Write Horror: Good Enough to Wake the Dead

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WRITE HORROR GOOD ENOUGH TO WAKE THE DEAD

  CHRISTINA ESCAMILLA        

Copyright © 2019 Christina Escamilla All rights reserved. Editing by Tory, Toryhunterbooks.com Cover Design by James, Goonwrite.com  

          All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author. All images have been used with permission, have been licensed, have been credited accordingly and are under fair use, or have been created by the author. Printed in the United States of America. All characters, names, places, and events in this book are fictitious unless otherwise noted. Any mention of real world, or copyrighted characters, names, places, and events have been done so in an editorial facet. All information in this book is presented as is. No representation or warranties surrounding further use of information contained within this book has been drawn. Both the author and publisher shall not be liable for any endeavors taken up by these suggestions in any degree whatsoever.

   

 

  Find Christina on the Web   www.stinaesc.com Facebook.com/stinaesc Twitter: @stinaesc Instagram: @stinaesc    

Other Books   Short Stories 64 Deaths The Deep Dark Woods   Nonfiction 1001 Questions to help flesh out your character 1001 Sci-fi Writing Prompts 1001 Horror Writing Prompts    

Table of Contents   What is Horror? Writing Fundamentals Exposition Structure The Horror Framework Setting Pacing Characterization Scene Creation Subgenres Archetypes & Tropes Monster & Creature Design Putting It All Together Writer’s Block The Manuscript Publishing Final Thoughts Appendix A Appendix  B Appendix C Author’s Bio

       

Let’s Begin

WHAT IS HORROR?     In the most basic form, horror is a type of genre that gives audiences a feeling of disgust, shock, and/or fear.  While there is often the assumption that horror requires a supernatural element of some sort, this is not necessarily the case. For example, true crime aficionados and the obsession with serial killers and mass murderers; it is not to say that people interested in this form of horror media are wrong for consuming such works, but consider what happens when one reads about Jeffery Dahmer or John Wayne Gacy. We read these heinous crimes, and we are shocked, disgusted, and maybe even more consciously aware that we need to lock our doors at night.   Horror taps into our most basic, primal fears. Our fear of the others outside our inner circle, the fear of death, of loss, of being alone, and so on. We must protect that which keeps us safe from harm or ensures our humanity remains intact. While true crime is often considered its own genre, it still shows that horror does not have to exist in a magical or supernatural environment. Horror is, essentially, that which frightens us. It may not outright scare us to the point of true terror, but it does raise our discomfort level to extreme places. Even horror comedies still work to take away the safety net. We can watch a talking puppet skeleton make puns before the next campy tale airs but, despite the humor, The Crypt Keeper[1] is still created to be grotesque. Each appearance he gives is still a reflection of our own mortality.  

    Horror is also an examination of ourselves and our interaction with the world. All storytelling is designed to explore some aspect of humanity. Horror specifically focuses on our need for safety and our awareness that this is a constant struggle; often a conscious effort on our parts. Take for instance, the boogeyman. When I was little, my cousins used to regale me with stories of El Cucuy, the Mexican equivalent of the monster that is supposed to get children to behave. The stories of this monstrous creature sneaking in my room at night and “slicing me up,” as they claimed it would do, absolutely terrified me.[2] But, I also made extra sure I was good all day so I wouldn’t be this demon’s next victim. Similarly, when we see a horrible accident on the highway or hear of a home invasion that happened down the street, we might drive a little more carefully next time or invest in extra home security measures.   Horror, no matter what medium, reflects and catalogs the fears we have and, on an individualistic level, it allows us to further explore what scares us. As famed director Guillermo Del Torro writes, “to learn what we fear is to learn who we are.”[3]  

The best written and well executed horror tales, some in spite of being overtly grotesque and macabre, still open themselves up for a valid discussion on the nuances of human existence. Horror is remarkable in this way because it does place an emphasis on fear, but this objective is secondary to the commentary on life.   On Writing Horror   This is all interesting as an explanation of the horror genre, but what if one wants to write horror? There is plenty of advice that will help one when it comes to writing in general, which we will cover in the forthcoming section. However, I present the idea that horror is a different type of animal altogether and, while good writing is simply good writing, there are further craft styles and considerations to be had. The horror genre is unique because it asks readers to the do the following:   Hold a suspension of disbelief for that which might be unrealistic or supernatural[4] Accept the fact that the payoff will ultimately be a feeling of dread, discomfort, or genuine terror.   While many genres ask the reader to do one of these two things, horror is the only one that asks them to do it in congruence. That can also make horror that much more difficult to write. By the reader already knowing these elements will occur, they will already become mindful of any tropes or scare tactics that will be employed. This can sometimes make the horror ineffective, because expectation is so high.  To combat this, one must first have a strong mastery of craft. While we will explore certain craft elements in the next chapter, it is important to never lose sight of the fact that a good horror story must have a strong structural foundation.   Next, one must also create a sense of meaning. This is only possible through the uncovering of the primal fears at play and what those specific terrors might represent. The story may feature ancient monsters, but what do those beings represent? Are they a commentary on the loss of the environment, on being out of touch with one’s culture, or is it the usurping of culture itself?

  Horror represents something.   While you go through the remainder of this book, it is essential to keep these two elements in mind. It is equally imperative to also remember that horror writing, like with any other genre, is dependent on craft elements.   This book will draw heavily on both; explaining writing craft elements, but using these as a further examination into the horror genre. It will also draw from real world examples, movies, books, and a number of media elements.  As you go through, there are also several exercises, which are marked accordingly. Make use of them. All of this will not only help you sharpen your writing chops, but it will give you a better idea of how to work within the genre.   By the end of this book you may not be the next master of horror, but you may just be well on your way; that’s certainly a good starting point.

 

            CHAPTER ONE

WRITING FUNDAMENTALS     Although my research is in literature with a horror focus, my BSA is in Creative Writing. Each of my professors has had a slightly different take on what lies at the core of writing. That is not to say there is not a universal approach to good writing (typically you want to have good character development, strong form, etc.) but, more so, to showcase that the most important aspect of writing is – the audience.   When you read a book or watch a movie, what do you connect with the most?   For some, it’s all about the characters. They delight over horror movie villains like Jason[5] or Freddy[6] or can give the names of every character in their favorite Stephen King novel. For others, the setting is what really stands out to them. Further still, people might cringe over jump scenes because they feel that type of release of tension hasn’t been earned and, thus, focus more on the story’s pacing.   When it comes to the craft of writing, there are three elements that go into any form of storytelling:   1. What is being communicated? 2. How is this being communicated? 3. Does the reader have an interpretation of meaning?   The first aspect is the overall plot that you want to present. It could be as simple as – a man inherits a haunted house, realizes it has ghosts, and must find a way to bring them justice to release their souls to an idealized afterlife.   The second aspect would be the mechanics in which you communicate the above plot. It would be the characterization, pacing, tone, mood, or by other

means necessary. Essentially, use the nuances that give the structure its meat. These aspects will change throughout the story as it progresses.   The reader then takes this information and forms their own interpretation. While you cannot completely frame their final takeaway, you can help direct their path. While we will focus on the second element in the next chapter, the other two (the what and it’s interpretation), we can use two concepts to make these elements easier for the reader to understand:   Exposition – The background of the story. Structure – The way the story is built and framed.   We can dive into these two concepts a little further. They may seem similar, but they are separate aspects of the what and its interpretation altogether.  

  Exposition Think back to your childhood and the key moments from your past. Those memories contribute to your current personality and why you might react a certain way. Looking back at my own memories, I remember my older sister, Sara. When she was younger, my dad gave her what she thought was a pickle. She bit into it and discovered it was actually a jalapeño. He thought it was the funniest thing. As an adult, Sara loves spicy food; the spicier the better. However, she could have gone the opposite way and might have been adverse to any spicy food because of the prank. Either way, this singular moment helped dictate whether or not Sara would like that kind of food later on in life. The same is true for your characters and the entirety of your story. The exposition affects each character in your story and the setting. Each character has their own unique backstory, which will be a leading factor in what kind of decisions they make going forward. The setting also has its own background. For example, a small, southern town will affect the story differently than if took place in a big city. It is your job, as a writer, to reveal this information to the reader through subtle exposition. This will

help the story to not be so heavy-handed and prevents the audience from feeling overwhelmed or lost. Rather than dumping everything the reader needs to know right at the beginning, spread it out throughout the novel using dialogue, characterization, and other writing elements. In horror, the exposition is also largely dependent on themes and the overall representational fears. If you are writing a ghost story, a lot of your exposition and the “heart” of your piece may draw from our fear of what lies beyond, our fear of aging, dying, and so on. If the writer knows what kind of themes and fears they are after, they can use exposition to bubble this to the surface without being too conspicuous. To illustrate the point, let’s take a look at the Stephen King short story, “Gramma.” In this piece, a young boy is tasked with watching his elderly and confined grandmother, whom he is afraid of because of her reclusive and strange nature. Inevitably, the grandmother passes away, but not before the boy realizes that she is actually a witch. The visual imagery of witchcraft and the dark, supernatural elements that are present are parallel to the fear that we have of death and dying. Oftentimes, death is a far off vision that is reserved only for the most ancient among us and, as such, many find these elder individuals off-putting. Children tend to have an innate fear of the elderly: from a child’s perspective, they may think that elderly people have a distinct and unpleasant smell, notice fragile bodies covered with wrinkles, and note that their glossy eyes often seem distant and unseeing, ready for exhaustion to reach its culmination. These visual elements are frightening because they model the very nature of death itself. All things must grow old, and the circle of life must be closed. In the vein of this story, it is not enough for the woman herself to be old, but the witchcraft elements cover the fears mentioned and help to create an atmosphere of dread, common to horror narratives. In addition, the descriptions of her body being “yellow and fat and wrinkled” and her mouth being “sluglike” with the boy’s visions of coffins and skeletons, when he touches her grimoire, only underline the motif of death.[7] A purveyor of the mortuary sciences might liken these descriptors to the purification process that the body goes through in death. One’s corpse is simply a collection of fat and proteins, oozing out its organic compounds

in this stage of death. It is a sickening and horrifying thought, but that is precisely what King taps into. That is the thing that scares us, the witch is simply the catalyst. We are aware that the body decomposes in such a visually disturbing way, but we do not want to acknowledge it. In forcing us to garner these visuals through the sharp descriptions of the witch, we are forced to face our fears. The author understood the themes that his short story sought to accomplish and, by making those primary to the secondary elements, the payoff was far more effective. We can see how the exposition of the piece works in congruence with the elements of fear, making it an effective horror story. Now let’s look at an example from the horror film – The Babadook (2014), directed by Jennifer Kent. The film is centered on Amelie and her young son, Sam, as she tries to rebuild their lives after her husband’s untimely death. This is hindered when her son receives a popup book featuring the title character, which is nothing more than a dark mass of smoke wearing a tailored black suit and top hat. While the description may sound campy, the figure is set in dark tones and contrasts heavily with its surroundings, making it more eerie than silly. As the film progresses, it is clear that this monstrous entity is a manifestation of Amelie’s grief, unable to cope with the loss of her deceased husband. Despite it being a horror film, this is one of the most honest and moving portrayals of grief. Equally so, the movie takes time to segment how humans deal with grief in terms of age. Sam, being a child, cannot fully understand what he is feeling and thus, he often finds the creature everywhere he goes. Although his father died before he was born, the grief comes from his awareness that he will never get to experience what might have been. Thus, the grief is more adept at following him throughout his waking life; talking to him, taunting him, and essentially reminding him of his loss and his inability to connect with others. In addition, Sam also has deep psychological issues, which often present themselves in disobedience and uncontrollable rage. He has no bearing on how to cope with this loss and, as such, he lashes out. For Amelie, being an adult and needing to take care of her son, the protagonist of the piece tries to shut down everything she feels. Amelie does not allow herself to cry, but tells herself she has to move on for Sam’s

sake. When weird things happen in the house, she constantly tells herself everything is normal, but one cannot patch up emotional wounds and sorrow forever. Amelie and Mr. Babadook must battle it out, as is an often used horror trope. However, the Babadook is not slayed forever, he is only managed. In the final scene of the film, Amelie goes down into the basement, where he is chained up and locked away, to feed the creature. In essence, the loss of loved ones stays with someone for their entire lives. In the same vein, one does not have to let it control their lives.  In this movie, grief becomes a powerful element of fear and a formidable monster; this is what makes this such a strong, psychological horror piece. In both of these examples, the elements of fear are heightened because of the exposition that is put in. The boy’s fears surrounding his own grandma makes her reveal of being a witch that much more unsettling just as Amelie and her son’s grief give the Babadook a reason for existing and as such, increase the tension throughout the film.  

EXERCISE 1.1 Imagine that your character has been given an old pocket watch from a  loved one no longer with them.   In a piece of about 500 words, show  how this has affected the character without outright mentioning it.

  Structure The structure of a piece is the way in which it is laid out, from beginning to end. In literature, this would refer to the way the chapters are put together, the rising and falling action, and how each narrative strand ties to the greater plot arc. Similarly, film structure relies on the way the plot is organized, but this is all visual and auditory. We will cover many mechanics of structure in the next chapter through setting and scene, but it’s important to consider how you want to structure your story. Some authors prefer to dive in, coming up with plot points as they go along. There’s nothing wrong with this, but if you are starting out or are tackling a new genre, it would be

a good idea to formulate a plan before you begin your piece. There are several different variations to keep in mind when determining how you will frame your story. Here are just a few: Freytag’s Pyramid Whether a film or piece of literature, stories typically follow this kind of formula.   

