  Horror/Scary
This week: Writing Good Horror Edited by: W.D.Wilcox  
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Writing Good Horror
The sun, as orange as a dragon's egg, cracked upon the western peaks and spilled a crimson yolk. Against this fiery backlight, the mountains wore king's gold for a while, then gradually took off their shining crowns and drew royal-blue nightclothes up their slopes.
Good writing is good writing. It flows like poetry, spurs the imagination, provokes thought and images of people and places never before seen.
Fingertips steepled, toward the bridge of his nose, he half hid his face in a prayer clasp, as if the shadows didn't provide enough concealment, as if he were whispering a confession into the private chapel of his cupped hands.
You can't write, it was a dark and stormy night, anymore. The editor will drop your manuscript into the trash before he finishes the first line. Writing is an art, approach it that way.
The scarlet twilight drained into the west, washed away by the incoming tides of east-born darkness.
You have to be creative; not just in your story ideas, but in your sentence structures as well. Show don't tell. Put your heart and soul into it. Make the words come to life as if they were a magic incantation.
He could feel every throb of his pulse distinctly in his temples, as though it were his mind that hammered out his life, not his heart. The beats were slow--too slow for the amount of apprehension he felt and each blow shook him as if the very structure of his brain were under assault.
Writing takes thought. You have to ask yourself, "how can I make this better?"
The hot-pink light of morning painted coral reefs across the sky, while clusters of black trees with craggy limbs clawed greedily at the remaining gloom.
I am not the best writer by any means. In fact, I'm just an old hack compared to some of you, but I try . . . I try.
Never give up and never get disheartened. Learn from your mistakes, turn every rejection into a positive action, and above all, keep your sense of humor. Which is probably why I make a joke of everything, why wisecracks and prayers are equally important to me. If I can't find a silver laugh, bright and sparkling, then I try to find a dark one, cold but comforting, because if ever I fail to find a laugh of any kind, then I'd be crushed by dread, by hopelessness, and it wouldn't matter if I was technically alive or not, for I'd be dead in my heart.
Until next time, my pretties,
billwilcox
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Stories With 'Wow Factor'
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I saw him once, when he didn't know I was watching, press the pad of his thumb beneath his nose and push upward. Thread-like snakes of yellowish pus oozed from his cratered snout, covering his nose as if with a blanket of dirty snow. He wiped one side of his nose with a gnarled forefinger, gathering up the eruption of blackheads and pimples into a single wad the size of a pea, then lifted his finger toward his shriveled mouth.
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It wasn’t really a big one – only a 20-gauge compared to her father’s 12-gauge, but she loved it because he gave it to her. With patience, he taught her how to use it. “C’mon Cora. You can do it…easy now.” When she bagged a wild turkey one year, he beamed and shook her hand like she was an adult. “That’s my girl!” The better she got with Biggun, the more he bragged to the neighbors about what a good shot she was. The shine in his eye made her burst with pride.
“You have been chosen to protect the Threshold, that boundary between conscious thought and the subconscious realm of the mind as experienced in dreams and nightmares. There is no limit to the evil that can exist; demons that will tear out your soul, fanged shadows that chase you in the night, fires that burn for eternity and even magic beings capable of enslaving you to fight for them against the armies of good and righteousness. You must choose to answer the call. You must fight against those that would breach the threshold and unleash themselves upon the waking world. Don’t fight … and you become one of them. Russell, they are coming for you. You will have to decide.”
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And so I stood, staring beyond the gate, and doubting my purpose. With every millennium long second that ticked away my faith in my own deservedness waned. How could someone like me ever belong in such a place? What if it's a trick, a false promise that will only be revealed by stepping through the barrier? Surely spending eternity right here would be much safer? A soft voice whispered in my ear. The words unclear, but its presence felt somewhat comforting.
What puzzled Troy though, was why the child never seemed to be scared of his stories like he was when his father told them to him. When Markie turned five he began making up his own endings, and a lot of them were even more disturbing than what Troy’s mind could come up with. But as puzzling as it was, he never questioned his son’s vivid imagination, and the stories continued for the next three years.
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"Everyone must pay for damage they cause. Those who steal money and goods from others must be stopped. And they must not be allowed to be bad influence over others who are inherently decent." Mr. Wu raised his arms again and waved them over the disfigured animal in front of him. It began to vibrate and spasm, breathing heavily. Blood began to seep from its matted fur. It yowled like a cat, it whimpered like a frightened boy. The foul odor increased and smoke began to cloud the room again, until both wizard and cat were concealed.
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“Death, someone’s here to see you.”
Sanger’s task, appointed by the keepers of the cathedral, was simply to keep the timepiece clean. Deep appreciation fueled his devotion, and no inspection faulted his work. Now, he had another task, one that he felt was far more important. A voice had spoken in a dream. Utterly compelling, he offered not even token resistance nor wonder why it had chosen him.
The voice was closer now, but still a ways off. Another tunnel ran to the north sloping drastically downward and narrowing. Sal could hear the sound of running water. As he began his descent again, he wondered just how far he would be able to follow the passage before it became too narrow to continue -- his head was already scraping the ceiling and the walls were close enough to touch with either hand.
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DEAD LETTERS
One Living 
Screams:
I like it. It tells about what really happens when fear kicks in and how you react.
Thanks Reg, appreciate the comment 
LJPC - the tortoise 
Shudders:
Seeing something out of the corner of my eye happens all the time to me, and it freaks me out! I'd be relieved if it was some kind of past experience gaining on me -- better that than mutant spiders, which is what I always think it is!  Great NL, Bill~
~ Laura
I agree. There's gotta be something wrong with anything that has eight legs  .
BIG BAD WOLF is Howling 
Howls:
You forgot an item with an appropriate name for the 5/15/13 Scary Newsletter. 
I didn't forget! See, it's right there.
 "What's Behind Me?" [13+]
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Horror/Scary: June 12, 2013 Issue [#5715]
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