 Horror/Scary: September 19, 2012 Issue [#5269] |
  Horror/Scary
This week: Kidnapped! Do you know these authors? Edited by: Tornado Dodger  
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"Blood is really warm,
it's like drinking hot chocolate
but with more screaming."
- Ryan Mecum, Zombie Haiku: Good Poetry for Your ... Brains
 Kidnapped! Six Published Authors
This month, I had an extremely busy last couple of weeks, so I decided not to choose one specific victim. Instead, I chose a six-pack of talented writers to share their thoughts on writing and open up a little. I hope you enjoy learning a little about these amazing authors.
 What advice do you have for beginning writers hoping to get published?
Only one piece of advice: Write a commercial manuscript. This does NOT mean selling or writing a spy novel. Bridges of Madison County and Cold Mountain were both "commercial novels." I was given a number of great tips on writing saleable manuscripts.
Could you elaborate on that? Let's talk about settings, for example. What can a beginning writer do with settings to add dimension and interest to the story and why is that important?
There are two things. First, the choice of setting is critical. For example, if you're writing a love story, don't set the story in the middle of a parking lot. Set the scene in a location that has an interest factor so that the setting itself is interesting. I'm not saying you have to set it inside the National Security Agency. You might want to write it in a horse farm and show the reader the intricacies of tending horses or set it in a private school and show the inner workings of that school. Which leads me to my second point: reveal your setting in such a way that the setting is interesting. If you wrote a story in a private school and didn't reveal any inside information about what it's like to work or study at a private school then you've got a boring setting.
Let's talk about your book, Hope to Die. Scudder has changed quite a bit from his first appearance over 25 years ago. The book has more thriller-like elements in it, and we actually get inside the killer's head in a few chapters. How did you put yourself in the mind of a killer?
I haven't done this in any of the Scudder books before. They've all been in first person and everything is seen through Scudder's eyes. In this book I saw, because of the nature of it as it was developing, that it was really necessary to see the bad guy. And when I wrote one chapter like that, I saw immediately that it filled an important function there and it would probably do the book good to do that. So, consequently, there were quite a few scenes done that way.
It was very chilling, I must say. Was it creepy to picture yourself in the killer's mind?
No. I've done things from the point of view of villainous characters before. Certainly one of the central characters in a book of mine called Random Walk was a psychopathic serial killer. Perhaps I should be dismayed to admit it, but I found it to be quite an easy psyche to inhabit.
One of the most versatile award-winning authors of our time, Neil Gaiman
What did you like to read when you were growing up?
Anything. I was a reader. My parents would frisk me before family events. Before weddings, funerals, bar mitzvahs, and what have you. Because if they didn't, then the book would be hidden inside some pocket or other and as soon as whatever it was got under way I'd be found in a corner. That was who I was...that was what I did. I was the kid with the book. Now having said that, I tended to gravitate towards anything fantastical be it SF, be it fantasy, be it horror, be it ghost stories or anything in that territory. But I was definitely the kind of kid that read anything. The great thing about being in school in England back then was that the schools were all very old. And the schools being fairly old meant that you were actually dealing with a school library that was endowed sometime in the 1920s. That was the last time they went out on a big book buying expedition. And a few things had turned up in the 30s. I'd get to read these almost forgotten authors. I'd sit up there devouring the complete works of Edgar Wallace or G.K Chesterton. In fact, I remember my first encounter with Lord of the Rings was the first two books in battered old hardcovers. The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers. It was all they had in the library, so I read them over and over again, wondering how it ended. And when I was about twelve I won the school English prize and they said, "What would you like as a present? You get a book." I said please can I have the Return of the King, so that I can find out what happens.
I'd like to talk a bit about the practical side of being a writer. You've said you are from the Carpentry School of Writing. And you think it's very important that writers work on their craft. Could you expand on that a bit?