The above breaks down as followed:   Exposition: The “introduction” of the story, presenting characters, setting, etc.[8] Rising Action: A series of conflicts that occur to complicate the lives of characters. Climax: The turning point of the narrative. It is also the most intense part of the piece. Falling Action: All characters react to the climax and a sense of resolution has occurred. Denouement: The French word for “untie.” It is essentially a resolution in which all loose ends have been tied up.[9]  

This is definitely a good go-to if you are lost at how your story should be orchestrated. We will reference this and other structural elements in the next chapter but, for now, consider how your own narrative fits into the above pyramid. Is there anything missing? If so, why?   Fichtean Curve   This plot structure is pretty close to Freytag’s pyramid, but rather than start in exposition, it starts at the rising action. See below:  

  The reader is introduced to many different catastrophes, one after the other, until we hit the climax before the falling action and denouement. There can any number of crisis, but they are all sprinkled with a little bit of exposition. A good example of this is Hereditary (2018) directed by Ari Aster. From the beginning of the film, the audience is introduced to one horrible happening after the next (the death of the grandmother, desecration of her grave, etc.) , then towards the end, the climax is introduced when the son and mother hash it out. Afterwards, the film comes to a slow descent until the purpose of the motivations of the characters is finalized.   Seven-Point Story Structure   According to author Dan Wells who coined the term, the purpose is to start with the resolution, or the hook of the piece, then work from there. Observe:  

      As you can see, this story structure is highly dependent on the highs and lows of the piece. Additionally, the audience starts off with a hook that will give a hint to the resolution of the piece. Let’s look at The Exorcist (1973) directed by William Friedkin:   Hook: The amulet of Pazuzu is found and the audience is introduced to the girl, Regan. This is the moment where things seem “normal”, but also hints to what is to come. In this case, Pazuzu will ultimately possess Regan. Plot turn 1: Regan plays with a Ouija board and begins to act strange thereafter. Pinch 1: During one unsettling moment, Regan urinates on the floor. Later, her bed begins to shake violently. Midpoint: After a litany of tests, Father Karras is called to perform an exorcism with the help of an older priest, Father Merrin. Pinch 2: The exorcism is performed, and this is where much of the horror and unsettling moments come into play. Plot Turn 2: Father Merrin dies of a heart attack, giving the demon Pazuzu more ammo to emotionally and physically attack Karras. Through this, however, the priest does find inner strength. Resolution: Pazuzu possesses Karras who throws himself out of the window in the ultimate act of sacrifice. Regan is no longer possessed and does not remember what happened to her.  

As showcased, plot turn seemingly works independent of one another to form the larger whole.   In Media Res   This Latin phrase means, “into the middle things” and, true to its namesake, this structure is notable because we, the audience, start midway through the story. Although, it is similar  to the Fichtean Curve, the biggest difference is that, rather than following a series of crisis, In Media Res stories start at the final crisis, when the plot has already progressed past some of these other action points.   While this might sound like a plot that might be too confusing for an audience to handle; it may sound as if it would be fairly difficult to progress. However, when done right, it can be a successful guide to follow. The key is to use this “middle” opening of the book to get the audience into the action, but then ensure that there are moments where you add in information about the way life was before this life-changing event took place. A good example is Chuck Palahniuk’s novel Damned in which a 13year-old girl not only wakes up in hell but must also piece together the events surrounding her death throughout the story. Damned is cohesive in its portrayal of In Media Res because we can retroactively piece together the preceding information.   The Disruption Doorway   The above structures are definitely a great idea if you are looking at the nuances of your piece, but what if you just want a general idea of how to structure your story? You’ve probably heard of the conflicts of plot, e.g. Man versus Man, Man versus Nature, and so forth. You might also be aware of the X amount of basic plots, like the rags to riches story, or the call to actions story, where X is the number the instructor has come up with, such as the six basic plots or eight basic plots.   Here is a simple plot structure shown to us in the Creative Writing Program.  

  No matter what kind of book you write, your character(s) starts off in a state of normalcy. Of course, this refers to what is normal to them. Their normal might be them living on the streets, or it might be that they live in a world where vampires are real. In short, they are used to the way the world is. Then a disruption occurs. They may inherit a fortune or they might find that vampires have now taken to eating people again, and it is up to the protagonist to stop it.   Whatever the case may be. The entire plot is structured on the character dealing with that disruption and, thus, when the resolution comes, their ordeal must have changed them in some way. It is not enough for the character to have gone through the thing, but they must show that they have been affected by it as well. No matter how big or small that change may be.   For example, in the 2017 version of Stephen King’s It, directed by Andy Muschietti, the Loser’s Club all make a blood oath that if the evil clown, Pennywise, ever comes back to Derry they are going to fight the monstrosity once more. Consider this group from the beginning of the film, and you can see how stark this change is. Pennywise is a living embodiment of their fears and by this singular moment, Muschietti shows that this group of children have not only overcome their own personal woes, but they acknowledge that these are issues they may deal with going forward. Only now they have the right tools to deal with these fears head on.   Character-Driven versus Plot-Driven   Another way to break down story structure is to determine if it is characterdriven or plot-driven. True to their namesake, character-driven stories are

those that center on the breaking down or building up of a character, whereas a plot-driven story focuses on the plot itself (the who, the where and, most importantly, the why of it all).    Let’s break down these even further, delving into character-driven stories. One of the biggest misconceptions about these types of stories is that they involve a lot of characters. A character-driven story can have a lot of different characters, or it can have very few. Regardless of how many characters they have, the focus is on how the character develops within the narrative. If you take the focus on the character away, it should completely change the story.     For example:   A recent widower, with the help of his filmmaker friend, decide to hold an audition in the hopes of finding him a new love. After finding and being entranced with Asomi, widower Shigeharu suddenly finds himself in a surrealist situation that he can’t seem to escape.   This is the plot of Audition (1999) directed by Takashi Miike, which is a very character-focused plot. Yes, there is plenty of action, and some especially unsettling, gory moments, but much of the focus is Shigeharu and his development throughout the film. We, the audience, are drawn to Asomi through his lens and, with each new reveal, both he and the audience learns something a little more sinister about the strange woman. In turn, we also learn more of how Shigeharu’s loss, loneliness, and his desire to fulfill what he deems a masculine necessity affects him.   To this end, if we were to take all of this internalization out of the piece, it would then change drastically. When writing character-driven stories, it is important to keep three specific rules in mind:   Character-Driven Rules   1. The character should be well developed in the beginning. They should have a backstory, motivation, and a clear drive to how they

exist within the realm of the story’s plot. 2. The character’s development should be integrated within the plot, not a reaction to it. 3. The characters should always act in a way that makes sense in their established characterization, even if it seems out of the ordinary within the story itself. A plot-driven story, on the other hand, is a tale in which characters are secondary to the narrative. They are there to essentially enhance the plot but, if one were to replace any character, that plot would still remain the same. This style of fiction also draws from a lot of literary elements, such as plot twists, direct confrontation, external conflict, action, etc. These elements, including the characters, are there as a support system to the overall plot rather than to be supported themselves by the story’s movement.   When you remove one or more of these elements, the journey might change slightly, but the story will still go from point A to point B. Then, at the end of the story because the audience has taken the journey themselves, they will remain satisfied.   For example:   Over the course of one night, four intertwined stories show what happens when you break the rules of Halloween.   This is the plot of 2007’s Trick ‘r Treat, directed by Michael Dougherty. It may seem like a character-driven story, but consider what makes this piece noteworthy. Yes, the characters are developed well, but it’s the nonlinear plot that is the big highlight of the whole film. We are tickled with each new story that is unraveled and, more so, we are delighted when we finally figure how everything is interconnected.  

EXERCISE 1.2 Let’s use a horror trope classic – the haunted house. Write two stories featuring four characters. However, make one plot-driven and the other character-driven. Try and keep the overall plot the same.

  Ex. Four strangers seek shelter in a house and find out they are not alone!     Structuring Your Story   As mentioned, these are just a few structural shapes your story can take. The more you become comfortable with writing, the easier it will be to determine which works best for the story you want to tell. For horror, there is no singular structure that fits the genre, as seen with many different horror narratives that have used many different structures. It is also a good idea to approach your story using many different structures, to see which one seems the most natural for the overall theme and goals you are trying to achieve. The key to writing the horror story you want to tell is to ensure that your plot makes sense and that your characters, setting, and everything else is well crafted.  

 

 

            CHAPTER TWO

THE HORROR FRAMEWORK     The next step to crafting a strong and vital horror tale is to refine these central fears into a workable piece. This can be done through the inclusion of common writing craft elements; they are: setting, pacing, characterization, and scene. While we go through each of these, I will offer a horror spin on it. First, one should remember the theme of the story. Focusing on the theme will give the reader what they need to progress through the plot and will end with a sense of resolution afterwards. This means that you would do well to cut out the excess and only include what is pivotal to the story. After all, according to author and writing guide master William Zinsser, “clutter is the disease of American writing.”[10]   Too often one gets bogged down with overused words, flowery descriptions, repetition and, in the case of horror, the inclusion of many different tropes that are meant to scare the audience. How many times is a potential victim, usually female, going to trip over their own shoes and then be mercilessly slaughtered? Or, someone just happens to inherit a creepy old house from someone they’ve never even met?   Writing, like many other avocations, requires a specific methodology. For example, surgeons must understand the nuances of anatomy if they are to make the first cut. Likewise, the writer must pinpoint the primary plot they wish to tell. The writer must then concentrate on how to best translate this onto the page without making it too simple that it feels like you are holding the reader’s hand. On the other hand, making the text too convoluted will make a reader not fully understand what is going on. To quote Zinsser again, “If the reader is lost it’s usually because the writer hasn’t been careful enough.”[11] A confused reader may mean that the writer is switching tenses too abruptly, the sentences swing too short or contain a clutter of excessive verbiage, the characters and their dialogue may be stilted or hard to follow, or any number of other problems.  

The same is true for film. Too often, a majority of horror movies are lampooned or easily dismissed. There’s a reason why most horror movies rarely get a Rotten Tomato score above eighty percent In these cases, the filmmaker relies too heavily on jump scares and doesn’t devote enough time to the plot mechanics and overall writing of the piece. Additionally, there’s not enough of a vetting process for the actors either. If you’re attractive – you’re in.[12]   No matter what problem exists, if the audience does not understand the piece or does not find it enjoyable, the first place to look for blame is the creator.   To fix the problems that can occur in literature or film, it is first important to accept that your work will only improve with an understanding of these craft elements, and that it is only over time, you will get better. You may start off as a good writer, but the goal should always be to become a great one.   As mentioned, we will look at these craft elements from a horror bent. These are as followed:    

    Keep in mind that atmosphere, escalation, monsters, and fear will not replace setting, pacing, characterization, and scene, but these horror considerations will work in accordance with them. Thus, for example, while you are thinking about setting you must also consider what kind of atmosphere you want your reader to feel or when you are working on characterization, it is also important to remember that even your villains and monsters must be fully fleshed out.    

Setting In short, setting is the time and location in which your story takes place. However, although that is the main definition, it is a little more nuanced than that. Consider, for example, what kind of goals the setting may have in your piece, especially when it comes to horror. Suppose you are in a dark, winding road in the middle of nowhere because your car broke down. The feeling you would have would be different than say, being invited into a circus where evil clowns might show up. In the first setting, the atmosphere is fear based on the unknown while in the second the fear is laced with expectation of danger. When crafting your setting you must consider the following: What kind of mood and tone might it have? What time and era does your story take place in? How does each place and moment in your story progress the plot? How do these places affect your characters and their interactions with both the location around them and each other?   The answers to all of these will impact the story in slightly different ways. For example, would a winding road in the middle of nowhere be less frightening at midnight or 3am? How much would things change if this was the 1800s versus the 2000s? If your character visits this winding road later in the story, what has changed physically? How have they themselves changed? All of these are aspects of setting you need to mull over to ensure

that what you present to the audience is not only something they can visualize, for you writers, but also something they can fully immerse themselves in, for you filmmakers. In short, the setting should never, ever be stagnant or lack purpose. The Setting as a Character One of the most important lessons you will learn from this section is that the setting should be treated like it’s own character. Not only can it be used as a mechanism to better connect with the audience, but the setting will absolutely have an effect on the characters as well and each character will react to it in a slightly different way. For example, let’s go back to that desolate road and, just for fun, let’s use four of the final girls[13] from popular horror works, and see what might happen if their car breaks down in this setting:

  Despite being in the same setting, each character thinks, feels, and reacts very differently within it. Because of this, each character’s experience will

absolutely change as a result. A character that calls for help might find a madman has answered the call while a character that decides to walk might be walking straight into a pack of murderous aliens. In this vein, the description of your setting is going to change depending on what kind of point of view you are using. If you think of the setting as its own character, this is simply going to be easier because you can think in terms of how the setting reacts back, so to speak. For instance, the setting to Wendy is much more menacing and dark than it would be to Ellen. Keep this in mind, because the setting should be well written enough that we, the audience, understand both whose point of view we are looking at it from, and what kind of setting we are dealing with as a result.

  EXERCISE 2.1 Using the chart above, take one location from your piece and decide how each character might react to it.     On Atmosphere For horror, especially, setting must have a strong sense of atmosphere. Setting is the locale in which each scene is set, but the atmosphere is the feeling the audience will have while exploring these environments. This is integral for horror because it helps to shape the fear that is manifested. There are two techniques that make horror settings unique in their atmosphere.   The character must be taken out of their comfort zone. The setting must be sensory dependent.   A character being taken out of their comfort zone is a technique that tends to be relevant no matter what genre you are working in. For a romance writer, a working class character might get an invitation to a royal ball, where they fall in love with a prince, who coincidentally falls right back in

love with them. In a science fiction, a character might find themselves on a one-way trip to Mars where they discover new life. The transition from the character’s comfort zone can be a negative or a positive experience, but it must be impactful.   A positive experience, for example, might be a character and their family moving to a new home or receiving an ancient artifact as part of an estate closure. A negative experience may be being sent to an insane asylum or going through a recent divorce and receiving a mystical enchanted object that way. All of these are popular horror tropes, and they are effective because they allow both the reader and the primary characters to come faceto-face with new experiences, whether good or bad. This will not only allow the characters to have an interesting dynamic to work through, but that conflict can allow better integration of fear.   Similarly, the next consideration to make when it comes to atmosphere is to gauge how much description is needed for the work to be effective. In a fantasy novel, for example, the key is to give the reader as much information as possible so that the setting is well realized in their mind. However, the same is not entirely true for horror. For narratives of fear, the old idiom less is more stands, with the exception being if the information that is delivered in setting is integral to the plot. For example, if it’s entirely necessary to showcase the ruined state of the environment to compare it with its previously grandiose position, such as the case in Edgar Allan Poe’s “Fall of the House of Usher.”   In addition, it’s also important to keep in mind that one of the most common misconceptions of horror is that the setting must include a number of fear elements. That the old and foreboding house must include a skeleton in the basement, cobwebs hanging off the chandelier, and a rickety rocking chair, but it is simply not necessary to include all of these external elements. A good example of this is the 2007 movie adaptation of Stephen King’s short story, “The Mist”, directed by Frank Darabont, which bears the same title, in which setting is paramount to not only achieving horror, but to also frame the idea of religious zealousness and how far human technology can go.  

