. To me, anyway. Perhaps that’s part of my resistance. Continue reading “I wrote a novel. Now what?”

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