To read anyone's sincerely written
horror is to view secret manifestos. Having to stick out our diseased
tongues to see the dust there. If we open those mouths far enough,
you will spy the blood between our teeth. We grind them together
daily, nightly. Sometimes we spit it in the sink, usually it is our
favorite ink. Writing horror doesn't evoke hell. It invokes survival
from it, expiation of sins revelations jealously guarded against
burning by those electing themselves the Guardians of Light. The
Downfall of these guardians comes with coveting the sense of
(ghoulish) rapture their short-sighted passions will never permit
them.
-“Essay
III: Decay”, Charlee Jacob
I've been reading Charlee Jacob's The
Myth of Falling (which you can and should buy here), where I got the above quote. I can't think of a
better explanation for that age-old, really frigging annoying
question that regularly comes up when people find out you write, read
or voraciously devour horror fiction. Harlan Ellison, the great and
mighty, declaimed even the name of the genre because nobody wants
to feel that emotion.
Of
fucking course nobody WANTS to feel horror, or experience it in any
way. We would all rather cozy up in a nice comfortable bed with a
plate of cookies and milk, our favorite puppy at our feet (or kitty
at our side, if you prefer) and some wonderful, warm person cuddled
up next to us. But sometimes, many times, way damn too many times, we
have no choice.
And
maybe we need some help processing it. Maybe we need to know it is
not just us. Maybe we need to see it through a different lens to
understand. Maybe we just need to lance the boil and let what was
hiding beneath the skin come out into the open air.
When it comes to writing, nothing
brings out stronger emotions than extreme horror. To write on
subjects of rape and child abuse is, at least in my case, to dredge
up the worst things of which I am too personally familiar. I don't
intend to exploit broken bodies or shattered souls. This work
depresses me, forcing me to re-experience that which I've fought to
put behind me. But memories have a way of not letting you hide them,
as it is generally better to face your fears in order to conquer
them. To create a cathartic path through to bridge the nightmares
with... or you can live in denial, and through a rigidly puritanical
delusion, cause other victims to undergo more suffering.
That which is never spoken of
becomes a dirty little secret. Nobody wants to get involved, except
possibly to isolate the victims, making them more outside of the
group of self-professed 'normals' than the original crimes against
them did.
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