Time once again for my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are part opportunity to practice my craft, part sounding board so as I can feedback on what works and what doesn’t work when I write, and part shameless plug to get readers interested in my published fiction. Remember, the Weekly Exercises rely on reader feedback, so whatever your thoughts, it’s greatly appreciated if you leave a comment and let me know.
Also, if you wish to see my past Weekly Exercises, please follow the link to the Weekly Exercises page.
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He was angry. He’d been taken from the prison system as soon as his mother had died. They said they were going to take him to the funeral service. A special treat, said Officer Marcus, for good behavior. If anything, Teddy would’ve rather had a drink and some video games to celebrate his mother’s death rather than go to his funeral and see if anyone actually showed up, let alone anyone showed up with anything nice to say. After all, Teddy’s mother had let him go to school hungry every day to pay for her drug habit. And when he started breaking into people’s homes in high school, she had given him up as a scoundrel and a menace and lied at the trial! Now at least she could finance her drug habit without having to worry about her kid.
But he was glad to get out of prison for a little while. He could see the sun without having bars around him, and maybe convince these cops to stop by McDonalds for some real food.
But then he’d been taken to a government lab and drugged. And then they’d started experimenting on him, putting weird stuff into his bloodstream. What were they trying to achieve? To turn him into a super soldier? To see how they could awaken telekinetic abilities in him? To see how much a person could be tampered with before their bodies broke down? Or did they just do it for kicks and they had a poor minority kid in the system, so why not use him? Nobody would miss him!
But at some point the experiments had worked. And now he was taking his revenge. The scientists ran in terror while soldiers came for him with bullets. Teddy let them come, let them feel his wrath. He hit them with one of his new tentacles and then started biting them with his poisonous fangs. He was a monster, but he was finally the one in control of his life instead of stupid adults who only cared about themselves.
With a crash and a bang Teddy escaped the lab onto the roof. Far away were the lights of a huge city. Jumping off the roof, crashing through the gates and hiding in the forest, Teddy slowly made his way towards the city, using the trees and rocks and the river to hide from his pursuers. Now that he was out, he thought he’d hit the town and have a little fun.
It’s time for my Weekly Exercises again. These flash fiction pieces are part chance to practice my craft, part sounding board so that my readers can tell me what they think works or doesn’t work, and part shameless marketing ploy to get people interested in my published work. Remember, these Weekly Exercises rely on reader feedback, so whether you love it or hate it, please let me know. I love to hear your opinions.
This week’s exercise is a bit longer than the past seven have been. But it needed to be in order to get what I wanted out of it. Tell me, is it better being longer than the others? Or I was better being brief? You decide.
Hope you like it. And if you wish to read more of my Weekly Exercises, you can find them all on their very own page.
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Lacey had been staring at the painting ever since they’d moved into the house. It came with the house, her mother said. It wasn’t very amazing, for a painting. It was a bunch of ladies in big dresses holding parasols on a beach. The plaque on the frame said it was called The Spider’s Web by William Ryan and painted in 1865. Other than the weird title, she didn’t know why she was so obsessed with the painting.
But for some reason Lacey kept staring at it, kept coming to look at the women in the dresses. Sometimes she thought she could hear the sound of waves and seagulls, a snatch of womanly laughter. And she wanted to know what the laughter was about.
Until the little girl appeared in the painting, though. She hadn’t been there before, hadn’t been holding the women’s hands when Lacey first moved here. And for some reason, the little girl looked a lot like Lacey. And she heard her voice giggling with the woman’s laughter and the seagulls and the ocean waves. She wanted to be in the painting too.
Momma was worried about Lacey. “You spend too much time in front of that painting.” she said. “Play with some toys. Watch TV. Go to school and make some friends. Put rocks up your nose.” And Lacey did all those things, went to school and made friends and played with toys and did things kids shouldn’t do. But she still stared at that painting. Stared at it, and the little girl with the women in the painting
And the painting whispered to her. It said that she could come in. They wanted Lacey to come in and be with them. Lacey wished and dreamed to be in the painting with them. And then one day, the women and little girl came out of the painting. But when they did, they became a big spider with a woman’s head. Lacey wasn’t scared though. She wanted this. And the spider lady picked her up in its six arms and brought her into the painting. And then Lacey was with the ladies on the beach, holding their hands and laughing with them.