In this piece, the town finds itself under siege by Lovecraftian-like monsters that are later revealed to be brought in because of a governmental portal that is unwittingly opened. What is interesting about the setting is how limited it actually is. Although some of the action takes place both in and outside the main character’s home, as well as the local pharmacy, the majority of the story takes place in a very small grocery store where the audience only gets to see the front, the loading dock, and a few aisles. This does well to intermingle the ordinary with the extraordinary. For instance, there is one shot in particular in which a man goes out into the mist tethered by a rope that the others are pulling to help keep him grounded. When he begins to scream the others pull him back, only to scream in terror themselves when half of it comes out red. An aerial shot then shows the man’s bloody torso which follows the rope until it reaches its landing view on the terrified people. It’s a great symbolic shot that really helps to show how the horror has begun to overlap into the tiny community.   In this piece, the characters begin in a neutral environment, the grocery store, and the atmosphere, quite literally, begins to move from the exterior to the interior. It is the setting and atmosphere that also helps to deliver two specific themes to the audience:   Religious Zealousness – The confinement not only allows patrons to be more susceptible to the idea of praying for help rather than taking action (and later being open to the idea of ritualistic sacrifice), as well as visually showing this kind of religious fervor can happen anywhere. Government/Scientific Ethics – Several army men are placed throughout the store and eventually their presence is revealed. A portal has been opened, letting in the monsters, all created by scientific curiosity and lack of oversight and concern.   Note that it is the setting that is driven by the type of atmosphere that is taking place. In this case, the atmosphere subtly creeps in, rather than rely on scaring the audience from the very beginning. The religiosity doesn’t just happen; it slowly escalates. The audience has also seen glimpses of these army men threaded throughout the narrative and may have questioned what they were doing there. The reveal doesn’t happen until much later.

  All of these elements create an uneasy atmosphere at the beginning that continues to increase tension throughout. While you do not have to use this mechanism specifically, it is important to understand how setting and atmosphere must work hand in hand to make your audience feel something specific.   When it comes to setting, consider why it exists and what purpose might it serve. Then, start to draft out your descriptions. Remember that, setting is the framing device by which the story should exist.    

EXERCISE 2.2 Use an extremely mundane setting you’re familiar with. In a piece of  about 1,000 to 2,000 words, give that setting an unsettling atmosphere. not horrifying, not disgusting, but unsettling.      

Pacing Pacing is the speed and rhythm of your story. We’ve slightly touched on this in the previous section, especially in the way tension can build, but let’s dissect it a little further. There’s three important things to keep in mind when dealing with pacing: The pacing will not and should not stay the same throughout the entirety of the piece. Pacing works to control the flow of the narrative arc. Pacing can also help determine how much information the audience is given.   For example, your novel might move slower at the beginning of the piece, because there is much more exposition to dole out, and it may move quicker towards the end, especially right before the climax. For horror, a great a

deal of reliance is placed on escalation. There simply must be a buildup if there is to be a payoff. In addition, proper pacing helps you to control how much fear your audience has without outright turning them off. Consider the following two opening scenes: A. The scene opens with a gruesome murder taking place. A close-up view shows a knife tearing into flesh, causing blood to rush out. The sound of screaming is so loud it’s almost deafening. B. The scene opens with a body on the floor, its eyes cold and unstaring. On the torso, a series of strange markings are displayed. Which of these makes you want to know more? You may love gore, but even the most hardcore hound would at least be a little perturbed with scene A, as we are thrust into the gore right off the bat. Consider the opening to the first Saw (2004) movie, directed by James Wan. This entire series is successful, not for the plot, but because of the insane torture scenarios the victims find themselves in. In the first film, the audience opens with two men on the ground, in a dark and menacing environment; yet, we are still guided towards the violence step by step. If you focus only on the disturbing and not the pacing, quite simply, you’re going to turn your audience off. Remember, disgust does not always equal respect. For a literary example, consider the short story “We So Seldom Look on Love” by Barbara Gowdy. The piece opens with a woman contemplating her past relationships and her otherness when it comes to making human connections. Ultimately, we learn that she is a morgue worker. And a necrophile. This story is disturbing, there is no doubt about that, but it isn’t just disturbing. Gowdy treats reality in a way that can be easily believable, but is still so out-of-the-ordinary, it’s interesting. Necrophilia is something that exists in nature and is even part of the DSM.[14] It’s heinous, of course, but the prose allows the reader to step into this person’s head, even connect with them on a humanistic level, without being turned off from the start.

In fact, we are not privy to what she is until the 3rd page, and even then it’s only glossed over. The narrator casually recounts that, she “used to dance for dead men, too. Before I climbed on top of them, I’d dance all around the prep room.”[15] It’s such a quick line that one might miss it in the first go around. In fact, the element of dancing has only been previously mentioned is a kind of ritualistic death dance. First, with the body of a dead chipmunk. Again, awful, but it isn’t entirely off-putting because Gowdy is crafty in how she uses escalation. The transition is also aided by the fact that the narrator is a blonde woman and “necrophiles aren’t supposed to be blond and pretty, let alone female.”[16] While the audience never accepts these acts in a moralistic sense, and they may ultimately loathe the reader, the pacing allows a slower thread of information, giving the audience a better platform to want to keep reading. The Basement Method Consider the way that a basement looks. Now, suppose that the light switch is at the bottom, as they can sometimes be. What you see in front of you is not as scary as the idea that, even if you know what you will find at the bottom, because there is never a hundred percent assurance in life, then anything can be down there. It can be a masked murderer, an evil clown and, even if it is most likely what you were looking for plus some spiders, it is still a creepy notion.  That is how I came up with this method— because of the thought of something that might happen is so effective in horror. This is the cornerstone of good pacing. You do not want to reveal your hand immediately, but it has to be a slow descent. Thus, you can think of a horror like going down a dark basement.   See below:

On the landing there is light, the exposition, and any backstory which allows the audience to fully understand the setting and the characters. They know there will be fear, but this has not happened yet and, thus, they are still tethered to the safety net of neutrality. If any horror elements are present, they are so subtle that it’s entirely likely the audience might miss them the first go-around. On the first step, there is still a substantial amount of light, but the initial descent causes some of that light to be lost. The audience understands the stakes and what motivates each character. Horror elements may begin to creep in, but they are also used sparingly. For instance, a character might cross a window that has just a glimpse of a face staring through it. It is another blink-and-you-might-miss-it moment. A great example of this is the TV series The Haunting of Hill House directed by Mike Flanagan. Not only are there subtle hints regarding the history of the house, but Flanagan has managed to place more than thirty ghosts in the background while various scenes take place. Not only does this technique raise the tension for the

viewer, but it acts as a framing device for the house’s sinister nature; that those that go in are spiritually consumed by this pile of brick and mortar. On the next step, more light is lost. The stakes are raised. This is when jump scares and one-shot boos begin to make their appearance. The tension is really starting to rise and the pacing increases. Thus, by the time the individual has made it down to the dark basement, there is no turning back, and this is when all of the more conspicuous horror can be placed. The jumps scares become more frequent, more violence and gore can occur, and eventually the audience is surrounding in total fear. It’s atmospheric. That is when you can present your climax, at the total peak of the terror. Using the Haunting of Hill House again, consider the appearance of the Bent-Neck Lady, which is a significant plot arc in the first half of  the series. Obviously, there will be spoils here so if you have not seen it, perhaps skip to the next paragraph. By far, one of the creepiest ghosts in the series is the Bent-Neck Lady who has long wavy hair, soulless blank eyes, and a contorted neck and head, hence the name. She also appears only to young Nell Crain, played by Violet McGraw, when the Crains move to Hill House. Her parents chalk it up to childhood terrors, and Nell develops a sleep paralysis disorder when she is older as a result. The presence of this horrifying ghoul increases, both in intensity and scare factor, until episode 5 when the big reveal happens. Tragically, we learn that Nell is the Bent-Neck Lady and, in non-linear fashion, her ghost serves as a warning to her younger self, hoping her suicidal fate does not fulfill.  It is terrible and tragic and that much more horrifying, but it would not have worked without slow, thoughtful steps. Then, there is the final step. Sort of. It is important to point out that the basement does not need four steps, specifically. Especially because having only four steps does not give us a whole lot of darkness to work with, does it? To that end, some narratives will need a longer descent before the climax, and subsequent horror payoff can be realized. Others may only need three steps. Your goal, as a writer, must be to determine what is necessary for the story you are trying to tell.  

EXERCISE 2.3 Use the basement method to map out your story.   Pay close attention to how many steps your story might need and what happens on each one.     The School One of the founders of the Creative Writing Program at the University of Houston is Donald Barthelme. It stands to reason, then, that every single creative writing class I took there required us to read one of his most famous pieces, The School. Even George Saunders wrote an exploratory essay on this short story. Although, “The School” isn’t considered a horror, it is one of the weirdest stories I’ve ever read and is a good example of escalation. There are also very subtle horror elements, as literary fiction often contains, which are worth noting if you ever decide to read the story in its entirety.   The main premise of “The School” is that the unnamed narrator is a teacher at an elementary school, and the children begin to question him about death. This is largely due to the fact that every single class plant and pet they have seems, unfortunately, to die. It isn’t just the pets and plants that meet their mortal end, but even parents and students die. Each death grows more and more complex, in terms of their biology and relation to the students, until the story makes a complete narrative turn that no one is expecting.   After questioning their teacher about death, which only adds to their little existential crisis, they demand the teacher make love to the teaching assistant to reevaluate the fact that “life is that which gives meaning to life”. [17] The teacher goes as far as kissing his assistant, Helen on the brow before there is a knock on the door. In walks a new gerbil.   I told you it was a weird story.   Despite the weirdness, the many deaths that are referenced throughout the story can be put into a handy chart.

  Take a look below:    

  As mentioned, the escalation happens in both how complex the death is (a plant versus a puppy for example) versus the level of familiarity the children are with who has died. Matthew and Tony, for instance, are classmates. This makes the earlier mentioned existential crisis the students have that much more impactful, because they speak so eloquently, and because the pattern is so sharply broken.   The same can be true for the gerbil that walks in. It’s a return to the familiar but by the use of the word “walks” and not say, someone carried the gerbil in, it gives an absurdist, almost nihilistic view of the same scenario being doomed to repeat. However, again, the strangeness of the ending could not have been as effective if the escalation were not present.   The Symphony To put this element of tension into perspective, one can envision a symphony. If there is not a healthy mix of both highs and lows, then the

story is ineffective at establishing the overall tone. Too high, or rather the movement is too fast in terms of the pacing, and the audience is confused and has no context for what is happening. Too slow and the audience becomes bored and despondent. There must always be a balance. One of the most iconic horror films of all time is Alfred Hitchock’s film, Psycho (1960). While the movie is famous for the shower scene, credit should also be given to the film’s score, composed by Bernard Hermann. “The Psycho Theme,” as it is called, is a wonderful example of the dance of tension building. If you haven’t heard it yet, play it before reading so you can get a sense of what I’m referring to. Listening to this piece, one can instantly tell when the momentum begins to build, when everything has reached its climax, and then the moment everything begins to fall back down towards some sense of normalcy, albeit in a new, changed environment. This is essential with horror narratives that deal with some aspect of wellness because the audience especially needs to understand what is at stake and how this new world will deviate from what is known.   Escalation allows the audience to step into a world that they are not entirely familiar with but still accept the rules and structures of this new plane regardless. This is especially important for horror narratives that deal with some type of supernatural or paranormal elements. If the reader was thrust into the last step immediately, and the piece opens with those elements of fear that should come later, they would not only be turned off, but they may even be confused and disenfranchised by the plot. It simply would not be believable, and they could not accept this new reality. Thus, it is essential for the writer to guide the reader down into their world, laying out a pathway of trust before taking it away.  