Okay. I have to say that I change the metaphor about once a week. But it may help if I give you an idea of how I go about writing. I'm about 10,000 words into my next book. Do I know what it is about? Yes, I do know what it is about, it's just that I'm not telling myself. I can see bits of the story and I know the story is there. This is what I call draft zero. This is private. No one ever, ever gets to see draft zero. This is the draft that you write to tell yourself what the story is. Someone asked me recently how to guard against writing on auto-pilot. I responded that writing on auto-pilot is very, very important! I sit there and I bash the stuff out. I don't edit -- I let it flow. The important thing is that the next day I sit down and edit like crazy. But for the first month or so of writing a book I try to get the creative side of the mind to get it down there on the page. Later on I get the analytical side to come along and chop the work into decent lengths, edit it and knock it into the right kind of shape. Everyone finds their own way of doing things. I certainly don't sit down and plan a book out before I write it. There's a phrase I use called "The Valley Full of Clouds." Writing a novel is as if you are going off on a journey across a valley. The valley is full of mist, but you can see the top of a tree here and the top of another tree over there. And with any luck you can see the other side of the valley. But you cannot see down into the mist. Nevertheless, you head for the first tree. At this stage in the book, I know a little about how I want to start. I know some of the things that I want to do on the way. I think I know how I want it to end. This is enough. The thing now is to get as much down as possible. If necessary, I will write the ending fairly early on in the process. Now that ending may not turn out to be the real ending by the time that I have finished. But I will write down now what I think the conclusion of the book is going to be. It's all a technique, not to get over writer's block, but to get 15,000 or 20,000 words of text under my belt. When you've got that text down, then you can work on it. Then you start giving yourself ideas.
When you were a boy, were you interested in books and writing? What did you like to read?
I knew that I wanted to be a writer even before I knew exactly what being a writer entailed. As a youngster, I was the Tom Sawyer of the group -- the boy providing the imaginary framework for our play, giving the backstory for the toy soldiers in the sandbox, deciding on the names of the characters we played in our backyard adventures. By third grade, I was writing Timmy McBrown: Boy Detective stories on narrow-lined paper and secretly handing them around the classroom. (Even at that age, I knew that one was not a real writer without an audience.) In fourth grade, I typed out my first science fiction story on old Underwood upright. In fifth grade, I wrote and circulated an elaborate sequel to The Wizard of Oz (not knowing that Frank L. Baum had already done the same.) Occasionally these stories were intercepted by the teacher and I was scolded for wasting time. Thank God for that response! Writing, I'm convinced, should be a subversive activity -- frowned on by the authorities -- and not one cooed over and praised beyond common sense by some teacher. I learned to read early -- although it was not a household in which people read much (my older brother was a voracious reader, but he had already left home by the time I began decoding words and sentences) -- and I read everything I came in contact with: my mother's Readers Digest condensed books, comic books, a few SF magazines (Astounding) that my brother had left around, and whatever real books came into my hands. The Dick and Jane readers in my parochial school first grade were a delight -- but once again I got in trouble, this time with the nuns (don't mess with nuns in 1954!), for borrowing and reading second and third grade reading books. In third grade, I was finally taken to a library because of my interest in rocks -- I checked out eleven books on rocks that day -- and after that, there was no turning back. Still today, if I pick up a copy of Tom Sawyer, I remember exactly where I was when I first read it -- my parents' back bedroom in the old house in Des Moines, leaf shadow from the big elms dancing on the screen, the breeze blowing in from the forest preserve.
What kinds of things did you do to prepare for writing a series about a bounty hunter? How did you find out about the things Stephanie has to know, like police procedure, how bounty hunters operate etc. ?
I was living in Northern Virginia when I started the series. I went to the Yellow Pages and looked up Bailbondsmen, called some and got the names of a couple Bail Enforcement Agents. I hung out with these guys and tried to see what they did and who they were and what kind of equipment they carried. I did the same with the Trenton police. I also went to a gun shop and took some shooting leasons.
How did you learn to write dialogue?
I learned to write dialogue by getting up on a stage and doing improv acting.
What is the strangest thing that's happened to you on a book tour?