She never knew what they laughed about, or that Momma cried when she disappeared, or that the spider lady was eating her soul bit by bit. But she laughed anyway, because she got her wish.
Some of you may be wondering what the scariest chapter I’ve ever written so far must be. I write scary stories, so it must be something gruesome. What could it be? Monsters? Evil spirits? Something not of this world or any other world we know of?
If you guessed pure, human evil, then you were correct.
I’ve written several times on this blog that one of my works-in-progress, Laura Horn, has a teenage girl and a survivor of sexual assault as its protagonist. Naturally, the question came up of whether or not to actually show her sexual assault in the novel. I’m not sure when I decided on that issue, though it was probably when I wrote the outline for the novel. But I decided to show her assault, devoting Chapter 17 of the book to it.
The past few weeks, where I knew it was only a matter of time till I reached that chapter, were not terrifying, nerve-wracking, or exciting as I expected writing a sexual assault would be. Instead, I just felt a sort of…acceptance, I guess. I’d committed to writing that sort of scene, and when I finally got to it, I got to it.
And last night, after finishing Chapter 17 of Video Rage, I took a short break, and then I started writing Chapter 17 of Laura Horn. Today, after finishing up my homework and meditation class, I did the last of it. and now the first draft of that chapter is complete.
I don’t know if what I’ve written will resonate with readers or feel real to them. I wrote this scene based on testimonies and memoirs by rape victims that I’ve read, the articles I’ve read on the statistic and psychology of rape, more Law & Order: SVU episodes than I dare mention, and my own overactive and sometimes unhealthy imagination. (Those last two I’m not sure you can count as credible sources). But if I’ve done my job right, then I will be able to put the reader directly into Laura’s state of mind at the time of her assault, make them understand what she’s been through and how it’s affected her three years after the event when the story takes place. And only then will the readers really understand who Laura Horn is, and truly be able to empathize with her.
And speaking of which, I’ve had trouble at certain points of writing this story getting into Laura’s head and understanding her both as a character and as a person. But having just written the formative event of her young life, I now can truly get into her head, understand her motivations, her thoughts, were obsession with avoiding drawing attention to herself. So hopefully writing the rest of Laura Horn will be a little bit easier.
However, that doesn’t change the fact that this is the scariest chapter I’ve ever written. In fact, it scared me personally, because I was terrified of the fact that I could conceive this scene and then write it down without losing my stomach. Even now, I’m wondering how screwed up I truly am to write such a scene. Considering how many times Stephen King’s written that sort of scene, I can say I’m fairly f***ed up.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever do such a scene again. However I do believe that when Laura Horn makes it to print, whenever that is, if I’ve done my job right, then the readers will feel the fear I wish to convey. And maybe they’ll understand the terror and trauma of rape victims. Maybe the book will help people who’ve experienced sexual assault. Maybe it’ll cause some people to think before they say someone deserves to be raped. I don’t know if any of that’ll happen, but it’s my hope that it will.
And now I’m going to take a break from writing. I’ve done a lot in the past 48 hours, and I’d like a little break before I pick up with Video Rage Ch. 18. I’ll need to recharge my batteries, especially after writing that sexual assault scene.
Had a pretty interesting experience today. This morning as I was getting ready to leave the house for my meditation class when I had an idea for a short story. I wanted to write it down, but I was about to leave the house though, so I couldn’t write it down. Instead I made a promise to write it down as soon as I had the opportunity to do so.
Just one problem: a good percentage of what passes through our five senses and through our thoughts gets forgotten pretty quickly if we don’t really grab onto the details and keep it in the short-term memory. And guess what? I didn’t seize a hold of this idea and now I’ve completely forgotten it! (I have a feeling it has something to do with the movie Pacific Rim, but other than that I cannot remember a single detail). And when I realized that, you know my beat myself up over losing it.
So I spent my meditation class trying to meditate my idea back to myself. I went over my morning, trying to find the moment where I had that spark of inspiration. However, I didn’t catch it. Whatever that idea was, for now it’s been lost to the darker recesses of my memory.
