When I started writing ten years ago, I wanted to write scary. I wanted to write about women stealing breath and life from the men they loved. I wanted to tell tales of haunted houses and evil villages. I dreamt of the faceless killer who actually wore the kindly neighbors face. The furies, the fates, sorority girls, creepy little children—they called to me.
And then one day, I sat down to write about a town where people experience a strange sort of sleeping death. Steeped in Greek myth and the nightmares of my youth, I wrote every night from 8-10 after putting the kids to bed.
And then, I got stuck and then, I read through what I had and realized—I suck at scary.
But lately, it’s calling me back. Maybe it never stopped calling.
So I’m thinking of giving it another try. I have a few ideas that I have to hash through, some nightmares to re-examine. A few healed wounds from childhood to rip open.
Help me out and tell what you were afraid of them and now. What makes you pull the covers up over your head and pray for the light of morning?
#imnostephenking #writerlife #scary #author