Characterization No matter what kind of genre one writes in, the characters written on the page must be so multifarious and layered that they seem real enough to cast their own shadow.  The same is no different in horror, however with horror there is often the assumption that only the primary characters should be

multidimensional. While the main characters should be rich and lively, it is equally important to have all your characters be multidimensional, yes even the villains.   Of course, you might have monsters whose only job it is to pop in and eat a minor character, but if your villain or monster interacts with the characters in any facet, give them a motivator of existence. One of the best examples of this, and one of my favorite slasher villains, is Michael Myers. Hidden behind that creepy Captain Kirk mask[18] is a murderous psychopath – his story begins with him murdering his sister, and now he wants nothing more than to kill a bunch of helpless teenagers. While that thin of a backstory should warrant a one-dimensional character, it doesn’t because of the tight writing of the Halloween franchise[19] and, of course, the performance of Nick Castle, et al. Each of Michael’s responses are extremely calculated, showing that he is a thinking, reactionary being. This is why the audience connects with him. They may not condone the murder of young teenagers, but because they can understand why he is behaving a certain way, even if it’s as simple as choosing for him not to murder an infant (Halloween 2018) and then making him morally ambiguous elsewhere, the audience can then become that much more engaged.   Throughout this chapter we will deal with the nuances of characterization. As you work through each section, consider the ways in which each character in your piece stands out from each other. What drives Character A versus Character B, for example.   Character Voice A large part of characterization is voice. No, I’m not referring to dialogue (we will go over that later in this chapter) but rather how the characters reads to the audience. In essence, it is the motivation, drive, and backstory that all make an individual person. In addition, it’s also important to consider that a character’s voice can stand as a mirror to some of the themes and explorations that the piece seeks to deal with, such as a reflection on

grief, on what happens when anger is bottled up, with regret, any number of aspects of the human condition.   To this extent, when a character’s voice is not only realistic but rich, it can make the piece truly stand out. For instance, in October of 2015, I had the pleasure of publishing Jerry McFaden’s “They” for The Deep Dark Woods anthology. This piece uses character voice remarkably well, and it was one of the reasons why I was so drawn to it. The premise is that the narrator, presumably an elderly woman, is, “Mad. Irrevocably Insane,” because, “Everyone says so.”[20] The narrator claims to see strange beings in the cornfield near her home, but she is the only one who does. While the story can end there, what makes the character’s voice stand out is that, because it is framed in first person, the audience is able build some commonality with her. However, because of her reaction with others, one cannot truly say if she is mentally ill or if these cornfield creatures really exist. By pushing the characterization to its limits, McFadden is forcing the audience to grapple with this juxtaposition of insanity versus sanity.   She sees the creatures. Others respond in varying levels of extreme ways showing that they don’t. What is the truth?   The audience is never left with any answer as to what reality is. The creatures either exist, or they don’t. The character voice not only allows her mental state to be skewed in the audience’s perception but, by default, the audience must then also question their own. In doing so not only is a realistic, authentic character created, but McFadden does well to allow these themes to translate to the audience without ever needing to add in additional elements outside of character.   Motivation and Drive One of the greatest tropes of all time is the battle between good and evil. A protagonist is the main character in the story, who is often seen as the hero. In opposition, the antagonist not only creates conflicts, but is often cast in a nefarious, villainous light. However, I am of the firm believer that this kind of dichotomy often gets writers into trouble. If you focus only on good

versus evil, then you will miss out on some of the more important complexities of life. Quite simply, your characters should never be that clear-cut. The protagonist should have flaws just like the villain should have some humanizing element. Take, for example, some of the most popular horror movie villains. We’ve previously discussed Michael Myers, but what about Freddy Krueger and Chucky? Why are these characters popular?   Not only do they have personality, but they also have motivation and drive. Although, these words seem like synonyms, and in many cases they can be, here is the big definer for me:   Motivation: One’s specific goals and the reasoning by which they have them. Ex: The reason why Vinnie the Villain kills is because of abuse that happened during childhood.[21] Drive: The means by which a character will go to complete their goal. Ex: Vinnie has become adept with a knife and spends hours targeting what he deems life’s predators, such as rapists or child molesters.   As you can see, with these two elements, I have created a character that is a little more three dimensional than Vinnie the Villain kills people because he wants to. He is more nuanced because he has been given reasoning for what he does. Motivation and drive are the frame by which you will begin to form your character.    Backstory We’ve touched on backstory a bit in dealing with exposition. However, although you can use exposition to explain elements of character to the audience, there are some things that only you, the writer, might know. This information can be worked into your piece but, ultimately, you will know much more information than the audience.   That is because backstory affects a character’s motivations, desires, and overall nuances of character. Consider the following:  

Regional Upbringing versus Current Home: Where did your character grow up? Was it a rural area or an urban environment? Where do they live now? Both of these will shape how a character interacts with the world around them. For example, if your character lived in an urban environment all their life and the apocalypse hits, how logical would it be for them have the skills to hunt animals, find non-poisonous foods, or grow their own produce without ever doing anything more than heating a microwave dinner before? Their Friends and Family: What kind of support system and familial ties does your character have? A good example of this is birthing order. In general, people that were born first and have younger siblings are more likely to be responsible and be less prone to impulsivity. While this is not always the case, considering aspects of your character like family and upbringing helps direct the way they think and act. What They Know and What They Don’t: This not only refers to the character’s level of intelligence, but also what the audience and other characters know, that the protagonist doesn’t. For example, in many horror films the character is not aware that the person they love is secretly a serial killer. Not only does this add an extra level of tension, but it also allows room for character growth when the character finds out what their loved one has been doing this whole time.   These are just a few of the items and circumstances that will have a direct impact on your character. The more you progress through your story, the more your character’s thoughts and intentions will be made clear.

EXERCISE 2.4 Using one character from your book, write a short narrative that tells the audience what they were doing one hour before the story’s opening.   Ex. If your character comes home from work and is attacked by a demon, what were they doing on the way home or at the end of the workday?   

 

  Appearance Too often, because we as writers can visualize the character clearly, we fail to translate that onto the page. This is largely due to lack of foresight or simply the presumption that our audience will immediately “get” it. For you screenwriters, the same could be true as we concern ourselves so eloquently with camera shots and snappy dialogue that we forget to clue our audience into who is doing the speaking, or what might separate each character from one another. For example, take Ryan Murphy’s penchant for hiring men with dark hair, blue eyes, and comparable features in the American Horror Story TV series. After a while, it becomes hard to separate one character from another because their backstories and personalities are also quite similar.[22] Consider a character description that reads as followed: The old man had striking green eyes and black hair. Okay, we know three things about this character:   Gender is male Green eyes Black hair   Based on that alone, do you think you can do a good job at visualizing this character? One tip I’ve found most beneficial is this; if you do not describe your character well enough that a reader cannot pick them out of a lineup, then you should describe them a little better. The character above could be elderly or young, they could be Asian, Hispanic, etc., and they could be heavy or slim.  There are so many assumptions that can be made and it is your job as a writer to alleviate them.   To illustrate the point, consider the fact that I have black, curly hair. This does not tell you the exact cut or length and could very well appear like any of the hairstyles below:  

  It’s closer to the first one currently, but you wouldn’t know unless I gave you specific descriptions.   Another example would be body type.  

  The above are the three of the most recognizable types of body shapes: Ectomorph: A body that is leaner or thinner. Mesomorph: A body that is more muscular. Endomorph: A body that is larger and has more fat. While this, of course, is not the full gamut of human body types, it is a good start to getting into the nuances of character variations. Your character must be notably different and that can only be done through proper description.  

That is not say that you must spend all of your time describing a character when they are introduced. Doing that will simply become overwhelming for a reader. However, you should spend some time introducing your character in a way that allows your audience visualize all players.   Consider how Mr. Hyde is described in Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, “Mr. Hyde was pale and dwarfish, he gave an impression of deformity without any nameable malformation, he had a displeasing smile…thickly shaded with a swart growth of hair…corded and hairy …”[23] In this description, Stevenson gives indication of size, pallor, countenance, unkempt nature, and a general sense that something is gravely wrong with him. He is not malformed, but he does give off a sense of otherness because of his surly and aggressive nature. Certainly not what Mr. Hyde is usually depicted as, such as the Rouben Mamoulian 1931 version. For all intents and purposes, the audience gets a sense of a monstrous nature without the author ever having to describe him as a monster directly. Appearance allows a visual representation of a character to take hold in the reader’s mind. This makes, in turn, for a more enriching piece.   Dialogue Many times, how a character looks is not as important as what a character says. The dialogue is what connects readers to who a character is, gives them an idea of their state of being, and hints at many of their motivations. Bad dialogue, however, does the exact opposite. Have you read dialogue that was so cringy, you almost felt bad for the author?  In my experience, dialogue reads as “bad” because of the following:   Out of character: Words and phrases that simply don’t make sense for the character. For example, in one of my writing workshops, a classmate had her seventeenth century poet saying phrases you’re more likely to hear in the south (like “butter my biscuit” or “bless your heart.”) It wasn’t a satire either. Excessive Tags: Indicators of who is talking and how they are speaking. He said, she said, he grumbled, she yelled, etc. In

moderation, these are fine. Put too much in, and they become a convoluted mess. Stilted speech: Speech that simply doesn’t feel right because it is inauthentic or feels lackluster in comparison to what the tags are indicating.   There is no fix-all that will correct your dialogue, because so much is dependent on the context of what is being said, but there are general concepts to follow. First and foremost, consider the situation and personality of the characters. Using the example above, even if you, the writer, are prone to use southern slang, how likely would it be for your character to do the same? We all have little pet micro phrases that are easy to put into our writing because they are second nature to us.  When writing we must evaluate what the character is saying and why they are saying it. It can be a little taxing when it comes to editing a piece over and over, but it is certainly worth it to get the dialogue just right. Secondly, consider minimizing your dialogue tags. Take a look at the following:   “You are mine,” he growled through his mask. “No,” she screamed. “Yes,” he yelled out. “You’ll never be anyone else’s.” “Nooo” she cried. “You have no choice!” He demanded. She mewed, “Ok.”   Exhausting. Instead of nixing out said, or replacing the word with other dialogue tags like shown above, try to make your dialogue do the work for you. Poor writing aside, we can guess who is doing the speaking in the above scenario based on how the character reacts. If the woman is the perceived victim, for example, is not necessary to keep giving us variations on screaming. Similarly, if she finally says, “Ok,” couldn’t we then assume that she is defeated and likely to respond in a way that denotes this?   

As a whole, dialogue should reveal information to the reader and solidify who each character is. Anything more and it takes away from the piece.   Direct v. Indirect Characterization   There are two ways in which a writer can reveal character traits to the audience: direct and indirect characterization. In short, direct characterization refers to the writer outright revealing the character’s personality, traits, background information, and so forth, to the reader. Indirect characterization, on the other hand, revels these aspects through external factors by way of their actions, dialogue, and other character responses. Similar to the idea of showing versus telling, although you can certainly use both types to the benefit of your prose, indirect characterization is often more impactful.   Consider the following for example:   [DC] Cynthia balled her little fist and began to howl. When she didn’t get her way, the toddler was quick to launch into a huge tantrum until she got exactly what she wanted. [IC] The little toddler balled her fist and began to howl. Quickly, Cynthia’s mother scooped her up and begged the child to calm herself. Cynthia wailed louder, counting down the seconds, in her own little way, until her mother gave her what she wanted.   In both scenarios, the audience understands that Cynthia is a spoiled child that is used to throwing temper tantrums until she gets her way. The first outright tells us this, and the writer does not rely on the reader’s understanding of text. As a result, it is less immersive than the second sentence.   In horror, the goal is to be as immersive as possible. As such, crafting indirect characterization is extremely helpful in leaving seeds of information so that the reader can piece together the information themselves.  

Secondary Characters As mentioned before, your characters will all view each situation differently, as the world is made up of varied perceptions. At times, those perceptions may also readily conflict with one another. For example, suppose that a store has been robbed, and four eyewitnesses are questioned. When asked to describe the suspect, in one sentence, the following was said:  

Note, how each individual had an entirely different appearance descriptor come to mind, which contrasted what someone else said.  A teen, for example, might see this man as older while an elderly man might see him as younger. To further illustrate the point, if pressed further, the teen might

guess his age as forties or fifties, based on her perception, even though he might actually be in his mid-twenties.   Similarly, a man with an unruly beard might see the suspect as someone who is well-groomed, but a woman’s perception may be totally different. This, in turn, can create some confusion; or in the case of your writing, say more about who is being questioned. It is important to keep this in mind when determining how your characters will see the world.   It is important to also remember that your characters will not only view things differently from one another, but a character’s views will change over time. In fact, in the most engaging plots, your character will start out thinking one way about the world, but by the end of it, the view should change considerably.  

EXERCISE 2.5 Using a similar chart to the above, pick a character in your piece and determine how four other characters might view them.   Now, switch the character with one of the other four. Repeat until you have a better understanding of all five characters.  

Scene Aaron Reynolds, one of my literature professors from the University of Houston, had this to say when explaining the purpose of two of the most popular fiction genres:   Fantasy is the desire to go back. Fairytales, folktales, and other works of fantasy feed off our sense of nostalgia. We remember the feelings of whimsy from when we are a child and, as such, we want to revisit these tales, sometimes in new and unique forms. Science fiction is the desire to go forward. We want to believe in human evolution and progress. Whether the narrative deals with a

bleak dystopian future, commenting on the failures we foresee in science and technology, or whether it is a positive nod to the new grounds we think mankind will break.   So what then, is horror? In my opinion,  horror is the need to have normalcy in the present. Horror, as a genre, is a mechanism by which we can makes sense of the travesties of our world by overcoming specific barriers, usually the monsters, serial killers, and otherworldly creatures, in order to return back to the known, albeit safer, state.   In order  to make this happen, each scene must be designed in a way that reveals information to the reader. It is simply not enough to have a scene presented for shock value, but rather each revelation to the reader must be cohesive and help shape and move the plot along. While it might be easier to simply disgust and shock the audience and, certainly there are horror niches for this, good horror seeks to interpret. As you work through this section consider the main point of your horror piece. What aspect of the human condition is the narrative trying to dissect and understand? Further, how does each scene contribute to this overall concept and help progress the story?   Tension and Time One of the most common phrases you’ll hear in fiction writing classes is “what are the stakes?” The stakes refer to the type of obstacles that are laid out for the protagonist versus their overall goal. If the stakes within the story are low, then your tension is going to be weak. The protagonist’s ability to get to the goal is practically laid out for them and, if it is that easy, why should the audience care?   What is at stake should not only be a significant part of the story, but the audience should be constantly aware of its presence. A good, and perhaps very obvious, example of this is the film Bird Box (2018) directed by Susanne Bier and based on the book of the same name, written by Josh Malerman. The novel and the film work very similar, though obvious parts are changed (such as the elongated survival of Shannon/Jessica). The

premise is that unseen demons psychologically manipulate whoever sees them into suicide. Thus, the primary goal is to cover one’s sight so that it is not possible to see and, ultimately, give in to these monsters. Since the stakes are literal, the tension is easily married to each particular scene that takes place.   Thus, tension, especially in horror, is of the utmost importance when dealing with each scene and it’s style of pacing. While, we’ve covered pacing and tension previously, when working with each of your scenes, you may want to consider mapping out your tension with a Tension – Time graph as followed:  

  On the left side we have tension, the stress placed on the audience, and on the bottom we have each scene. Of course, you can use any number of scenes and scale your level of tension however you want, but this will simply give you an example of the graph in action.   By scaling out each scene’s tension, you have a general idea of how the audience may react at any given time. You also have a sufficient idea of whether or not the tension makes sense overall. For the film version of Bird

Box, scene 1 might be the doctor scene at the beginning, Scene 2 would be the first suicide, scene 3 would be the suicide of Jessica, and so forth. As shown, there are also moments when the tension is released before buildup occurs once more.   Horror Pinches It’s easy to see how the above concept works for horror. As a genre, horror is unique because it purposely creates more tension and scares than other genres. Although the above tension and time graph still works to help you map out your story, as a horror writer, you must also consider the fact that you are not just building up tension to release more narrative flow, but there are also multiple payoffs (scares) threaded throughout. Thus, you must consider each point of tension, each moment of fear, as well as the time in which these elements occur.   To consider how this might work in a real scenario, consider the marketing done for Heredity (2018). A24, the production company behind the film, released the following as part of the television and internet ad campaign[24]:  

© 2015 A24

Taking twenty participants, pulled from promotional screenings at eleven different Alamo Drafthouses, the above represents the heart rates of five of these movie patrons during the entirety of the film. As you can see, on the left we have the BPM (beats per minute), and on the bottom we have the full duration of the film.   For a point of reference, the average heart rate is sixty to one hundred BPM. Thus, 164 BPM represents true, genuine fear. However, it is important to point out that, while the fear is one of the obvious goals in horror, it cannot exist without tension. Again, the graph reflects the moments when tension rises, the spike in terror occurs, it rises again, more terror, and so on and so forth.   I like to call all of these moments horror pinches. Thus, when you graph out these along with tension and time, you would get the following:  

This is a depiction of Christopher Bloodworth’s “The Soul Game” which is about a single mother whose son begins to play this strange game at school.