However, the day and the meditation wasn’t a total wash. I did manage to come up with a second idea that was just as good as the first (I think). I remembered a story I read last night, about a man from my state who had chained up his German Shepherd to a tree for four years and had neglected, abused and tortured the poor thing during that time (as hard as it is to read, I urge you to check out here). I thought to myself, what if the police hadn’t intervened and something happened to the dog? I recalled a certain belief from Southeast Asia about what happens when you abuse certain dogs, and I decided to turn that into a short story.
So while I would like to still get that idea back (and maybe someday I will), I think this idea is pretty cool as well. And it gust goes to show how ideas keep bubbling up in a writer’s imagination. It also shows you need to write them down as soon as you get them, but I think I already mentioned that. If I have any other good ideas, I’ll let you all know.
By the way, has anything like this happened to you? How did you feel about it?
It’s time once again for my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are part chance to practice my craft, part sounding board so that readers can tell me what they think of my work, and part shameless ploy to get you interested in my published fiction. Remember, the Weekly Exercises rely on reader feedback, so whether you like or hate what’s below, please let me know. I always enjoy opinions…provided that nobody’s using swear words or calling me an idiot or something.
If you wish to read this and other Weekly Exercises, they are all listed on the Weekly Exercise page above. Enjoy.
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Mark had thought that “Cousin Nemo” was Jenny’s cousin who had come to stay, and that she’d forgotten to tell him. Mark could kind of understand her forgetting to tell him that her cousin was coming to stay with them while he conducted business in town. She’d also forgotten to tell him that she liked getting some on the side when she was supposed to be at a business meeting. With all that and trying to keep things as normal as possible for the kids while each considered therapy or even divorce, forgetting that Cousin Nemo was coming to stay was understandable.
But then after two weeks, he’d gotten irritated with Cousin Nemo, who seemed to never be doing anything business-like. Instead he just hung out with the kids. He helped them with their homework. He took them to the park, to the zoo and the movies and bowling and roller-skating. He read them stories and tucked them into bed while Mark and Jenny were arguing with each other or making calls that had to do with anything but the state of their marriage. In short, Cousin Nemo was doing everything a parent was supposed to do besides feed and clothe them but he and Jenny had no time to do.
So he’d asked her this afternoon how long her cousin planned on staying with them. And Jenny had replied “I thought he was your cousin.” His insides had turned cold then. He’d called the police, he’d driven home, he’d nearly hit his wife’s car pulling into the driveway. They ran into the house, but the house was empty. No Cousin Nemo. No kids. Not even the dog. Just a note that said “Goodbye” on it.
Mark and Jenny didn’t do anything for a moment. Then they broke down crying. They cried for their marriage, for their kids, for their own stupidity, and they cried for themselves. Especially for themselves.
Today I was walking back from running an errand. The streets were packed with people here to see the game between Ohio State and Wisconsin and drink and have a good time. There were people selling food and T-shirts and Buckeye gear all over the place. I barely noticed any of it. My mind was turning over other things: money and school, my two biggest worries in life these days.
I’m not going to unload my problems on this blog, at least not this post. That’s not what this post is about. But I will say that even with a job and some side gigs and the little money I get from writing, life’s still expensive. Tuition, rent, and groceries is what I pay for the most. And I wonder, as plenty of other people around the world and from all walks of life wonder, how I’m going to write it all.
And as I’m turning all this in my head, walking to the ATM to make a deposit and then head home, an idea for a short story pops into my mind. It’s more magical realism than horror, but I think to myself, this sounds like a crazy good idea for a short story. I can base it around my own life, giving it an authentic touch. And I get to include some monsters in this story too! Imagine how much fun it’ll be to write that sort of story! A bit therapeutic too, that’s always good for the mind, body and soul.
Now I’m at home, writing up this post before I start on a paper for my English class. I have to say, writing about this had made me happier, even as it had occurred to me that it make my family worry about me because I’m blogging about money woes while talking about an idea for a short story involving my money woes. But like I said, I feel better writing about this, and if it guilt trips someone into buying my work, all the better.
I probably shouldn’t have written that last sentence. Oh well.
