Underneath Your Skin

by Christopher Kenworthy

'I like the idea that everything has a surface which hides much more underneath.'
-- David Lynch

Horror fiction is all about getting below the surface of things. The easy way is to split the skin and let loose a stream blood and gristle. Although easy, this makes for dull writing; it may be dubiously entertaining, but rarely satisfies. The best way for horror writing to affect us is to get under the surface of a personality. When this is successful, it can reach a depth of insight unmatched by any other type of writing. The horror field is an excellent place to learn writing skills, to face up to your own emotions, and to generate truly moving stories. For the beginner, there is a potential market larger than you could hope for.

It could be said that all fiction aims to deal with truth, but horror is the fiction of total honesty. Some people say that horror exits to reassure us, to convince us that the world is OK, because it could never be as bad as a gore story. This is far from the truth, because the world can be a desolate and violent place. The best modern horror fiction doesn't mask reality, but faces up to it. This is why horror fiction is frightening. It makes us admit to our weaknesses and our darker side. The new horror writers are the most honest, daring and disturbing in literature. If you dare to get below the surface of your own life, you can join them.

We all get asked, 'Why do you write?' and 'What do you write?' but when you deal with the dark, people often ask, 'Why do you write horror fiction?' I once asked Conrad Williams, the award winning author of Head Injuries, why he wrote this type of fiction. He said, 'I write about life, and sometimes that's frightening. I don't deliberately choose to write horror.'

This said, there is definitely a type of fiction which can be called horror. Its creation is extremely rewarding; the results are frightening and disturbing. If you feel your work moving in this direction, there are some basic techniques for you to learn.

Horror writing works best when it is understated. Whether you are writing a scene of gore or strange nightmare, it is better to suggest than to be too direct. Many beginners make the mistake of trying to mimic the now defunct Splatterpunks, by describing streams of bloods and endless splintering bones. This lacks credibility and doesn't impress anyone. Let's face it, if something is biting your neck, what's more frightening, the blood (which you can't actually see), or the pain and the soggy breath around your face?

Another mistake is to write in the style of a horror movie. Instead of telling us about their real fears, and the feelings that disturb them, beginners sometimes try to describe a monster that belongs in a Clive Barker film. You can almost smell the latex.

The way to avoid such mistakes is to apply the famous writing advice: 'Show, don't tell,' but change it to 'Suggest, don't state.' If your character is afraid, you could say: 'John was afraid. He was really scared.' This doesn't work well, so it's better to show the physical experience of fear. 'John felt his heart slam against his ribs, and his stomach liquefied.' This works, but the problems is that it's a standard horror phrase. So, although you must avoid making direct statements, be wary of falling into cliché.

Nicholas Royle is a master of creating fear, without statement or clichés. This passage from The Mainstream shows how it's done. 'The man with the cleft nose was still cleaning his spoon. At his table the other two men and the old woman were sitting silently, their heads bowed, food left to congeal, as if they'd died or were praying. The thin brothers with their fat girlfriends had all turned to stare at me. The woman nearest to me was sitting like a man with her legs spread apart. I looked away. The labourers and the man with mother-of-pearl cufflinks were staring at me too. I found the courage to stand up. The coffee inside me felt like a bottle of stale wine. My knees almost failed to support movement as I backed away from the table.'

This scene is clever because it isn't at all abstract. We all recognise the sort of place he's referring to. It is important to avoid using types all the time, when you can create a strong image through specificity. Although Royle refers to labourers, he also mentions a man with mother-of-pearl cufflinks. This use of specifics is far more chilling than if he had merely mentioned a man in a suit. This type of description shows the character's state of mind, and hints at his paranoia.

When Royle moves on to describe the physical sensation of fear, he does it without dwelling on the fear itself. Instead, he builds it into an action. Having the character experience physical discomfort as he tries to move, is more dramatic than showing him sitting at the table feeling scared. His attempted escape also escalates the drama.

The most impressive aspect of this scene, and all such horrors, is the use of dislocation. He uses the familiar to convey a sense of strange. Rather than dealing with werewolves, dark castles and witches, we can show the ordinary things that frighten us. We all know how frightening it can be to be stared at. Normal, ordinary fear which reflects our own shortcomings is a good starting point for horror fiction. The key to making a successful story is to take reality, and dislocate it slightly.