Knowing the rules of the game, which are done in classic horror fare, such as not walking past a mirror at night, automatically makes one a player. In true urban legend style, at the end of the piece, the audience is then told that since they were told the rules, they are therefore players of the game. Ominous luck is then given. While the story itself is done in more of a campy Creepypasta type of style, it’s pinch points are also easy to map out and work as a clear examination into this concept.   Note how the release of tension is marked by a moment of fear before it is then rebuilt so that a new scare payoff can happen. All of these moments also work together in order to lead up to the largest climax in the story. Thus, horror can be one of the more difficult genres to write well because you are both keeping the fear going while at the same time working towards a bigger climax. It is only through managing your scenes well that you are able to make this happen.    When writing out your story, make sure that you are consciously aware of both your horror pinches (moments of individual scares) while at the same time never losing sight of the bigger picture. For instance, going back to Heredity again, it is clear throughout the movie that each horrific scene is only adding to the overall theme of witchcraft and the otherworldly nature that it brings.   Word Choice Although tension is paramount to the horror story, it is equally important to consider how your word selections might slow it down. Consider the following chart:     Present tense I am We are You are You are He/She/I They are t is  

Past tense I was You were He/She/I t was  

We were You were They were

Perfect Form (past participle)

I have been, I had gone, etc.

Progressive Form (present participle)

I am being, I have been, etc.

  These verbs all convey a state of being, but when you overuse “to be” words (is, am, are, was, were be, etc.) you slow down the tension and make your writing fall flat. The same is true for adverbs as well. For instance considered the phrase, “She walked slowly,” versus, “Hesitantly, she put one foot in front of the other, ever cautious of the rows of gravestones in front of her.” The second sentence is far more dynamic and works better to keep the audience’s attention. Be cautious of to be verbs, and adverbs,  nixing these as much as possible to make your writing more action-oriented instead of boring and passive.     All of the craft elements will work together to give you a strong foundation from which you can then begin to really create the story you want to tell.  

   

            CHAPTER THREE

CREATION     If you were to ask a horror aficionado what their favorite part of a story is, be it a film or a piece of literature, there is a good chance they might enthusiastically claim the creatures and monsters. Second only to science fiction, horror is one of the most engaging genres based on design alone. The same can be true for the protagonists and villains as well. We enjoy horror because we, the audience, are not only intrigued by the conceptual designs of these stories, but also because we can identify with the characters that are placed in such harrowing situations.   However, on the opposite end of the spectrum, there can also be so much repetition in design that the audience can easily become bored and disinterested. There is a fine line between drawing from what the audience knows, such as a familiar monster, for inspiration versus relying only on what has been done in the past. A good example of this is to consider the many, many vampire films that have been made over the years. There is a reason why Nosferatu is memorable while Mark from Once Bitten isn’t.[25] Another great example is Let the Right One In (2008), directed by Tomas Alfredson and based on the book by the same name, written by John Ajvide Lindqvist. The book/film brought amazing originality to the vampire genre, not only reiterating the fact that vampires can indeed be scary, but also that the mechanisms of how they work, such as what happens if they are not invited in, can rely on new and unique elements. I was even lucky enough to see the stage adaptation by Jack Thorne when it was at the Alley Theatre in March 2017.[26] The writing and underlining story is tight enough to work in any medium, and that is why it is such a memorable piece.   That is the goal for this section. To underline the abundance of that which can be drawn from, such as overdone tropes and monster clichés, but to also give you a springboard from which to craft your own original take or new invention in the genre.  

Subgenres

Let’s, for just a moment, break away from writing into the world of science. In order to make sense of the natural world, we have different classifications for all life forms. This taxonomy, or arrangement, makes it a little easier to understand how organisms function. For example, you might see two flying insects, but one might be a part of the lepidoptera order (butterflies and moths) while the other might belong to the hymenoptera order (ants, wasps, and bees). The same is true of literature. Often, we have genre (horror, fantasy, science fiction, etc.) that gets broken into even smaller parts.   This is known as the subgenre. For horror, we often seen the following subgenres:   Crossgenre: The piece remains firmly planted in horror, but has overreaching elements placed in another genre. The genres most often married with horror are science fiction and fantasy (often known as “dark fantasy”). Ex. I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream by Harlan Ellison (mixes both horror and science fiction). Extreme: Also known as visceral, splatterpunk, or grindhouse. This horror has little to no plot complexity and is often a platform for gore and explicit violence. In some cases, the book does serve some sustenance, but may be dependent on the reader . Ex. Sick B*stards by Matt Shaw Gothic: Aesthetics often related to the seventeenth and eighteenth century and often includes an air of romance. Moreover, the subgenre often mixes the macabre with the beautiful in its stylizations. Ex. The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe Lovecraftian: Based off the fiction of H.P. Lovecraft, these pieces often find a footing in science fiction and deal with larger than life otherworldly beings. In addition, there is also an underlying sense of pessimism throughout the piece. Ex. The Call of Cthulhu by H.P. Lovecraft Paranormal/Supernatural: These pieces include unrealistic elements in larger than life ways. They are stories that include the stereotypical vampires, zombies, werewolves, and other otherworldly beings.  While supernatural or paranormal elements

can be included in some of the other subgenres, the primary focus is on the paranormal/supernatural itself. Ex. The Monkey’s Paw by W.W. Jacobs Psychological: The focus is placed squarely on the human condition, whether this is coming from a close person perspective or the piece deals with several characters at once. The primary point is to question the nature of sanity, decision, and the impact of horror, in realistic terms, on the characters. Ex. The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris Weird: The story deals with elements that are exaggerated to the point of being bizarre. While supernatural/paranormal fiction also deals with unrealistic elements, they are least grounded in the constructs that have been laid out in the piece. With weird fiction there are essentially no rules and strangeness often occurs without rhythm or reason. Ex. The Very Old Man with Enormous Wings by Gabriel Garcia Marquez   One subgenre is not better than the other, but you will certainly develop a preference. For instance, I deal primarily with psychological fiction and am not partial to extreme horror. Someone might love weird fiction but find they can write gothic horror the best. It is equally okay to explore different subgenres of horror. The key is to find which works best for you and what category you find most satisfying.  

Archetypes & Tropes If you’ve been around any kind of writing forum, top ten list, and so forth, you’ve probably heard these phrases mentioned. Archetypes are recurring symbols or motifs that recur throughout literature and art, whereas tropes, as they relate to film, are recurring plot devices. There is a great deal of overlap between these two concepts and, in their most basic form, they are the repetition we often see over and over again in storytelling. For example, consider the haunted house, which is a setting that is used in many different horror stories. Some of the common tropes to explain why the house is haunted are as followed:

The house is built upon a cemetery or a mass burial ground. Ex. Poltergeist (1982) Someone has died in the house and their body has not been found, is not at peace, and/or the deceased individual has unfinished business. Ex. The Changeling (1980) It is not a true haunting but a result of outward anxieties, manifestations of guilt, etc. Ex. The Babadook (2014). Someone has released a portal to hell, summoned evil, or generally conjured something foul. Ex. Thir13en Ghosts (2001). The house is not actually haunted but appears that way. Ex. The ‘Burbs (1989). There are many more horror movies surrounding haunted houses, but this gives you a general idea of my point. As you move through this section, I will present you with a number of different tropes, archetypes, and general clichés. The goal is to not only allow you fodder for inspiration but, as you work through this section, consider what might you do to break these convictions. Common Tropes One of my favorite horror films is Cabin in the Woods (2011) directed by Joss Whedon. This quirky, campy film is most notable because it is all about horror movie tropes. The premise is that a secret government operation lures teenagers into a cabin in the woods where they will be killed in horrific ways to appease ancient demigods. While the plot itself may sound silly (it is a horror comedy after all), it works because the film is purposely meta. The teens will die by the monster of their choosing and, early on, the audience learns that the creatures are brainstorms of popular tropes. See below:  

Werewolf

The Scarecrow Folk

Alien Beast

Snowman

Mutants

Dragonbat

Wraiths

Vampires

Zombies

Dismemberment Goblins

Reptilius

Sugarplum Fairy

Clowns

Merman

Witches

The Reanimated

Sexy Witches

Unicorn

Demons

The Huron

Hell Lord

Sasqautch /Wendigo / Yeti

Angry Molesting Tree

Dolls

Deadites

The Doctors

Giant Snake

Zombie Redneck Torture Family

Kevin

Jack O’ Lantern

Mummy

Giant

The Bride

Twins

  Some of these are classic monsters (such as vampires or witches), some are a fun spin on these monsters (such as sexy witches), while others are an homage to other famous films (such as Hell Lord or the Bride).  The film works especially because it mixes the known (classic horror monsters) with the unknown (the new take on these monsters), making it an original take altogether. Another good idea, when deciding what horror tropes to draw from is to utilize a bank like tvtropes.org. There you can find tropes from many different genres across film, literature, TV, comics, and other popular forms of media.  Here are a few common horror tropes: Abandoned Hospital Creepy Cemeteries Ultimate Evil Gas Station of Doom Ominous Fog Lovers Get Slain Cat Screech Aliens Fate Worse Than Death Hell

Primal Fears Zombie Attack Circus of Fear Artifact of Doom Jump Scare Demonic Possession Creepy Basement Uncanny Valley Harbinger of Death Torture Room The Group Splits Up Flashlight Goes Out Dramatic Lightening Car Breaks Down on Desolate Road Something is Watching Possession Riddle to Solve Grimoire Final Showdown Urban Legends Virgin Lives Promiscuous Dies Character Dies in the Exact Same Manner They Warned Others Against

As you can see, these fall into many different categories: places, character types, themes, etc. The primary goal you as the writer should have is to take the known elements of these tropes, then find unique and inventive ways in which to break them. The goal, of course, is originality, but there is certainly nothing wrong with utilize these stepping stones to reinvent the genre altogether.

EXERCISE 3.1 Let’s try some crossgenre practice! Pick any two subgenres you learned above from the previous section and write a 2000 word piece that utilizes tropes from both.    Ex. Psychological/sci-fi horror drawing from both a spaceship trope and fears come to life. I.e. Michael Crichton’s  Sphere    Common Archetypes

In essence, an archetype is a standard or model from which many other characters will deviate. The word has its origins in Greek, as it is based off the word archein, meaning “old or original,” and typo meaning “type.” Moreover, according to famed psychologist Carl Jung, there are twelve specific archetypes that showcase the human psyche. Among these are: Ego Types: Primarily guided by external desires, especially towards others. The Innocent: True to the namesake, this archetype model takes an optimistic view towards life. They are free spirited and can even be perceived as somewhat naïve. The Orphan: Often referred to as the “everyman,” this character is a regular individual that typically takes a realistic view of the world. They simply want to connect with others and meet their goals but sometimes are bogged down by their ordinariness. The Hero: These types are typically on a specific quest, generally to better those around them. They are brave and not afraid to muster through their own fear to reach the ultimate goal. The Caregiver: Similar to the hero, they are concerned with the needs of others but, rather than taking extreme actions to aid their fellows, they do so with empathy and generosity. It is equally worth noting that this group is the most prone to self-sacrifice when it comes to ensuring the life of someone else is saved. Soul Types: Guided by internal desires, especially when it comes to revenge, intimacy, etc. The Explorer: They tend to be an aimless wanderer and are always trying to explore the world around them. They desire a high degree of autonomy and are most satisfied in life when they are granted freedom. The Rebel: Often called “the outlaw,” the rebel tends to go against the grain and seeks to overturn authority if they feel it is oppressive. They are most likely to use subversive tactics rather than outright attacking those who oppose them.

The Lover: This type is invested in relationships above all else; whether through friendships, a familial relationship, or one that is based on sexual need. Their greatest fear would be to be alone, and they seek out new ways to prevent that. The Creator: They are most likely to be the artists, musicians, writers, and other types. They dream big and cannot imagine a world without beauty inside of it. It is not uncommon for them to be adept at bringing new ideas and innovation to the table. Self-Types: Desire to experience the world in a greater degree. The Jester: The goal in life is just to laugh. At least, that’s their motto. They are the types that will joke even when no one else is laughing. They are personable and find it easy to make friends. The Sage: This type actively seeks out knowledge and is most satisfied when they are acquiring new information. Typically scholars, they fight against ignorance and make it a point to share their wisdom with others.  The Magician: They are similar to the sage in that they need to understand the world, but this is generally in terms of the universe at large. Oftentimes, they are visionary, charismatic, and seek to discover the world in the broadest sense. The Ruler: This is the type that finds it the easiest to lead others, whether good or bad. They are highly skilled at rallying others and approach life with the thought they have some degree of authority over it. In the horror genre, we will also see similar archetypes spring up, though they are framed slightly differently. To illustrate the point, we can go back to the Cabin in the Woods which has the following archetypes: The Jock, The Cheerleader, The Stoner, The Token, The Nice  Guy, and the Virgin. How might these be reflective of Jung’s? When you write, be aware of these archetypes, even if they are subtly placed. You can use them to frame the familiar, or you can subvert them altogether. The key is to continue to consider originality versus audience expectation. 

