Stark Writing Crazy

Horror and Humour, though I think I just repeated myself…

Horror of the Unknown

Posted by bovisrex on 27 February, 2012

A lot of people talk about this. A lot of writers pay lip service to this idea. But in my reading experience, the ‘horror of the unknown’ only holds for the first half, or maybe the first two-thirds of the story. At the beginning, no one knows what is killing teenagers in the woods, or making religious icons burst into flame, or causing people at a remote scientific outpost to go crazy. But as the hero or heroes investigate, a few clues start to slide into place, and soon, someone rips the mask off of the demon and we find out what it is. It may be a crazy bus driver or something realistic; it may be a demon or elemental force or something barely understood by our science. But we learn some sort of explanation for what it is. And by the end of the story or book or movie or videogame, we feel exhilarated that we survived. We’re also happy that we know what was causing everything to go wrong, and the better the ‘twist,’ the more shocking the reveal, the happier we are with the story.

But what if we never find out?

What if, as in the original French/ Dutch version of The Vanishing (which is better in every way except for not having Jeff Bridges in it), the hero finds out but no one else does?

What if, as in From a Buick 8, the phenomena eventually stop but there is still no explanation for what they were or what was causing it?

What if our protagonists manage to escape, but still never find out why they were being stalked? Or what would prevent it from happening again?

Two of my favourite horror stories are both by Robert Aickman and found in the collection Cold Hand in Mine. Both of them, “The Swords” and “The Hospice,” have a POV character plunged into an eerie situation. By the end of the story, we’ve seen hints of more details behind the scenes, knowledge and information that perhaps we’re not ready for, but we never completely learn what caused everything to happen the way that it did. And both stories are still horribly stuck with me, years later.

Many writers talk about the moment where they have to unmask the monster. But sometimes the hero can’t do that. Or, maybe, is just too frightened to.

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…And Speaking of Horror

Posted by bovisrex on 27 February, 2012

I spent the weekend updating the spam filters on this blog. If you were to look at the dashboard for this blog, you would see that out of 68 comments, I have now approved exactly 1. (That also means that you need to comment on this.) I had to fix a couple of things under the hood as well, and the format and layout of this thing will look a little different, soon. Still wide open for suggestions.

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Witness, Chapter Eight

Posted by bovisrex on 18 February, 2012

And here is the next chapter of Witness. I’ve been devoting my time to polishing a novella for eventual publication, and working on the sequel to it, but I can’t let this fall behind. My Muse first told me this story in January of 2006, and it took me five years and change (plus two false starts) to even start a rough of it… if I stop now, she’ll be pissed.

Witness, Chapter Eight Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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The Slow Anticipation

Posted by bovisrex on 18 February, 2012

‘We entered the land of desolation on wings, and in less than half an hour there was neither boat nor fishing-hut nor red roof, nor any single sign of human habitation and civilisation within sight. The sense of remoteness from the world of human kind, the utter isolation, the fascination of this singular world of willows, winds, and waters, instantly laid its spell upon us both, so that we allowed laughingly to one another that we ought by rights to have held some special kind of passport to admit us, and that we had, somewhat audaciously, come without asking leave into a separate little kingdom of wonder and magic…” — Ambrose Bierce, The Willows

I’m not completely sure how I missed this story in the years that I’ve been reading short horror fiction. This is especially embarrassing to me as I much prefer horror and gothic and creepy stories over their novel-length versions. True, I went through a phase in the 80s where I read everything with a foil-embossed cover and a frightened child and a blurb from an author who may once had been told the plot by an agent. And when I grew out of that, short horror fiction, especially the stories of Poe and Lovecraft, Borges, Dick, and holy-crap-Robert Aickman… every minute that you spend trying to find one of his out-of-print books or working to buy a reprint is a minute well-spent. This goes double for Cold Hand in Mine. I used to feel bad about this, but sometimes, when people ask me what Stephen King piece I like the most, I answer “The piece where he recommended Peter Straub and Robert Aickman. If nothing else, “The Swords” is the most disturbing story about a man losing his virginity (in a couple of ways, not just physically) and is one of the books my Muse likes to pull out when trying to tell me what I could be writing.

And I am writing. I have two chapters more of Witness to put up, and I’m re-re-revising a novella (after having it thoroughly shat on, then rinsed off, then set on fire, by my fellow editors at “Empyrean Press”) and another story finally crawled out of my noggin. I may actually put the new story up today… I could use input, and I’m worried that it’s too obvious and cheesy. For now, here’s one of the few poems that I’ve written this year:

 

Fragment from a poem about death

across the field

And still he ran, shouting, after
the birds that had left

Screaming for them to come back

Though he didn’t know what
he would do
if they
did

except

join them sooner
than later

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The Creeping Affliction

Posted by bovisrex on 7 February, 2012

So I’m really supposed to be working on my new story (along with cleaning up the chapters that I’ve been reading to all of you) but… well, it’s also been a day or two since I’ve posted, and I really want to keep this thing’s frequency in at least a decent range, if not high. One thing I hate is finding an awesome blog and then realizing that the person hasn’t posted to it for years. I can’t promise that that will never happen… lately, I’ve been receiving threats again from the Humbolt Penguins off the coast of Chile, and I’ve already learned to avoid unmarked white-and-black vans… but as long as it’s in my power to update this thing, I will.