Joel Lane sets many of his horror stories in the streets of Birmingham. This urban familiarity is the ideal setting for bleak, Miserablist fiction, and it affects readers more because the strange things that happen occur in places that are recognisable. Seeing dark shapes moving just out of sight on a car-park, as you race to get the door open, is more frightening than seeing a vampire flap through the trees.

Location is a vital aspect of horror writing, and many of the new writers set their stories in recognisable, urban locations. The horrors of poverty and loneliness are ideal settings for serious horror fiction, so don't neglect them. This is one of the areas where horror writing mingles with mainstream. Many of these stories are published in 'literary' magazines, and some 'literary' stories with a horror feel to them appear in the small press. It's a productive cross-over, and one that new horror writers can exploit.

In all fiction, we need to care about the characters (whether negative or positive) if the story is going to affect us. In horror fiction, the only way to make your reader feel a personal fear, and understand the theme of your story, is to make the story matter to your central character. You must create an interesting character who is more than a mere victim, so that when the horror affects them, we care.

Victims make boring characters. Although you don't have to show your character as a striving success story (remember, horror thrives on human weakness), editors are sick of reading stories where the only point is to watch a character get scared and then get killed. Make the story relevant to your character's inner motivations. In The Mainstream, Royle's character experiences a nightmare journey while travelling down the M1. This is good reading in itself, but is made more meaningful by having it reflect the character's disgust with himself for holding down a nine-to-five job with an immoral company.

When you link a theme to your character, you give the story a strong direction. All the images, ideas and emotions that you write, will have a purpose, and can be linked to this theme, directly or symbolically.

As with all fiction, much of the standard advice applies; avoid cardboard characters, don't overuse dialogue, and so on, but the standard warning that Your Story Must Have a Plot isn't always true here. Many horror stories rely more on a mood, than they do on drama and plot. Recent debate in the horror field has shown a consensus which says that plot is a device to offer an easy soap-opera style ride to readers. Chris Fowler, author of Spanky, said, 'As children, horror writers tell disgusted convoluted lies to anyone who'll listen. Later, plots become the bane of your life.' The problem is that plots, no matter how clever, can seem too traditional for the new subject matter and material. They often feel artificial and predictable. If you can find a way to advance your fiction, going beyond plot, then do so.

This rejection of plot-for-its-own-sake doesn't mean you have an excuse to ramble endlessly or without skill. In fact, you must be more precise than usual. Before abandoning plot, you should understand its workings intricately, so that you break the rules for a reason. Plotting is a good, traditional way to drive a story, but sometimes a train of thought or emotion works more effectively as a narrative drive. Before you try this technique, study similar stories first, and be disciplined. Make sure that every line you write has a purpose within the story. Never ramble. Even the mood must be there for a reason. Editors are tired of pretty stories, which sound clever but have no genuine content. If you can create a mood which means something, and which reflects the conflicts within your central character, your story will be successful, and could sell.

Horror fiction is one of the most interesting and demanding areas of writing in the nineties. Beneath your own surface, you may find a richness of spirit that will bring your work to life.

The Third Alternative, edited by Andy Cox, is probably the best new slipstream magazine, specialising in borderline horror and heightened realism. Single issue £2.50. Four-issue subscription: £9.00; US$6/$22. Cheques payable to The Third Alternative, 5 Martins Lane, Witcham, Ely. Cambs, CB62L, UK.

Peeping Tom, edited by Stuart Hughes, published by David Bell. Four-issue subscription: £7.50. Cheques payable to Peeping Tom, Yew Tree House, 15 Nottingham Rd, Ashby de la Zouch, Leicestershire, LE65 1DJ, UK. Submissions to Stuart Hughes at 1 Sandybeds Close, Baxenden, Accrington, Lancs, BB5 2XG, UK.

Grotesque, edited by David Logan. Single issue £2.80. Four-issue subscription: £10.00; US$4/$12. Cheques payable to Grotesque Magazine, D. Logan, 24 Hightown Drive, Newtownabbey, Co Antrim, N. Ireland, BT36 7TG, UK.

All editors require SASEs, and although you aren't required to take out a subscription, it's the best way to know what they're after. At the least, buy a sample copy.

-- CK
©1999 Christopher Kenworthy