Character Alignment Test The idea of good versus evil is also an area in which a lot of horror elements deviate. It is important to understand, however, that both sides of the spectrum are extremely nuanced. That is where the character alignment chart comes from. This test has its roots in Dungeons & Dragons and is predominate in many tabletop role playing games. The concept of this is to see how an individual might be aligned on a strictly moral and ethical axis. This is reflective of one’s personality as it showcases their individual personality and overall outlook on life. The test concentrates solely on Good vs. Evil and Law vs. Chaos. Good versus Evil: Most individuals might be aware that the concept of “good” versus “evil” as it is the basis for religion, politics, and societal norms in general. This ethical axis deals with the kind of choices one makes in their day-to-day life. People who are inherently good have a high respect for life, are typically altruistic, and care about their fellow man. Those who are inherently evil are more selfish and are willing to hurt, even kill others for personal gain. Those who are neutral do not become invested in morals, whether good or bad, the same way as the others. They might take negative or positive actions based on the scenario at hand and will not align one way or the other. Law versus Chaos: These subgroups deal more with the moral aspect of a character’s outlook, which can largely depend on society’s view as a whole. For instance, if honor were an important trait, then breaking an oath would be seen as its own unlawful act. However, in some cultures, honor is trivial, and thus, if someone breaks a promise, it doesn’t bear a second glance. As such, it is important to keep the society’s views in mind when deciding what spectrum of law versus chaos your character falls under. In terms of law, characters that are lawful are those who follow the guidelines of society, respect authority, and have disdain for anyone that steps outside of this moral sphere. Those who are more prone to the chaotic side see law as something that should be combated against. They value freedom and flexibility above

any law and, are therefore, more likely to resist it in search of new ways of thinking. Those who take a neutral position will typically respect authority. However, they will occasionally go outside the law since they do not have any loyalty to it. Once you understand the basics of personality, you can then determine which of the nine alignments your character might fall into: Lawful Good: This character can often be seen as the “superhero” archetype. They are honest, forthright, and act with a high degree of empathy for others. They are more prone to wanting to see the “bad guys” go punished versus allowing them any kind of leeway. This can often be seen as a character flaw because they do not believe in the concept of self-interest, stamping out freedom and, at times, individuality.  Neutral Good: Those that fall within this spectrum are more likely to lean towards positive traits: honesty, compassion, fortitude, etc. As such, they often seek out leaders who exemplify these qualities. However, they do not bear any kind of loyalty towards any single ruler and can often change tactics if the need arises.  Chaotic Good: These individuals believe in compassion, honesty, and helping others. But this is done on the basis of what they believe to be true, even if their viewpoints do not align with the rest of society. Thus, they will break laws in order to promote the ultimate good. Lawful Neutral: They uphold the law above all else and do not become bogged down with smaller nuances, such as who is right, and who is wrong. They see the world in strictly shades of black and white, choosing to work in absolutes and are typically unwilling to break from what the law says. True Neutral: This individual does what feels right and does not give into concepts of good or evil. Instead, they exist in a world where shades of gray are the norm and see either good or evil as extreme. They will do the right thing if they feel it is best, but they might also use wrong methods to achieve that end. For

instance, rescuing a kitten in a tree by stealing someone’s ladder. Their overall free spirit indicates that they have very little loyalty for anyone else unless there is an immediate goal to be gained. Chaotic Neutral: This character is the epitome of a free spirit. They have no loyalty to anyone but will oppose those who try to restrict freedoms, especially their own. They are unpredictable and are typically the first character to break their alliance if they feel their immediate goals or health is compromised.    Lawful Evil: Despite their desire to reach their own personal goals, which often conflict with that of society, they still have their own set of guidelines to follow. For instance, this character might be okay with killing others but not okay with killing children. Or they might not be willing to kill at all but, instead, choose to maim their victims. Even in their own self-interests, they have a little bit of honor. Neutral Evil: They are after their own goals, first and foremost. They do not see “evil” or “good”, but rather “what’s in it for me?” Unlike chaotic neutrals who simply want to be left alone, neutral evils have an ultimate goal in mind and are willing to do what it takes to get it. More often than not, this character will play all sides in order to get their way. This can make them especially dangerous as oftentimes the “hero” or even the “villain” realizes too late whose side this character is actually on—their own. Chaotic Evil: Their singular purpose is to simply fulfil their own goals, whether it is based upon greed, lust, hatred, or their love of destruction. They are willing to watch the world burn and are most likely the one who is left holding the match. Since they do not exist in any kind of structure, even their own, one drawback to this personality is that their methods have no order and, thus, they can often be seen as poor leaders. Most of their followers join them out of fear rather than any sense of loyalty.  Oftentimes, in a work of fiction, or even with a movie or TV show, each of these roles will be fulfilled by a single player. This is good practice because it creates tension and conflict. More importantly, it can be highly reflective of the real world.

Below is what the chart looks like visually:

Use the chart above to map out all of the players in your piece and ensure that you have a dynamic cast of characters.  

Monster & Creature Design From Thomas Edison’s adaptation of Frankenstein (1910)[27] to the latest blockbuster, audiences are fascinated with creatures and monsters. This is why your monster must have substance if it will then terrify your audiences. Monsters that are two-dimensional are too reliant on already established structures (such as vampires or zombies), or simply do not make logistical sense are going to turn off audiences. Period. Your monsters and creatures should be given the same amount of thought that you put into the protagonist and supporting characters. Even if their only purpose is to slither on screen for ten minutes and eat a background character.

One of my favorite directors is Guillermo Del Toro primarily because of his creature designs. For example, the Pale Man from Pan’s Labyrinth is one of the most memorable monster designs ever created. Del Toro’s creativity in design can likely be chalked up to three reasons; not only does he have a special effects and art background, but his house (appropriately dubbed “Bleak House”[28]) is also filled top to bottom with priceless movie props, custom sculptures, books, and various types of memorabilia and art devoted to horror, science fiction, and fantasy. In addition, Del Toro has also mentioned several times that many of his works are revisions of famous monsters, legends, and myths. For example, Mama (2013) is very loosely based on the Latin American tale of La Llorona, or the weeping woman, a ghostly figure who haunts waterways because of the death of her children. By being surrounded by such inspiration fuel and his overall exploration of what has previously been done in genre, Del Toro is able to craft new and exciting creatures and monsters. His tales are no doubt original, but there is still a reflection of what he is paying an homage to and, thus, the pieces work exceptionally well. As you work through this section, have a similar mindset. Be open to exploration and building upon the known. Explore Fear Horror acts as a type of safety net that allows us to explore our deepest, darkest fears through these monsters and creatures. Thus, to craft a brute that terrifies audiences, it is important to explore fear in a conceptual sense. This allows you to then manifest these fears through your creature design. For instance, some of the most common phobias[29] that people have are as followed: Arachnophobia: Fear of spiders. Ophidiophobia: Fear of snakes. Aerophobia: Fear of flying. Acrophobia: Fear of heights. Astraphobia: Fear of thunder and lightning. Mysophobia: Fear of germs. Trypanophobia: Fear of injections.

Of course, you do not have to know every single fear or phobia there is, but you should have some awareness of what scares people. Other common themes include darkness, loss of control, being alone, financial insecurity, and so on. Consider how these fears might then translate to creature design. For example, if I wanted to focus on the fear of the unknown, I would consider delving into alien territory and especially would cast my creature with uncommon features that unsettle the audience. Another example would be financial insecurity. No, it wouldn’t be scary to just have a monster that looks eerily similar to a gold coin. Instead, consider the originality of The Purge (2013). In the subsequent movies that followed, much of the design was based on racial tension, corruption of liberty, and governmental distrust. However, the first movie delved mostly into socioeconomic fears. It makes sense, then, that the masks worn by the villains were a bastardization of the suburbanite aesthetic. They look almost political in nature, and it’s one of the aspects of the piece that made it worthy of building a franchise. Once you understand your underlying fears, you can then begin to build upon that and settle on a specific creature that might represent these internal terrors. Study Anatomy & Behavior If you’re also an artist, you know how important it is to study anatomy in order to have enough foundational knowledge to begin to craft your own unique style. For example, take a look at Pablo Picasso’s self-portrait evolution over the course of his life:

As you can see, he had to have a strong basis in art fundamentals before he could then break form and create something entirely new. The same is true for writing. Quite simply, you need to know how things function if you are going to be successful in writing about it or bending the rules a bit. Even if you are just creating monsters, which by definition, are not grained in reality. This does not just relate to create design, but in all forms of your writing and the way in which you tell your story. To put it in perspective, suppose that you have a scene in which a character sees a creature outside the window on an airplane akin to The Twilight Zone episode “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.” If you have never been on an airplane before and have to guess certain elements, such as how much legroom the character might have or whether or not the monster could break glass without everyone being sucked out, then there’s a high chance your story might not make sense. I have even had a writer tell me that their subject was so niche, that it wasn’t likely their writing and technical flaws would be discovered. So, they believed that the research had to be minimum. That is not true. Trust me, someone out there is an expert or has some experience in what you are writing. Case in point, how many times the Latin language is used incorrectly by those that want their spellcasting to sound a little more “authentic.” Even with my rudimentary skills I can usually pick out the

wrong declension. This is also a reason why Google Translate just does not cut it. Whether you are drawing from experience or from pure research, you need to know what you are talking about. In the point of language, you can reach out to those that speak the language fluently to give you a hand; whether you pay them or they do it for the sake of art itself. And, if you cannot find anyone to ensure the language is accurate, consider if you really need it in your text. The same should absolutely be true of your creature. It may be fantastical, but it should still make logical sense. If it is illogical, then there must be a clear distinction that the created world has its own rules and mechanics. For instance, werewolves do not actually exist, because of culture, we can make some assumptions about how they might look (such as being wolf-like instead of say, Pomeranian-like). Each time you break these established convictions you must do so in a way that makes sense to your audience. Consider some of the following questions when designing a new monster: What does it eat? What is its basic anatomy? (number of legs, eyes, etc.) How does it work internally? What is it covered in? (fur, spines, skin, etc.) These are just a few of the infinite amount of questions you could ask yourself, but they are good starting points. Additionally, while it is true that your audience may never know that your monster has four stomachs, the more you understand about the inner workings of your creature, the better you’ll be at writing it. The exact same goes for behavior. If you decided to be clever with the first question listed above and answer “people,” then you must consider WHY your monster would consume humans when there are other meat sources available. No matter what physical condition the person is in, humans have a high fat content and as such, you need to consider what kind of nutrients the monster is getting that is different than say a cow or chicken. Or, perhaps there is another reason, unrelated to nourishment, that causes a monster to eat a person.  For instance, the monster may strictly go after

humans because of an ancient curse, a personal vendetta; or, it may be that people are simply a small subset of the many different types of food it consumes. Note, how some of the reasoning can be fantastical, just as long as it makes sense in the narrative. By understanding the key elements of anatomy and behavior you, much like a sculptor with clay, can then begin to form your creation.

EXERCISE 3.2 Pick an animal that you can study face-to-face. It may be a pet or you might want to schedule a trip to the zoo. Write down as many observations as you can for 10 minutes. Repeat as often as you’d like.   You may also consider what fear this animal might represent.   Reference Sheets Even if you have come up with every aspect of your creature’s design (physical appearance, anatomy, and behavior) it is still a good idea to create yourself a reference sheet to draw from. I personally like to draw my creatures out to refer to them later. See Appendix A. For this, I wanted to make a quick reference on a creature I designed, especially because it is an agglomeration of different beloved childhood animals (wallaby, T-Rex, giraffe, etc.) as I wanted to have a monster that was a visual reminder of childhood as a construct. The key was not to get the anatomy perfect, so much as it was to remember which animals were included for which element (for example, dinosaur feet) as well as the manner in which the creature might look when “crazed” (top right).  Of course, you do not have to make something incredibly detailed or even draw it for that matter; simply writing it out is just as effective. You can start with something like: CREATURE REFERENCE SHEET Creature is called:_________________________

It lives:  _____________________________ It feeds on: __________________________ It’s predators are: __________________________ Appearance Summary:               This is just a rudimentary example, and you can determine what is necessary to include. Your guide may be longer or much shorter than the one shown. Keep in mind, however, that the more information you have on hand, the more likely you are to make the entirety of your work cohesive later on.  

 

 

   

            CHAPTER FOUR

PUTTING IT ALL TOGETHER     Horror is an artform that not only draws us in because of the fear we want to experience, but because it is also a reflection of the terrible truths we would rather ignore. This type of genre allows us to tap into these primal fears, such as our discomfort with aging, loss, isolation, death, and so on, in a safe environment. You can scream at the Television screen all you want, fearful of the grotesque faces and gnashing teeth you see, but you’re still in the comfort of your own home.   Once you understand what primal fear you are translating into text or  film, you can then build upon it, escalating what is known until both the audience and the characters within your work are fully transformed, whether this change is good or bad. You, the audience, may have an awareness that sometimes life is just unfairly cruel, or you may feel as though, you can push through in spite of the horror.   No matter what the takeaway is, you cannot have it unless the story is polished. The structure must be firm, the pacing must make sense, the characters must be multidimensional, and all of your craft elements must be tightened. If you have made it this far, you have got a pretty good idea of how to create an entire manuscript. The rest of this chapter is to then take that manuscript and turn it into a work of art.  

