Up For a Scare
Friday evening and I decided to write a thing about writing horror stories.
It's cold, dark and proper winter out there. Good weather for the stuff I write. You can expect two things: horror fiction and me writing about life.
Oh, I write about writing now and then. I should mention that.
Right, yeah, me on here. I'd better tell you about the horror stuff. Why do I write horror stories?
It goes like this. I used to write comedy and lighthearted articles. I got this idea for a short story. Proper grim so I didn't write it. I told my mate about it.
—I've got an idea for the blog. It's different though.
—Yeah? How so?
—It's about a writer who gets a visit late one night from something that's not human.
—Er, right.
—Yeah and it forces him to keep writing. By jabbing bone fragments into his hands.
—What?
—The thing. It forces—
—I heard you. That's dark ain't it? Like horror or something.
—Yeah.
I wrote it. To see what came out. Blimey. It was dark. Leave that where it is, I said. I carried on writing comedic stuff.
But that writer, you see. He wouldn't leave me. Hang on, it could have been the thing from the shadows that wouldn't leave me.
Anyway, I knew I'd written a half-decent story.
Next, I finished writing one night not long after that. Hello, what's that? I thought. Half-baked. But it was a story. I'd better write it. Sod off, it's late.
WRITE IT.
Ah, right. I did. I called it The Shape of It. Ended up finishing writing well after Midnight. Had a read the next morning. Yeah, not bad. That's two horror stories. Being honest? More ideas were stirring.
The thing is, and it took me a while to realise this: writing comedy and horror are the same thing with one difference.
In comedy there's escalation and then a laugh. In horror there's escalation then a scare. See? One difference. Otherwise, the same thing.
This didn't come out of nowhere for me. I read James Herbert and Shaun Hutson books. I admire Stephen King but he stopped writing horror a long time ago. 'Salem's Lot and The Dark Half were his best books. Oh and The Shining was a good 'un.
But I like the ordinary English settings that Herbert and Hutson wrote about. I do the same thing myself. Make an ordinary place with ordinary folk — then let the monsters out.
There's this theory I have. A proper story needs four things:
- A hero.
- A goal.
- An obstacle.
- Stakes—something real that bleeds if it falls.
The point is: if your protagonist can walk away you haven't got a story.
That goes double for horror. I'm not unleashing a beast in the dark. Then let the protagonist shrug, lock the porch door, and catch the late train to London. Horror is about survival. Escape isn't an option. They face the thing, or they go into the ground.
Time to work up an ending for this. But hold up, the chair next to me creaked…
—Now then, lad. I see yer writing again.
—Evening, James, yep, I am.
—Don't piss about like a scrob. I don't want to read a shite effort tomorrer.
—I'm writing about writing horror fiction.
—Giz a godge at it when yer done.
—Right, I will—
—Good. And make sure it won't make me mardy.
Ah, that's old James. My writing assistant that lives in my head. he hails from Grimsby in England. The same town my grandfather (mother's side) came from. He's an invention but he's useful to have around. When I write something I reckon is dark? He'll snort from the shadows and tell me to make it darker.
Right, time for a brew. If you're up for a scare, stick around. James will make sure you get one.