Now I’m wondering, does anyone else write about their problems? Do they use fiction of any sort to release and share their problems? I’m pretty sure there are plenty of literary authors who do just that, but I don’t usually read literary fiction. I bet there are plenty of other writers who include their problems in their genre work,, but none come to mind at the moment. But I think that stories like those are probably some of the best. It’s someone sharing their life, having a conversation with themselves and with others through a fiction story. It feels real, even if there are vampires or knights in shining armor or other weird things in their stories. And those sort of stories are the ones where people can really identify with the authors and the characters, because they’re thinking to themselves, I’ve been in that situation before, and it sucks.
Well, I’ve got the idea stored away now, so when I’m done with Video Rage and Laura Horn I’ll be able to remember it. I’ve got a little over thirty different ideas for short stories written down right now, so I’ll definitely have plenty of stuff to write about when I finish my two current works-in-progress. I could even write another, longer collection of short stories if I wanted to.
Hmm…another collection of short stories. Not a bad idea.
Until then though, I’ve got a paper to work on. Wish me luck! I’m aiming to get an A on this paper. I’ll settle for a B if I have to, but an A’s the goal at the moment.
Do you ever incorporate your life’s problems into your fiction? How do you do it? And what has been the result of that?
In a recent interview for his new book Joyland, Stephen King mentioned that one way he starts a story is that he starts with an image. In the case of Joyland, the image was of a boy on a beach with the sun setting. It took a couple of years apparently, but that image expanded to include a theme park and that’s how His Scary Highness came up with what would become a summer bestseller.
These past 24 hours I had a similar experience that allowed me to come up with an idea for a story. It started last night as I was going to bed. I was hypnotizing myself to sleep (yes, I know how to do that) and one of the commands I gave myself to help facilitate sleep was to let random images form in my head, “as if from a dream”. And among the images that formed was one that just struck me in a deep, deep way, like a line from a book that seems to resonate with you on so many levels, that for reasons you can’t understand, you find that becoming your favorite line in the whole story.
I wish I had an illustration or something to show you what I saw in my head. Unfortunately I don’t have the time to draw an illustration, let alone draw one and scan it into my computer, so I’ll try to describe it for you as best as I can: a girl, in her mid-to-late teens, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a black crown on her head with two twisting spires poking up to the sky. She wore a glittering black dress, like Glinda the Good Witch gone Goth. She stood on a glowing white staircase made of glass, and stars were shining aroundher. Her smile was warm and confident, and her eyes were alive with happiness.
Amazing what sort of things you can get from dreams. Am I right?
Well, you know me. If I can get an idea for a story, I will. So I quickly added to those hypnosis instructions, “If you see something you think you can use for a story someday, you will remember it in the morning.” When I woke up the next morning, I didn’t remember the image at first, but I did remember as the day went on. And as I had a rather unusual day (don’t ask, you don’t want to know), I had plenty of opportunities to develop a story from this image.
I thought that the image would work best at the end of the story, I had to figure out how to get this story from the beginning to the end. For that matter, I needed a beginning! Not too hard, I have a way with coming up with sh*t situations to put characters in at the start of their stories. I thought of a way for this girl in the black dress to start out, even gave her a name that I thought suited her. Then I worked on a catalyst…how about she meets a guy? No, it’s been done. Attacked by a monster? No, I’ve used that for stories before. Let’s go back to meetings. What meeting haven’t I used yet? Oh, that one will work (I can’t say what because that would give away just too much).
So what next? We’ve got a set-up. What happens after that fateful meeting? Something happens, something scary. Should I use an original mythology of my own making or taken from someone else’s mythology? Let’s go with the latter. Greco-Roman? Jewish? Celtic? Egyptian? Japanese? Native American? Okay, why not a combination? Mix and match…now we’re cooking.
In the end I manage to come up with a pretty nice story that uses some interesting monsters from mythology, come up with some interesting ideas for characters, conflicts, and even a monster or two (or three). And I wish I could go into details here, but that would give away too much. You wouldn’t want to read the book when I actually write it.
Did I actually do something he couldn’t? Probably not. But it’s nice to think so.