Writer’s Block In his book, On Writing, horror author Stephen King has this to say on dealing with writer’s block: “Amateurs sit and wait for inspiration, the rest of us just get up and go to work." One of the best lessons I learned during my collegiate career was that writing takes work. A lot of work. Writing seems to be the only profession in which novices believe you cannot work without having some sort of

inspiration. You wouldn’t hear a surgeon say they cannot operate because of surgeon’s block or a mechanic refusing to work on a car until they get that one good spark (pun intended) first. I’ve rarely seen this misconception with other creative outlets too. Musicians and artists, for example, know that it takes years of practice before they’ll be able to hit the stage. My own current art looks eons better than when I first start drawing, and I’ve still got miles to go too before I can confidently draw hands.[30] I say all of this not to discourage but to give you some hard truths. You don’t need a creative writing degree, nor do you need to go backpacking throughout Europe to find your inner voice. Simply by buying and reading this book, you are already putting in the work for your craft. So, don’t let writer’s block stop you. For many writing programs, you have to produce a high volume of work. This is why I have provided so many writing exercises, to get you used to the act of creation for its own sake. I have hundreds of short stories that will never see the light of day. As with other talents, the more you write, the better you’ll be at it. The kicker then, to overcoming writer’s block, is to ignore it. I firmly believe that writer’s block is a myth. Your inability to just sit down and start writing is likely caused by one of the following: Basic Need: Are you hungry? Tired from work? In need of some extra hugs from a loved one? You would be surprised with how much the most basic needs can impact us. I like to do most of my writing late at night or early in the morning. Anytime in between and my focus is all over the place. Further, if I don’t have a snack beforehand, with something to drink by my laptop, then I will not write. Take care of your basic needs first. Fear: Are you worried that you are simply not good enough? Do you fear what your story has been already been done and, thus, everyone will simply call you out for being a copycat? Fear kept me in the dark for a long time. I was even a little agoraphobic at one point in my life. What helped me was the realization that everyone feels the exact same way. The key is to work through the fear because real life usually does not come close to what you have

conjured in your head. Besides, accept that you will get a few rejections (we all get them), and press on. Perfectionism: Do you slam on the backspace and rewrite what you have just written just to do it all over again? This was another one that used  to get me. I would quit manuscripts over and over again because I just could not get it perfect the first go round. You need to remind yourself that your beginning manuscript is not supposed  to be perfect, or even good for that matter. It is a lump of wet clay. The molding and the editing is what will turn it into something wonderful. Write anyway. Edit later. Distractions: Do you need to go argue with someone on Facebook? Do you want to retweet some stuff? Find a new recipe on Pinterest? Distractions are something I still find myself struggling with. My scheduled writing time will be overtaken by a new video game or a new article I have stumbled across or even the most mundane activity. I once got randomly distracted because I suddenly remembered I wanted to repaint a table. Do not let distractions happen. I force myself to write more often than I just write. It is like jogging. You may bemoan throwing on those sweats, but once you are in the action, it is so much easier to concentrate on the road in front of you. If you have to turn off the internet or ask your loved ones to give you quiet time, so be it. I’m sure they will understand. Once you have located and eliminated the cause, you can then write. It is also a good idea to set milestones for yourself. For example, tell yourself that you will write 3k words a day, no matter what. What you put down may not be the best, and the first draft never is, but that is where editing comes in.  

The Manuscript When you have a working manuscript it is still not time to send it out into the world. This is where revision comes in. I should take a moment to say that the majority of fiction writing comes from the editing process. It doesn’t matter if you choose to go indie or seek after traditional publication – edit it first! There are also many different types of editing, as followed:

Developmental Editing: Checking for weaknesses in the overall structure of the manuscript. Does your plot flow naturally? Is every reaction and action taken by your characters understandable in the context of the story? During this stage, you are rewriting and even moving around/taking away scenes to dispose of any plot holes and have natural momentum. Proofreading: General editing to look for grammar and punctuation errors.   Copyediting: Also known as a line-by-line editing, true to its name, each line of the manuscript is heavily scrutinized. You are looking for correct grammar and punctuation but also for style, word usage, and repetition. Research Review: You are strictly fact-checking any information contained in the manuscript. For example, double checking whether or not there were toy stores in the 18th century.[31] It is here where you also want to check your reference citations, appendixes, and other research-related content, if applicable. Formatting: This is primarily related to publishing, but generally you want to make sure your formatting is right for the submission you are after. For example, short story submission formatting differs greatly than if you were to publish your piece yourself. Scripts also require an entirely different type of formatting than do book manuscripts. You do not have to be the one that does all of the above. In fact, should your budget allow it, I would certainly suggest hiring an editor for at least a good round of copyediting. Readers will notice when a book has not been edited at all or has not  been edited sufficiently enough. That’s where one and two star reviews often come in. For me, my short stories alone can take 30 or so rounds of revisions. That’s okay. You have to remember that once your book is out into the world, it is an investment. It has the potential to earn revenue indefinitely. So, spending extra time and money in the editing process isn’t going to hurt in the long run. While much of this section will focus on developmental editing, it is important to keep in mind that all editing requires the ability to take

constructive criticism and for you to be willing to “kill your darlings”.[32] Getting Rid of the White Noise The first step in revision of the horror piece is to cut back on unnecessary exposition. While, this is an important goal for revising any piece no matter the genre, it is especially important in horror. Excessive information slows down the tension and can become boring to the readers. You can do this by analyzing every scene and character interaction. Is it contributing to the plot? If not, leave it out. This definitely takes some selfcontrol on your part as a writer. Once, for one of my creative writing classes, I had Robert Boswell, a prolific short story writer who is known for being fairly no-nonsense with critiques. I perhaps received one of the shortest responses from him for one of my story scenes. Next to the paragraph in question he simply put a big X over it and wrote the word “No.” He was right. That whole scene contributed nothing to the plot. For writing, the old idiom applies – less is more. To put it in perspective, one of my favorite horror short stories of all time is “Born of Man and Woman” by Richard Matheson. The whole story only runs two pages. In addition, the story features a first person perspective piece in which the main character is not only an unnamed child, but it is very possible that they are not even human. We know this from a single line – “I spilled some of the drip on the floor from one arm….it made ugly green on the floor.”[33] Towards the end, we also know that this child can run along the wall with all of its “legs” and hang “head down”.[34] We also know, again from what seem like throwaway sentences, that this child’s parents are actors, they have a sister, and that their parents are repulsed by the child’s form. By giving us just enough information, the audience is able to parse together what is happening and walk away from a very unsettling piece. When you cut out all of the “white noise,” the content that does not add to the audience’s understanding of the story, you have more leverage to boost tension and draw readers in. “Born of Man and Woman” simply would not

be such a great piece and it’s themes made clear if Matheson would have been more verbose in his prose. Show Versus Tale This perhaps the most clichéd writing advice, and I do apologize for rehashing something I am sure you have heard over and over again. However, it is important to understand what this means, and then apply it to your work because it is still very sound advice. Telling is the act of alerting the audience to what they should know while showing is the act of withholding that information in order to reveal it through scene and sometimes dialogue, instead.  Consider the following two sentences: A. Tom died of lung cancer. B. Tom’s chest rose, staggered, then fell. He breathed like waves in an ocean, carelessly wild, but peaceful all the same. After another mangled exhale and a small moan, he quieted altogether. In the stillness of the morning, Tom had finally succumbed to the malignant organs housed inside his rib cage. Both of sentences gives the audience the same information, that Tom has died from disease, but the first is telling the audience while the second is showing it. For the horror author, it is important to allow the audience to feel fear rather than to point out all of the scary things. Horror relies heavily on mood, so try to create sensory language that creates a more nuanced view of the world rather than taking the reader by the hand and hoping for the best. Final Editing Tips You can find hundreds of editing tips from various books, from professors and fellow writers, or from the internet. I’ve narrowed down some of my favorites[35]: 1. Get Rid of Passive Voice. Conjugations of “to be” (as, was, are, am, were, is) are all weak. For example, instead of saying, “The man was killed by the werewolf,” you would say “The werewolf killed the man.”

2. Kill Adverbs. These are the -ly words. While you can use them sparingly, too often we overuse them. Consider something more dynamic. Instead of, “He was walking slowly,” try, “He crept.” 3. Check Tenses/Voice. A pet peeve of mine is switching tenses throughout the story, or changing up voice. I’m not referring to having a roaming perspective, but rather going from past tense to present tense, or going from first person to second person. You might think it’s clever or interesting. It isn’t. It’s confusing. 4. Narrow Tags. In elementary we were taught that “said is dead” in an effort to encourage us to be innovative with dialogue tags. Ignore that mess. I’d rather read “said” than “he balked”, “she crowed”, “they howled.” This is a story, not a barnyard. 5. Nix Micro-phrases. This is another gem from Robert Boswell. These are the everyday phrases and idioms that can come off as lazy writing. “Cool as a cucumber,” “hotter than hell,” etc. If this is a part of your character’s dialogue, than it should be fine, otherwise we should strive to find some other way to be descriptive. 6. Don’t Go Verbose: I once had this really pretentious classmate that loved making use of his One-a-Day calendar. His Oxford English translated to all of his pieces as well. It didn’t make the words engaging or make him sound educated, like I think it thought it did. Instead, it made his work uninteresting and convoluted. 7. Identify Repetition. Often, subconsciously, we have words and expressions we are fond of. This often makes its way into our writing. For example, I use “that” a lot. I shouldn’t. During editing one of the first steps I take is to locate and delete any words I’m using too much. Oftentimes, these words are filler anyway. 8. Read it Out Loud. I encourage you to take a moment and read your work out loud to yourself, whether it’s a scene or a whole chapter. It will be easier to hear repeated words, catch dialogue that doesn’t make sense, and so forth. 9. Print it Out. Another professor Dino Piacentini suggested printing out the manuscript and then retyping it to cut out the excess. If you don’t want to waste the paper, simply open up a new document. It’s extremely helpful to catch additional errors.

10. Step Away. The best advice I have been given is to step away from the manuscript, whether for a few days or a week, and then read it over again. You will catch so much you missed or that can be taken out. Good editing is an art in and of itself. At the end of the day, this is your masterpiece and editing is simply a way to sharpen the edges.

Individualism No matter what horror subgenre one writes in, it is important to craft a style that is individualistic to the writer but does not lose sight of the story’s larger meanings. When you finally understand craft, all of the elements that make for solid writing (including editing), it is then that you can further explore your own writing style and even break tropes and create innovation in the genre. This section is meant to give you some insight into discovering your own writing process and kickstart you onto the path to discovering your own individual style. Learning by Recognition Although, it might sound contradictory – to craft your own style you must explore the works of other horror masters. If you are a filmmaker, watch horror films; if you want to be an horror author, read lots of horror literature. Or, both. I am of the mind that all mediums can teach us about writing. I would truly suggest you read, watch, listen to, and essentially ingest all forms of media. This also should not be limited to the horror genre, because you can learn something from all creative content you consume. Even if you are learning what not to do. Yes, Richard Matheson is great when it comes to reveal of information, Poe is impeccable at establishing mood and setting, and Wes Craven has created some of the most iconic horror villains of all time; but, what about Anton Chekov for mastering short story writing or Zora Neale Hurston for establishing voice. For you filmmakers, consider Wes Anderson for building character interaction or Mel Brooks for adding a little humor.

The key is to watch, read, and think critically about what you are consuming. How might you do that? There are a number of ways; from creating and/or joining a local book or film club to doing a full written analysis on whatever piece you are studying. To give you an idea of one of my methods, I’ve included what is known as a close reading on Julius Long’s “The Pale Man.” This short story is in the public domain, so I have included my notes in their entirety. If you cannot make out my writing, that’s okay. I really only want to give you an idea of the thought process that goes into analyzation. My goal was to examine how Long uses certain literary elements, such as foreshadowing, to understand how they affect the story and overall plot development. Moreover, I also wanted to study his style and what separated his craft from other authors. There is no right or wrong way to critically analyze your favorite pieces. When you do think critically, studying various authors, filmmakers, and types of writing, you can begin to emulate styles and then draw from them in such a way that you begin to create your own. Experimentation I cannot stress enough how important it is just to write. However, as an aside, I will also suggest you experiment as much as possible. In the creative writing major, they conduct what they call “workshops,” which is essentially our classmate critiques. One student submits a piece to the rest of the class and, on the chosen day, we come together and pick apart the things we like, didn’t like, and generally suggestions on how this student might improve their story. While the main purpose is to improve writing in a technical facet, I have found another purpose— to experiment. For every workshop I would submit a piece in which I broke conventions in some way. One class I played around with time and had a story in which every other paragraph went to the past. In another, I opened with a horrific scene to see if one could create tension in media res. These stories were horrible. However, some of them were not. In fact, one will be the focus of my next fiction book.

Be brave and try things out. If you find that a technique or mechanism is not working you will still be closer to finding the style that works best for you. 

Publishing   If you feel as though your story has been well edited, formatted, and is ready for its target audience, it is then time to publish. There are several ways to go about it and, while I could likely write an entire book on how to publish a book or screenplay, this section will go over the basic platforms by which you can publish: indie, through an agent, and by finding your own small press market. Indie Publishing Once known as vanity publishing, then self-publishing, and now, indie publishing, this is the act of producing your work yourself. For you screenwriters, this means finding a possible producer to help you along the way or creating your film or short from the top down. I cannot give you filmmakers too much guidance on this, because a great deal of it is through the creation itself, but for you authors, indie publishing comes with its own set of considerations. To start, one of the biggest advantage of indie publishing is that you have full creative control. You can decide what the cover will look like, how the book should be formatted, what distribution channel to work with, and so on. Another advantage is that you can truly learn the industry from the ground up. However, you also have to do all of the work. In addition, even though you might obtain a bigger cut of the royalties, you are still going to spend a considerable amount out of pocket. Consider, for example, the fact that you need to have a good cover design (it is always apparent when an indie author chooses to create a cover themselves or have a friend do so), it needs to be edited, you have to market the book, etc. It is simply not enough to digitally publish an ebook on Amazon and then expect to rake in the sales.

Marketing alone can be extremely time consuming and costly. For instance, most authors stop at simply creating a social media profile, but there are also other platforms to consider. For instance, book conventions, seeking reviews, going on podcasts, and so forth. If you do decide to go indie, there are several options. Two of the most popular are Amazon (which allows publishing through its Kindle Direct Publishing website) and Ingram Spark. There are hundreds of others. In choosing the one that is right for you, consider the royalty amount, what distribution channels are available, and what kind of requirements they have. For example, Amazon will encourage you to enroll ebooks  into its KDP select platform, but in doing so you will need to make your book exclusive only to this bookseller. Seeking an Agent This is often considered the traditional method of publishing. While much of this will apply to writers, I would also say it is useful to you screenwriters. It works like this: you submit your manuscript to an agent during a submission period[36] and, if chosen, the agent will represent you and your book. The biggest benefit of this is that, by representing you, the agent will essentially guide you towards the publishing process. They will negotiate with the publisher on distribution, royalties, rights, and any additional considerations, such as the number of appearances that you would be expected for. Like many other industries, the publishing industry can be ruthless. The literary agent will go to bat with you, and because they often get a share of royalties, it is in their best interest to make sure you get your fair shakes. However, you also have to keep in mind that you will earn less on royalties. You may ultimately earn more than you would going indie or with a small press; again, because the agent knows what avenues to use, but royalty scale is something to consider. In addition, you also want to keep in mind that agents get a high volume of inquiries and as such, the process of publishing the book can be long. It can sometimes takes months or even years to hear back and, once you do, it may take even longer for the whole publishing process to finally deliver your book to market.