I haven't actually had a lot of strange things happen to me on tour. It's always interesting when I'm in Dallas or Chicago or Scottsdale and someone unexpectedly shows up who used to sit behind me in Algebra in high school. I've stayed in a few hotels that were so bizarre I slept in my clothes all night. I had a signing once where no one came and when I got to the store it was closed. Alex was with me and we decided we needed to cheer ourselves up, so we kept the stretch limo for the night. We had the driver take us shopping at Tower Records and then we went to a bakery and got a couple cakes (one for the limo driver) and then we topped the night off at a bar. It was definitely one of my better signings.
If you would like to share your thoughts, please send me a note using the box at the bottom of this newsletter.
Write and Review on! ~ Brooke
[Related Links]
Here are some Horror/Suspense writing challenges to test your skills. 
 "Invalid Item" [] by A Guest Visitor
"Sinister Stories Contest" [13+] by Jeff 
"Invalid Item" [] by A Guest Visitor
"Invalid Item" [] by A Guest Visitor
"Show Off Your Best at the Bee Hive " [ASR] by StephBee 
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~  ~ Editor's Choice - The Trio of Terror ~ ~
~  Classic Chiller ~
Excerpt:
Pam and I used to sit on this front porch and hand out sourballs. They were all we could afford. We'd listen to echoing giggles of trick-or-treaters and talk about having kids of our own some day. We'd laugh and eat candies until our tongues ached. We'd stay out here until the Jack-o'-lantern candle burnt itself into a puddle, and we could see our breath in the crisp air. These are the times I'm trying to think about tonight.
A lot's changed since then. No trick-or-treaters, no candy, no giggling. Pam's still here-she was just calling for me-but she's changed, too. Halloween's a day of mourning now. Hell, every day is a day of mourning, but October 31 marks the anniversary of when it began.
~ Modern Macabre ~
Excerpt:
A late summer breeze stirs, carrying her intoxicating smell across the room. Hints of orchid and vanilla infiltrate my senses. Vibrant and seductive, it stirs something within me. She moves to her dresser and turns on the radio. Haunting, melodic notes waft through the night, a serenade for the dead. My eyes drift shut for a brief moment as the music speaks to me. I resist the urge to reach out and touch her, my unwitting bride. I remain rooted, content to watch from the shadows. What is a mere moment when compared to the promise of eternity? Our time approaches with swift peril.
The sound of rustling silk interrupts my fantasy as she turns the covers down. Her slender hand lingers over the mound of pillows. Delicate features twist into a mask of uncertainty. A distinct aroma fills the air, the smell of fear.
~ The Future of Fright ~
Excerpt:
Again in front of her mirror, Agnes was applying lipstick. She rolled her eyes and turned to face the bird. "It'll work, this time. You watch and see!"
She turned back and began teasing her hair. The show started at eight, and she didn't want to keep her new friend waiting.
"You've had dates before," the bird continued. "A few firsts, but never seconds. They only agree to go out with you because they feel sorry for you. You tried to kiss one, once, remember? What did he do?"
"He threw up on me."
"Yes, you made him puke, you're so ugly."
~ ~
~ Bonus Selection ~
Combining Horror and Comedy isn't always easy to pull off...
Excerpt:
Little nine-year-old Mikey stood in his bedroom after dark. He was rummaging through his closet wearing only his underwear, his bubble-butt stretching the nearly threadbare material of his tighty-whities. His young muscles flexed and writhed as he lifted and moved boxes. The boy was searching for what he thought would be the perfect Hallowe'en costume for his night of Trick-or-Treating. He grunted as he hefted a particularly heavy box of toys, and then dropped it to the floor with a loud thud. Looking back inside, he grinned a toothy grin as he found the box he had been looking for.
Outside his window, the creature stared at him with an insatiable hunger, its eyes glowing. Salivating, it began to twitch as though barely able to contain its excitement. It could almost see the boy's heart beating within his chest. Good boy, tasty boy, it thought. I will dine well this night. It stared malevolently at the boy as it planned its attack.
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