But isn’t it amazing? One image, and I have a wonderful idea for a story. I wasn’t sure exactly if you could come up with a story like King said he did, but I ended up doing the exact same thing…while saving a lot of time. I mean, King took years to come up with Joyland! I’m glad I saved the time on coming up with the story. And I hope someday I can do it again.
In the meantime, I’ve got a chapter of Laura Horn to start. I seem to have all the time in the world to come up with ideas, but none of the time to actually turn them into full-length novels. I should use the time when I get it.
Has this ever happened to you? How did it work out?
It’s time again for my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are part opportunity to practice my craft, part sounding board to hear from readers what they think works and doesn’t work, and part shameless plug to get people interested in my published work. Remember, the Weekly Exercises rely on reader feedback, so whatever your thoughts, please let me know. I like feedback, positive or negative.
This week’s exercise is brought to you by Water. “Water: You need it, so why not take a dip?” It’s also brought to you by Fear. “Fear: the makers of ‘What was that?'”
Enjoy.
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She’d been kidnapped on the way home from her last class. He’d taken her to his home, tied her up, done things to her. He said there’d been news reports about a missing co-ed from the local college, a pretty redhead whom nobody could think of why someone would want to hurt her. He’d laughed all the while he was hurting her.
Now he’d tied her up, put a gag in her mouth, and thrown her into the pit behind his house, naked as the day she was born. He said he was done and had had his fun. She screamed up to him through the gag, begging for mercy. He said he’d installed a drain in the pit that could only be opened from above. Then he closed it and snaked a hose in.
Cold water fell from above. She cried, begging for her life. She’d do anything for him. But all he did was laugh and watch and film it with his camera, like he’d filmed everything else he’d done to her. The water was up to her ankles. She tried to break her bonds, but they were too strong. The water was up to her waist now. There wasn’t room to move, and she couldn’t swim. Up to her neck now, very little moonlight left. She cried a tear, but it was lost in all the water.
Adam & Eve: the original sex story that’s been denounced as evil and immoral.
I’m actually kind of sick while I’m writing this post, so if it’s not up to my usual quality, I apologize. Also, if you want to make me matzo ball soup or something, please make sure it’s prepared in a manner that is acceptable under the laws of kashrut. For an easy guide to cooking kashrut, please contact your local rabbi or read a guidebook to Jewish cooking.
Okay, enough rambling that unfortunately we cannot blame my current condition on. I don’t know if anyone’s noticed this, but the horror genre–whether it be books, movies, comic books, or TV shows on FX–has a lot of sex. It’s one of the draws of the genre, and it’s also one of the things horror authors are criticized for the most (besides the whole–you know–the fact that we write about scary, bloody things that often kill/maim/cover us in blood). Sometimes it seems that there’s more sex in a horror movie than there is horror.
The question is, why? Why is there so much sex in horror stories?
Well, I’m not exactly sure. Besides demons that use sex as a weapon in ancient legends and folklore, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of material on this subject before the 19th century. I do know that works by early horror writers like Edgar Allen Poe and Mary Shelley, who wrote around the same time, didn’t have a lot of sex in their work, and any that did was only subtly hinted at (for example, “The Fall of the House of Usher” hinted at an incestuous relationship between Usher and his sister, but never exactly came out and said it). However things started to change around the turn of the century. Dracula contained several themes about Victorian sexual mores, and theater productions of horror stories often used sex to draw crowds in. I’m not as familiar with the works of HP Lovecraft as I should be, but I bet there might be some naughtiness hinted at in those stories.
(And if I am wrong, I apologize and ask that you please notify me immediately of the fact)
“Bleh! I am so chaste! Bleh!”
Early horror films like the original Phantom of the Opera film with Lon Chaney, Nosferatu, the Universal horror films and some others skirted around sex (mostly because Hollywood had much more stringent censorship back then), but it was still present in books and comics of the time, which led to comic books being censored as well. However with the fifties and sixties came the sexual revolution, and mores surrounding sexuality loosened. This started being reflected in horror, with Stephen King in the seventies debuting with Carrie and Salem’s Lot, which had plenty of sex and sexual themes in them. Slasher films made use of sex as well, showing sex alongside blood and gore well into the late eighties and nineties. Buffy the Vampire Slayer debuted in the late nineties, during which the connection between sex and horror was often explored and commented upon within the show and by its viewers.
