Once upon a time…
No, this isn’t that kind of a story. That kind of story implies a happily-ever-after ending, and magical middle, and a cozy snuggle while someone reads it aloud to you. What about the other kind of story, where the author’s heart-blood lies upon the page and you can feel the emotion?
I never meant to write horror. Honestly, when asked I deny I have done so, but fans have informed me that at least two of my stories are horror. One of them I meant to be about a woman gaining new hope and a beginning, the other… my mentor told me that the best stories came from metaphorically opening a vein onto the page. I pondered that, and paired it with something I had meant to do for a long time but lacked the courage, and wrote the story.
There are times I think I don’t feel, or write, emotion the way other people do. I suspect it’s partly being Odd, and that those of us who identify that way share this awkwardness with the concept of gut-wrenching emotion: is it too much? or not enough?
My first beta reader for the bloody story told me it gave him the shudders, and the reviews since it was published are that it is very different indeed from my other work. I know why, and I’m not sure I care to repeat it. In order to write the book, I reached back into my past, and used memories to write some of the scenes. Hence the title.
It was very difficult to write. With my novels, there isn’t as much of me in the stories, so in a sense they are easier (although still not easy!) to write than that single novella was. By pouring out emotions onto the page, I felt myself vulnerable in a way few other stories have left me.
And that brings me to what made me think of it. There was a time in my life I was half-convinced I was crazy (any of you who have read Lois McMaster Bujold’s Komarr will know why I identified with Ekaterin so strongly). My greatest fear was that I would be confined and committed. Now, I know that wasn’t an option then, and I certainly know I’m not crazy. A little nuts, maybe, but not insane.
I’ve put Memories of the Abyss up for free download next week, and a friend made a joking comment that the Book Plug Friday listing was crazy (he’s not read the story of mine). I joked back… and realized that I no longer feel broken in the way I did when I wrote that story. Healing has come, and with it, I believe, better writing.
I spent years so deep in fear and depression I could barely write at all. Now that I am happy? I can, and I do, and it is a delight, rather than a catharsis of pain on a page. To those who proclaim that you must be depressive to write true literature, I say Phooey! I am more in control of my own head, and emotions, which allows me to channel characters without tainting them as they pass through my head.
It’s a good thing. I’m happy. And next week, I begin a marathon writing session to complete the next novel before the end of June. I’m excited, and delighted to see Trickster Noir selling well, but it’s more about being able to write, without having to bleed on every page. Heart’s blood has its place. But to lose too much would kill me.
Mad Genius Club 
13 responses to “Bleeding on the Page”
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I won’t be happy until “Trickster Noir” is available. And all its sequels. 8^)
Trickster is available. And there is only one more planned, Dragon Noir, which won’t be out for a year to eighteen months, I’m afraid.
My boa constrictor method of writing gives me time to think about the emotion I’m putting into a scene (or lack of emotion) and change my mind way before the story goes public. Usually even before the Beta Readers see it.
And yes, being happy makes for higher productivity. When I’m miserable or stressed, I retreat into my imaginary worlds for relief, but I don’t write it down, at least not then. Later? Maybe.
There is something to be said for writing for catharsis. Not publishable, most likely, but useful.
Lots of rewriting . . . or perhaps it’s just practice at getting emotion down in words. Reading old stuff can be strange. I cringe. “What was I thinking? To write _that_!”
My one attempt at horror turned into straight mil-sci-fi, so it may be a genre I just don’t “feel.” My reader brain enjoys small bits and nibbles from time to time, but I just can’t get my writer mind/emotions into it. I almost wonder if because so much of what I see is “shock horror gore,” my historian’s mind snorts and says, “eh, try harder. That’s nothing compared to what happened in Lahore during the Partition” and so on.
Yeah, I’ve never been a fan of ‘shock horror gore” and although i am sure I could write to gross people out, my accomplishments are more in the sheer emotional sort of horror.
If that’s an accomplishment.
I pretty much never read horror as horror. During my younger years, I was naturally anxious enough that reading something to generate more seemed pointless. So what horror I read and enjoy, I tend to read as a different genre.
Kiwi was meant to be at least disquieting, if not horrific. But it was about invading and converting the mind, rather than slashing and destroying the body. And because you are meant to hate the “hero”, you find yourself almost rooting for the monster, except really, they’re both monsters.
I packed a lot into that story, although I have to wonder how much of that the readers are rooting out. (all 25 of them so far….)
“To those who proclaim that you must be depressive to write true literature, I say Phooey!”
That may very well be true, but I don’t want to read true literature, so I hope you stay undepressed (it’s a word, honest) while writing.
I’m pretty happy these days, despite minor stressors like school, so I think I can promise that. 🙂
When I am accused of writing horror, it’s invariably because I retold a fairy tale. They are not only Grimm, but grim.