Also, I wanted to talk about The Idiot, by Dostoyevsky. That is one of the two books I’m reading right now, and it’s one that I’d actually read parts of, years and years ago. I have a love-hate relationship with Dostoyevsky (hmm… spell-check keeps flagging that) and it’s still something that I haven’t quite come to terms, though I think my biggest problem with him, back when I first went to college in California, wasn’t so much Crime and Punishment as it was the people who were fans of it. Sorry… I meant Fans. Big capital ‘F.’ They scared me a little bit.

On to The Idiot. You may be wondering what this has to do with creepy fiction (other than that it’s written by a 19th century Russian author). You may be wondering how this fits in with this blog. You may especially be wondering what, exactly, I did, to piss off the penguins. I can’t answer all of those questions, of course, but I can say that, while the big theme in this book is still perhaps the one that you learned (‘how a corrupt society deals with an honest man’) a secondary theme that keeps popping up is ‘mental debilitation is a bitch.’

If you know about Dostoyevsky’s (damn you, spellcheck… I VERIFIED THAT) struggles with epilepsy, depression, and living in Russia, sections where Prince Myshkin is talking about his experiences with epilepsy take on an extra meaning. And I was fine with that. Then I got to Part II, Chapter V, where the Prince is wandering St Petersburg, after a dramatic confrontation with his frenemy Rogojin. Even before he collapsed, I knew something was up, and I felt the skin on the back of my neck start to creep up toward my head. Everything I was reading was suddenly becoming very, painfully familiar.

Here’s an audio link to the page at the excellent Librivox site… go to Part II Chapter V.)

The part that really frightened me, and may frighten you, is that I’ve recently been randomly, irresponsibly thinking that, at a certain level, a lot of  mental disturbances converge near a single point. The bi-polar, suffering from a breakdown, acts much like someone with anxiety disorder, or psychosis, or even certain stops along the Autism Spectrum. It’s a pleasant mental exercise. And then… this. Dostoyevsky (you know what, WordPress spellcheck? Here! Достоевский! Spellcheck that!) describes everything in painful detail; the flash of insight, the pure body-high, the thought that you’re plugged in directly to The Flying Spaghetti Monster and His Noodly Wonderfulness, followed by paranoia, dread, and fear… this is real. Or at least it felt real when I read it.

Happy reading, folks.

 

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Witness, Chapter Seven

Posted by bovisrex on 6 February, 2012

Writing another post for tonight, this one about horror and epilepsy and surfacing from a bi-polar episode. But before I do that, I decided to put up another chapter.

Witness, Chapter Seven Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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Witness, Chapter Six

Posted by bovisrex on 4 February, 2012

Here’s a nice long one for the weekend.

Witness, Chapter Six Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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Somewhat Dark Children’s Book

Posted by bovisrex on 4 February, 2012

So, since I often write Young Adult fiction, and would someday like to add a dark children’s book or picture book to my repertoire, I often pick up these types of books at the library. (Perhaps my picture book won’t be as dark as In the Night Kitchen (Video Link) but I can only hope.) After I finished the Joyce Carol Oates book I reviewed, I went to the Children’s section and picked up a classic, one I’d read as a child but only had vague memories of. This time, of course, I read the book in a matter of two days, but I would still recommend it to anyone… old, young, or otherwise. Though I must warn you. This book has things that we don’t often see in Children’s Books, especially in Children’s Books published before World War II. I’m talking about hints of pedophilia, child brides, lynch mobs, starvation, extinction, and even the character’s Pa getting upset that they weren’t able to kill someone before the sheriffs arrested him (even after nearly being killed himself by a would-be group of payroll robbers).

 

Yup, I am talking about By The Shores of Silver Lake.

 

Yes, the Laura Ingalls Wilder book.

 

This book is still written in the vein of her earlier novels… it’s mostly sweet, genuinely heartwarming without being treacly (though Grownup Chris had more of a problem with Laura always telling Mary that she would see something out loud for her… once or twice would have been enough…) and, while episodic, still a satisfying book. Perhaps that’s why certain things, like Laura finding out one that of her friends, who had just turned thirteen, was married off (and considered ‘lucky’ by her own mother because of it), or seeing Ma tell Laura to lock herself and the girls in their room so their boarders don’t break in and do G-D only knows what, or hearing of murder and frontier justice on the high prairie, stand out a lot more than they would in an all-around dark book. True, people on the frontier had to be concerned with practicality above civilization, but I still don’t remember my third-grade teacher highlighting these points when she read this book to us.

 

I’m actually kind of worried, now. The two “Little House” books that I have the least memory of are this one and The Long Winter, but the few memories I have of the latter are already dark. What shall I find in that one?

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Poetry Website

Posted by bovisrex on 4 February, 2012

Another poet that you should check out is Jeremiah Walton and his collection To Your Health: Humanities Diagnosis. He’s a young poet, but already his lines ring with a neat humour that is refreshing to see in poetry. I’d say that you can blaze through his collection in the time it takes to drink a cup of coffee, but in my case, at least, I found myself reading it at least twice in one sitting. It’s definitely not the be-all-end-all of modern poetry, but it points toward a very promising writer.

 
To Your Health!

 
And here is a link to his website.

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Creating Conflict

Posted by bovisrex on 4 February, 2012

This subject came up on one of Reddit’s writing forums. I just wanted to share my answer on here as well.

 

Creating conflict is as easy as taking candy from a baby.

Seriously.

‘The baby’ is your comfortable character.

‘The candy’ is his comfort.

The antagonist either takes it away or destroys it

 and the baby has to grow up and get it back.

It was one of those metaphors that just seemed to make more sense the more that I thought about it.

Thoughts?

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