 Horror/Scary: March 23, 2016 Issue [#7530] |
  Horror/Scary
This week: How I Write Horror Edited by: W.D.Wilcox  
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"Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass." – Anton Chekhov
"Remember: when people tell you something's wrong or doesn't work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong." — Neil Gaiman |
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Let's Write A Story
Before I even have an idea of what I am going to write, I try to come up with a killer opening sentence. So let's try...
Eventually we all have to face the thing that scares us most.
I like that. I like that a lot. It's catchy, and what I mean by catchy is that it will catch the reader and reel them in. Plus, it gives me ideas on what I can write next, it makes me and the reader . . .curious. A good opening is key to a good story.
And so it was for Doris Dulhaney, school teacher, and part-time librarian.
All right! I have what I call, a skeleton-character (not quite finished yet) but I'll come back to her later.
What's she doing?
She sat on her living room sofa, flanked by two detectives, while all around her, several uniformed police officers rushed in-and-out of the house. In the adjoining room, her husband lay dead, mutilated, his arms and legs literally ripped from his torso.
Okay, I've set the scene, a grisly murder. All I need to do now is tell the story.
"So, Mrs. Dulhaney, in your own words, tell us what happened."
"Please, call me Doris."
"All right, Doris. What happened here?"
She nervously wrung her hands, twisting her wedding band around and around. It was the one thing that remained real to her, the one thing thing she hated more than her husband. As she studied it, the ring on her finger resembled certainty.
"I didn't kill my husband," she blurted out.
"Nobody is saying you did, Doris. It would take super-human strength to do what was done to your husband. So, who did kill him? Tell us everything you know."
"You won't believe me. Nobody will."
"Come on, Doris, give us a chance. We just want to know what happened."
"My husband was Irish. He drank a lot, and when he did, he would beat me." Releasing a deep sigh, she told them the truth as if she were tearing away the scab from an unhealed wound. "It was a Leprechaun! I coaxed a Leprechaun into doing it!"
I always like to give a surprise ending to my stories. I feel that the ending must give the reader some satisfaction, something they can take away from the story that makes them feel the effort of reading it was not lost. Of course, this is by no means the end of this story, I still have to introduce that little imp of a Leprechaun and how all that came into play, but this exercise is just an example of how I write.
As I continue writing, I will go back and read 'what-went-before' over and over again, adding more descriptive verbs (NOT ADVERBS!) but stronger verbs. Even as I write this now I have gone back and added, flanked by two detectives, twisting her wedding band, the ring on her finger resembled certainty, and tearing away the scab from an unhealed wound.
This is how I write. I am constantly self-editing as I go. I'm not saying it is the best way, but it is the way I do it. My goal is to make each sentence stronger and more descriptive. By the time I get to the end, I've got something close to being finished.
As Anton Chekhov said, "Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."
Until next time,
willwilcox
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HORROR
Excerpt: The bodies were grappled together in all manner of tortuous postures in a grotesque danse macabre. Bloated carcasses had to be dismembered for extraction. Blackened faces reflected their torment and despair as they struggled to escape their watery grave. The submarine had acquired the reputation of being an underwater death trap.
Excerpt: Timmy scampered in from the backyard with sand all over his pajama feet. John didn’t even bother to scold him. No time now. It would all be over soon. But he had to move quickly. Let’s see, he thought to himself: one hour for Timmy to die, thirty minutes to pack. It was going to be tight. He thought he would have plenty of time this morning. Now everything was spinning out of control.
Excerpt: “That was one of the best showers I’ve taken in a while. I think it had something to do with that soap you got the other day.”
Excerpt: I tried not to look as the sound of breaking bones and savage grunts filled the room. I wanted to go outside until it was over. Not because of the hideous scene being played out before me; I have accepted what we are and what we do to maintain our way of life, but to keep from seeing the repugnant look of elation on their faces. A look I, myself, have donned many times. A feeling I fought to suppress.
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Excerpt: "Then I'll just wait," I said. Pushing my way past her, I walked into the house, carried the remaining pizza to the dining room and set it on an expensive-looking table covered with a lacy white tablecloth. The carpet, too, was as thick and white as cumulus clouds on a warm summer day. A spacious kitchen, accessible from the dining room, was stacked high with empty pizza boxes from several different chains.
Excerpt: The wheat stood waist high, and as she plowed through it, the hissing stalks slapped and bit at her bare legs as if the dark ground beneath her feet seethed with snakes. The strange girl rushed ahead of her, and as Sarah tried to keep up, she found her thin legs tiring even as the other seemed to float effortlessly through the field.
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DEAD LETTERS
Osirantinous 
Chortles:
Love's not called the most powerful thing for nothing. I don't know that there's anything else on this planet that takes a tighter grip on us. (Though greed probably tries!) I can certainly see love being a dark, primary force in horror stories.
Nice newsletter!!!
LJPC - the tortoise 
Injects:
Hi Bill!
Yes, love is a thin line away from hate. Hurt or frustrated or imbalanced, people can cross the line far too easily. Both love and hate create excellent fodder for story ideas. Great newsletter! 
~ Laura
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