brain dump

Iiii am having one of those, 'I've lost my mojo' moments. I hate even having to write it down, but it's true, and sometimes, writing about it helps.  Forgive the rambling.  I've been staring at this entry for two hours, trying to get my thoughts in a row.  It may or may not have worked.

Horror.  Writing horror.  Not spatter porn, not gore fest horror, but what I like to think of as classic horror, has always been one of my touchstones, for lack of a better term.  I like being able to get under someone's skin.  It could be said that I read too much Harlan Ellison and Roald Dahl growing up, it's true.  (I need to read more, maybe that might help me find that again.)

Anyway, what's supposed to be horror is coming out as a vague sense of tragedy.  No.  Just -- no.  I want the seams to be coming undone.  I want the character and the world to feel like, in this moment, nothing will ever be the same.  That life as he knows it is over, only he has no way of knowing how or why that transformation is coming. 

I believe that there is a deep connection between music and story telling, and with both comes the need to be able to play with someone's expectations.  To tell them what's coming and then give it to them and then some.  There should be a thread of urgency pulling a reader through the words.  Each sentence needs to build tension or resolve tension. (I've always been pretty good at doing this instinctively, but lately I've foundered.  I would like to blame my brain chemistry, but truth be told, I'm just plain out of practice.  So here, let me do some scales for your edification.)

I don't want to be coy with a reader.  I want her to know, to really feel that there's something big coming.  I want the moment of revelation to be like a blossom unfolding.  You know there's a flower coming, but that doesn't mean it won't take your breath away. 

That's what I want.  A story that leaves you breathless.