Don’t Forget to Breathe: Some thoughts on horror writing

by Terrie Leigh Relf

Here’s a little riddle for you:

Clue 1: What did T.M. Wright do with a computer?
Clue 2: What did Stephen King do with tourists and frogs?
Clue 3: What did Ray Bradbury do with children whirling ‘round on a merry-go-round?
Clue 4: What did Michael Arnzen do with a very special tattoo gun?
Clue 5: What did Brian Knight do with mounds of snow?*

For the initiated, the answer to the above is easy to deduce; however, the act—or the art—of creating good horror tales may be less so.

The answer? Could it be the unexpected? The bizarre? Or perhaps, it’s the ordinary made extra-ordinary. The merging of the simple with the complex. The juxtaposition of hope and fear. The impossible made possible. The unbelievable made believable. The proverbial “what ifs” that good writers will continue to explore.

Whatever the ingredients, I would venture to say that we know good horror when we read it because we feel it. How does this feeling manifest? In the tales listed above, my responses included the all-too-familiar fascination-repulsion dynamic. You know the feeling: at times you forget to breathe; bile rises in your throat; you can’t put the book down (and yes, you carry it with you everywhere—especially to bed!); you forget to breathe; you dream the book; and so forth.

Horror doesn’t only make us feel; it causes us to think, too. Deep thoughts. Thoughts we sometimes wish we wouldn’t think, are afraid to think, but we think nonetheless. You could say that these thoughts stalk us through the dark fog of consciousness. The only way to dispel them is to read another horror tale—or write one!

Are you ready? Go ahead—take a breath, a deep breath. Don’t bother to lock the doors and windows, though, because horror can ease through walls and floor boards like a dentist’s drill to a molar.

Without the anesthesia…

Here are a few ideas to extract a tale or two:

1. While good horror can invoke all of the senses without actually naming them, what if your protagonist is in a sensory-deprivation tank for years—or even decades?

2. Explore the senses: sight, sound, taste, touch, and consciousness. Bring in synaesthesia, or the hearing of a sight, the tasting of a sound, etc. How might that add to a horrifying tale? What does a genetic formula taste like?

3. While many people keep “dream” journals, why not keep a “nightmare” journal. Our subconscious mind has a direct connection to the Dark Muse. I’ve used my own recurring nightmares as story seeds and plot lines.

4. What place(s) did you most fear as a child? As an adult? What about people? Animals? Objects? Events? Each of these categories could fill a volume or two. In elementary school, I was left behind on a field trip to the Star of India. The ship was calling to me. I remember being yelled at because I went into the “off-limits” areas. Recently, I learned it was haunted. I’m definitely going to revisit this experience—and the ship itself—soon.

5. Play the “what if” game with a writing partner. No holds barred. Record it.

6. One of my personal favorites I learned from watching Ray Bradbury’s TV show. Look around your working space. What do you see? Each item—or person—is a story waiting to be told. For example, I know it’s been done over and over again, but you haven’t done it yet, right? The phone rings. You answer it. No one is there. What if this happens every time the phone rings? I know, I know. It’s time to call the repair office. But what if the phone repair person orchestrated the malfunction?

7. Look through your “abandoned stories files”. I know they’ve been calling to you. Go ahead. Read a few. Now revise them.

8. Study personality traits and quirks. What if your neighbor has a little girl who likes to tie up her Barbies—and Ken, too. What will that little girl be like once she hits puberty? I seriously doubt she’ll outgrow this behavior, especially since she’s been doing it since she was one-and-a-half.

9. Perhaps you’re the scariest thing around—or so your friends and family tell you. Don’t be offended; take notes. I’ll admit that more than a few people get a bit nervous around me. Maybe I shouldn’t tell them I dreamt about them…Then there was that guy who cancelled three dates. He said, “you’re a writer, so work it out.” I must say that he inspired a lovely evisceration poem. Haven’t heard from him lately. Oh well…he’s probably just busy at work.

The truth is, there’s no one source of horror. It’s a palpable presence all around us. There--can you feel it?

Just don’t forget to breathe!

*In order of appearance: The Last Vampire; “Frog Season”; “Something Wicked This Way Comes”; Grave Markings; and from Dragonfly.

Terrie Leigh Relf lives in San Diego, CA. She believes horror should be read at night by candle light.