If you would like to try your hand at an agent inquiry considering one of the following websites: PublishersMarketplace.com AgentQuery.com QueryTracker.net WritersMarket.com Once you have found the agent you like, follow their submission guidelines exactly. Then, it’s the waiting game. Horror Markets If you want to sign one of the Big 5 publishers[37] and even some smaller publishing companies, you are going to need a literary agent. However, there are plenty of small presses that accept unsolicited manuscripts or have specific reading periods. For example, when I used to run a small press, before I decided to focus more time on my own books, our submission period was biyearly, usually in the Fall and Spring. The following are some of my favorite places to look for horror specific writing markets: Horrortree.com Darkmarkets.com Duotrope.com Once you find your ideal publisher, you would then follow all of their listed guidelines. Some want you to send in a piece following a specific format, while others are more concerned about representing a specific clientele, such as only representing established authors and do not put a great deal of stock in how the book is formatted. The benefit with finding your own market is that it is often guaranteed payment. For example, I have had a short story sold for 0.02 a word and a story sold for a token payment of $25. Other markets may pay lower or higher. Once you earn that money, depending on the publisher, it is also possible that you can sell that story elsewhere and make additional earnings on your work. For instance, some publishing companies ask for exclusive rights for six months. After which you can sell your story elsewhere.

The biggest downside is, again, you may lack creative control. For instance, authors generally do not have much say on the cover design, formatting, and distribution channels. However, you may find a publisher that is willing to let you voice your opinion on other aspects of the book creation process. Again, it is imperative that you consider all aspects of the publication to decide if it is the right fit for you.  Warning Signs Unfortunately, there are scammers everywhere, including the publishing industry. You may have someone that genuinely wants to purchase your script or book but is too green in the industry to truly know how to represent your work. Here are a few signs I suggest looking out for: Track Record: Do they have previous completed works you can look at? Are there complaints online? A reputable agent or publishers should, at the very least, have an identifiable track record you can research. Communication: If someone makes you uncomfortable during your initial meeting, ditch them. People that are rude, demanding, or are not open to answering your questions are only going to be a pain to deal with later on. Cost: The money should flow to the author. Period. The publisher or agent should not charge a reading fee, take an exorbitant amount of royalties, or ask the writer to pay out of pocket for anything, whether it is a book cover or for a marketing campaign. Of course, you may find an agent or publisher that seems to be a great fit but causes complications later on. Similarly, you may find a novice publisher that markets your work just right and grants you surprise success. It’s always a gamble. However, no matter what, read the contract, don’t be afraid to ask questions, and walk away if need be. At the end of the day, it’s your livelihood at stake.  

 

 

            In Closing

FINAL THOUGHTS   No matter where you are on your writing journey, I hope that this book has helped you. Whether you have walked away with new craft elements to draw from, newfound respect for the genre, or simply inspiration to write. And write, you should. If you take nothing else from this guide, I hope that you do find some encouragement to keep writing. Even if you ultimately choose to write outside the horror genre.  Write on your lunch break, write during an afternoon walk, or set aside a whole day to do so; but, do it. Create! The best monsters are not only made from our inner demons, but also by overcoming the fear of rejection. For added inspiration, not only have I included an index of all the films, TV shows, and literature included here, but I have also added additional recommendations as well. See Appendix C. In closing, remember that the goal of horror is to shock, disgust, or create general dread in the viewer for the payoff of instilling terror. While this may turn some people off,  I still believe that horror is such a wonderful genre because it shows us that which we fear the most.  It also catalogues and reflects that which we do not understand, whether it is the horrific way in which humankind often treats each other or the careless way in which nature can cause complete destruction. The writer must investigate these horrible truths, and it is through horror that we can pull  back the veil of secrecy guarding the ugliest parts of the world. If you do dare to look these monstrosities in the face through a well-crafted story, you may just find that it is merely your own fears staring back. May you have the sweetest nightmares,

Christina

Creature Design

APPENDIX A

Close Reading

APPENDIX B

Recommendation Index

APPENDIX C   Here are the movies, TV shows, and films that have been mentioned in this guide, along with the page numbers in which they are appear in text. Those marked with an asterisk (*) are recommendations. I have made them based on what they have contributed to the horror genre and to their respective medium. Although, I could probably write a whole separate novel on the top horror pieces you should read or watch (and I may very well one day), for the sake of brevity, I tried to keep my recommendations short.  

Movies & TV Shows Title

Director/Production Year Company Alien 1979 Ridley Scott, 20th Century Fox, etc. American Varies, 20th Century 2011 Horror Story Fox present, (TV Series) at the time of this writing Army of Sam Raimi, 1992 Darkness * Renaissance Pictures, etc. Audition Takashi Miike, 1999 Omega Project, etc. The Jennifer Kent, 2014 Babadook Causeway Films The Birds * Alfred Hitchcock, 1963 Universal Pictures Birdbox Susanne Bier, 2018 Bluegrass Films, etc. The ‘Burbs Joe Dante, Imagine 1989 Entertainment

Cabin in the Woods

Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Productions Brian De Palma, Red Bank Films Peter Medak, Chessman Park Productions Tom Holland, United Artists George A. Romero, Dawn Associates, etc. Rouben Mamoulian, Paramount Pictures

2011

David Lynch, American Film Institute The Exorcist William Friedkin, Hoya Productions The Fly * David Cronenberg, Brooksfilms, etc. Frankenstein Thomas Edison, Edison Manufacturing Company Freaks * Tod Browning, Metro-GoldwynMayer Friday the Sean S. Cunningham, th Georgetown 13 Productions Halloween John Carpenter, Compass International Halloween David Gordon Green, Miramax, etc. The Mike Flanagan, Haunting of Amblin Television, Hill House etc. (TV Series)

1977

Carrie * The Changeling Child’s Play Dawn of the Dead * Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Eraserhead *

1976 1980

1988 1978

1931

1973 1986 1910

1932

1980

1978

2018 2018 – present, at the time of

Hellraiser Heredity Interview With the Vampire * Invasion of the Body Snatchers * It

Jaws *

Let the Right One In The Lost Boys * Mama The Mist

A Nightmare on Elm Street Night of the Living Dead * Nosferatu * Pan’s Labyrinth Poltergeist

Psycho The Purge

Clive Barker, Film Futures Ari Aster, A24 Neil Jordan, Geffen Pictures

this writing 1987 2018 1994

Philip Kaufman, Solofilm

1978

Andy Muschietti, New Line Cinema, etc. Steven Spielberg, Zanuck/Brown Productions, etc. Tomas Alfredson, EFTI, etc. Joel Schumacher, Warner Bros. Guillermo Del Toro, Toma 78, etc. Frank Darabont, Dimension Films, etc. Wes Craven, New Line Cinema, etc.

2017

George A. Romero, Image Ten

1968

F.W. Murnau, Prana Film Guillermo Del Toro, TelecinoCinema, etc. Tobe Hooper, SLM Production Group, etc. Alfred Hitchcock, Shamley Productions James DeMonaco,

1922

1975

2008 1987 2013 2007

1984

2008 1982

1960 2013

Rosemary’s Baby * Saw

The Shining

Suspiria * Tales from the Crypt (TV Series) The Thing *

Thir13en Ghosts Trick ‘r Treat The Twilight Zone (TV Series) The Wicker Man *

Platinum Dunes, etc. Roman Polanski, Paramount Pictures James Wan, Evolution Entertainment, etc. Stanley Kubrick, The Producer Circle Company Dario Argento, Seda Spettacoli Varies, HBO

1968 2004

1980

1977 19891996

John Carpenter, The Turman-Foster Company Steve Beck, Warner Brothers, etc. Michael Dougherty, Legendary Pictures, etc. Varies, Cayuga Productions, Inc.

1982

Robin Hardy, British Lion Film

1973

2001 2007

19591964

   

Literature Author

Title

Ajvide, John

Let the Right One In

Barthelme, Donald Beukes, Lauren * Bloodworth, Christopher Bradbury, Ray

Amateurs Broken Monsters The Soul Game Something Wicked This

* Brooks, Max * Carter, Angela * Crichton, Michael Ellis, Bret Easton * Ellison, Harlan Enriquez, Mariana * Gaskell, Elizabeth * Gowdy, Barbara Harris, Thomas Hill, Joe *

Way Comes World War Z

Hill, Susan *

The Woman in Black

Ito, Junji *

Uzumaki

Jackson, Shirley Jackson, Shirley * Jacobs, W.W.

The Haunting of Hill House The Lottery and Other Stories The Monkey’s Paw

James, Henry * James, M.R. *

The Turn of the Screw

Ketchum, Jack * Long, Julius

Girl Next Door

Lovecraft, H.P. * March, William * Matheson, Richard

At the Mountains of Madness The Bad Seed

The Bloody Chamber Sphere American Psycho I have No Mouth, and I Must Scream Things We Lost in the Fire Gothic Tales We Seldom Look on Love The Silence of the Lambs Heart-Shaped Box

Collected Ghost Stories

The Pale Man

Born of Man and Woman

Matheson, Richard * Maurier, Daphne du * McCammon, Robert R. * McFaden, Jerry Moore, Alan *

Hell House

Morrison, Toni * Poe, Edgar Allan *

Beloved

Rebecca Swan Song They From Hell

King, Stephen

The Fall of the House of Usher and Other Tales On Writing

King, Stephen

Skeleton Crew

Lovecraft, H.P. Malerman, Josh Marquez, Gabriel Garcia Palahniuk, Chuck Poe, Edgar Allan Rice, Anne *

The Call of Cthulhu

Shaw, Matt Shelley, Mary * Simmons, Dan * Stevenson, Robert Louis Stoker, Bram * Straub, Peter *

Bird Box The Very Old Man with Enormous Wings Damned Fall of the House of Usher Interview With the Vampire Sick B*stards Frankenstein Carrion Comfort Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Dracula Ghost Story

Suzuki, Koji * Ring Tremblay,

A Head Full of Ghosts

Paul *

 

Lover of Bats

AUTHOR’S BIO     Christina Escamilla is the bestselling author of psychological horror with a side of nonfiction; both in analysis and literary theory and the craft of writing. She holds a BSA from the University of Houston graduating with honors for her work on her undergraduate thesis, "Exploring Horror Narratives in Contemporary Literature." Prior to writing, Christina has worked in graphic design, marketing, and even as a dog nanny. The strange, sometimes funny, experiences in life have certainly made their way into her works.   When she isn’t getting down and nerdy, Christina is an avid hiker, world traveler, and artist. She loves exploring obscure places, historical landmarks, and different natural landscapes. Surprisingly, she’s never had to be airlifted to safety because she’s also notoriously clumsy. Currently, she lives in Houston, Texas with her partner, Tyler and their attack cat, Angel.  Find her on the web at stinaesc.com   Facebook, Twitter, Instagram:  stinaesc   [1]

Tales from the Crypt TV series, HBO, 1989-1996. The creature on this page is a quick digital drawing of the monster I envisioned as a child. [3] Del Torro, Guillermo. American Supernatural Tales. New York: Penguin, 2013. Print. [4] Again, a supernatural element is not required, but oftentimes when horror is grounded in reality it is still extraordinary in nature. [5] From the Friday the 13th film franchise. [6] From the Nightmare on Elm Street film franchise. [7] King, Stephen. Skeleton Crew. New York, NY: Scribner, 2016. Print. [2]

[8]

Again, it’s important to keep in mind that many elements of background can be threaded throughout the rest of the piece. [9] A few loose ends, say in the event of a potential sequel, are fine as long as the reader gets some kind of closure or satisfaction from the ending.

[10]

Zinsser, William. On Writing Well. 30th Anniversary ed. New York: Harper Perennial, 2016. Print. [11]

Ibid. Of course, hot girls and guys are all fine and dandy, but they need to be able to do more than just scream really, really well. [13] The term “Final Girl” refers to a female protagonist in a horror film that is the last person left alive. [14] The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders is put forth by the American Psychiatric Association and gives a baseline for mental health disorders so that diagnosis, treatment, and research can be conducted. [15] Gowdy, Barbara. We So Seldom Look on Love: Stories. New York: Harper Collins, 1993. Print. [16] Ibid. [12]

[17]

Barthelme, Donald. Amateurs. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1976. Print.

[18]

During the filming of 1978’s Halloween, the production crew needed a cheap mask. They found a plastic Captain Kirk Mask (Star Trek), cut holes in the eyes, painted the face white, and viola – Michael was born. [19] Let’s pretend Halloween 4 – 6 don’t exist. [20] McFadden, Jerry. The Deep Dark Woods. Houston: Revolving Door, 2015. Print.   [21]

It is important that any reasoning does not act as complete justification, is not glorified, or underplayed. A little bit of ambiguity can go along way, but too much or too little and your piece can become stilted. [22]

Many of them cannot act either, but that is neither here nor there.

[23]

Stevenson, Robert Louis. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Collins Crime Club, 2015.

[24]

This is not the true original image; I grayscaled it and brightened it for easier viewing. I also removed any elements that did not relate to the graph in question. [25]

Even the name is cringy. I admit, I liked it so much I saw it three times. [27] There are, of course, earlier horror films, but this is a personal favorite of mine. [28] Appropriately named after the 1852-1853 serials by Charles Dickens. [29] An extreme or irrational fear of something. [26]

[30]

Anatomy has always been my downfall.

[31]

There were. The oldest toy store was Noah’s Ark in London, 1760.

[32]

Literary advice from William Faulkner. It refers to the need for a writer to get rid of their beloved scenes, characters, etc. for the good of the piece. [33]

Matheson, Richard. Born of Man and Woman. Buccaneer, 1991. Print. Ibid. [35] Some of this advice has already been covered in this book, but I believe they bear repeating. [34]

[36]

Never send an unsolicited manuscript to an agent or publisher. It will likely just get deleted. [37]

The biggest book publishers in the world: Penguin Random House, Simon & Schuster, HarperCollins Publishers, Macmillan U.S., and Hachette Book Group.