Fast forward a little bit, and you have the Scream movies, which poked fun at the supposed “rules of horror movies” (see video below), the Friday the 13th remake which had so much sex, it kind of lost the point of the film till near the end (but still couldn’t salvage the story), and American Horror Story, which actually manages to use sex in an artful way without taking away from the terror of the show.
(If anyone feels my history lesson in horror and sex is lacking something, once again I apologize.)
But like I said, all this sex in the horror genre has its consequences. Some will say that horror is using sex to draw in its audiences, like when you have a pretty girl being tortured while in her underwear (I think that’s a new way of looking at torture porn). Others say that horror authors are making a morality statement when they say “sin” like sex, drugs or booze causes you to die horribly, and the sweet virgin is the only one who survives (albeit with severe trauma). Plenty of critics believe that all the sex, along with the gore and killing, are warping the minds of children and teenagers (I don’t believe that for one minute). And feminists criticize horror authors for objectifiying and sometimes demonizing women and their sexuality in their work.
For that last one, I have to admit, we’ve been guilty of that a few times. So has certain evangelists and nutcases and whatnot, but yeah, horror authors have done this a few times. The video below provides some examples on this.
But this still doesn’t explain how sex has gotten to be such a part of the genre of horror. Maybe it serves as a relief for audiences. After seeing something so scary, a little sex can actually serve to relax people. In some funeral parlors, they’ll actually have lewd statues or paintings in order to make the grieving feel a little better (not kidding). At the same time, sex could act as a way to ramp people up, show them a little nudity, and then when they’re excited, scare them silly with some blood and death.
Personally, I’m of the opinion that if there’s more sex in a horror movie than there is horror, it’s probably because the filmmakers realized they have a pretty weak story to begin with, and need something to draw the audiences in with. I don’t know if anyone else shares that opinion, but I definitely believe it. And it certainly would explain a lot.
And occasionally, sex serves as part of the plot, like how in AHS: Asylum Kit and Grace having sex is used to further certain elements of the story. So occasionally sex can be used in a good way in the horror genre, instead of just making us worry that the people behind the story you’re watching or reading about just needed something after a very bad dry spell.
Here’s another question to ask yourself: Is my story more likely to get this rating than an R or PG-13 rating if I use sex?
I’m still not sure why sex is so intrinsically a part of the horror genre. However, because it is, I think it should be used more wisely. If you write horror stories, unless you’re trying to use sex as part of your story in a tasteful way or as a tool to further character development, then you should probably leave the sex out. Ask yourself this: what does this story gain from me using sex in it?
If you can’t think of a valid reason, then don’t put the sex in. (You can also ask this question for gore, and I highly recommend that you do).
Boy, it’s been a crazy day. I was afraid I’d never have a chance to write this post. But I’m in front of my computer, my homework for tonight is done, and I’ve called back everyone who’s left me messages, so here’s the post to celebrate the two-month anniversary of The Quiet Game: Five Tales To Chill Your Bones, my collection of short stories and first published book.
So far, I’ve sold about 41 or 42 copies, which isn’t too bad given I’m still pretty new to the indie-publishing scene and this is my first book. In addition, I’ve got a 4-star average on Amazon at the moment based on four reviews, which makes me happy. I like to think that people like what I write, so the reviews are proof that at least some people like the book.
I’ve also gotten some interesting responses to my book. For instance, the first short story in the collection, “Addict”, has turned quite a few heads with its content. But it’s a story about a man with sex addiction, so I can see why that might attract some attention. I’ve also gotten some great feedback on some of the other short stories. My dad thought the titular short story, “The Quiet Game”, was very creepy and well-done, and coming from him that’s some really awesome praise. And of course Jason Haxton, author of the book The Dybbuk Box, loved my original dybbuk story, “Samson Weiss’s Curse”. He’s the one who gave me my sole five-star review.
If you’re interested in reading The Quiet Game, please check it out on Amazon and Smashwords, available in both paperback and e-book versions.
