The genre of horror has always attracted me because of its delightful
contradictions. It dares to go where we think we don’t want to. It tests the boundaries we put in place to see just how far is too far and forces us to face our deepest and most profound fears equally beside the ones that we are ashamed to admit. The lure for readers of horror is that the horror genre is actually disturbingly therapeutic. When reading, we trespass into tragedies and terrors and somehow make it through; we push on, keep on going, reading on and on into that shocking abyss where some part of us wants nothing more but to look away and stop reading--to escape. As readers, we become enslaved to the story, to the reactions of our bodies, to the terrible need to find out what happens next. And in the end, the most relieving thing of all is to set down that book and be infinitely grateful for the mundane. Suddenly our lives, which had seemed unexciting and monotonous before, are wonderful. Horror frees us from the mundane and then gives the mundane back to us so that we accept it with open arms.
Horror is like a drug. The body feels horror intensely. When we read
thrillers, we react physically as if the events are happening to us—heart
rate increases, pupils dilate, digestion slows, there is trembling, vessel constriction; a whole flood of neurobiological events occur inside the body. And yet we are in no real danger (hopefully). Therefore, horror
gives us a safe conduit in which we can experience the rush of fear and a full range of uncommon emotions over and over again without consequence.
We can consider what actions we ourselves might take in similar situations perhaps in contrast to the characters. I like to compare horror to an amusement park ride. And who doesn't want to fool our bodies into reacting as if we are really in some danger of falling to our deaths?
Now here is my confession: I actually am not fond of thrill rides, and I'm certainly not an adrenalin junky. Likewise, I am very picky about my horror. I don’t like anything I can’t escape from, so there better be some
pretty powerful reason for me to stay. I have to be able to be caught up in the story, for it to be deeply psychological, to make me think while I’m shaking in my boots. Trust me, I need the therapy. Writing horror is my addiction, my safe outlet to explore all the possibilities, all the craziness, and every fear that lurks in my demented brain.
What could be better than to share them with readers so that we can conquer them together?
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Try Jessica Housand-Weaver's horror story, THE SCREAM OF THE SIREN, today to see for yourself.
Throughout the month of October, Mocha Memoirs Press will point the dark light on one of our published horror stories. These stories will scare, thrill, and make you leave the light on at night. Horrifyingly good, our Dark Light stories are quick downloads and are less than $3.00 USD.
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This week's dark light title is The Scream of the Siren by Jessica Housand-Weaver.
Blurb: Jen Hanover, depressed and reclusive after her husband’s suicide, finds her life changed forever when she meets a mysterious, brooding rebel named Alejandro. At first, he seems to be exactly what Jen needs. But things quickly spiral out of control as Alejandro reveals the frightening extent of his obsessive nature and violent past. Desperate to end the dangerous affair, Jen is determined to be free of him. Yet the more she tries to escape from Alejandro’s passionate clutches, the more threatening he becomes. The story unravels with heart-pounding suspense as Jen finds herself up against a criminal mind, far more dangerous than she could have ever imagined. In the end, Jen discovers not only the darkest truths about love and the human condition, but must also face the lurking demons within herself.
Grab a copy of this dark mocha delight at our website, Mocha Memoirs Press.
Mocha Memoirs Press's thriller writer, Jessica Housand-Weaver, knows a thing or two about story. Her tale, THE SCREAM OF THE SIREN, sent shrivers and frightened readers and critics alike. In her blog post below, she discusses the orgins of her stories and characters.
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The Story vs. The Writer
by Jessica Housand-Weaver
After reading a great story, we are left with a sense of anticlimax and disappointment that it has ended. No matter how awesome the ending, we hunger to be immersed further in the storyworld. This leads to a certain fascination with the writer. We feel close to them because we have been privy to what exists in their mind. We empathize with the writer and desire to continue the dialogue.
We want to ask: how did you create such an absorbing story? Or in the case of some horror writers, who, as creators of such terrible worlds, seem even creepier than their stories—what is wrong with you?
How much of writing is fact and fiction has been the speculation of readers for centuries. This speculation, which helps bring readers, writers, and characters together, is almost as enjoyable as the story itself. Like the ‘mad scientist’ stereotype, or the ‘unstable artist’ (think Van Gogh), writers truly are a basket case class of their own. Surely, a ‘normal’ person, or one with ‘normal’ experiences, could not concoct the sheer complexity and twists involved in storywriting.
I concur, with just a slight modification—a ‘normal’ person would not want to.
We writers are not ‘right; in the head. By this, I mean, we are swamped left and right in our
minds with ideas, experiences, and possibilities that we just have to tell you. We have a communication
disorder of a sort, a kind of communomania. We are strangers who share intimate secrets with our
readers without ever speaking or touching. We enjoy the solitude of our communication artform but
need to connect with you; in fact, we can’t stop.
Our characters are complex conglomerations of fact and exaggerative fiction. They are all of you, all the people we have ever loved or despised in the upgraded 2.0 story version. We build off of the emotions, personalities, and experiences we have had in our lives and decorate them a little bit to make them more palatable, especially for readers longing for something a little different and less mundane than their everyday life experiences. In essence, we are escape artists… and we are taking you with us.
As a writer, it can be a little amusing (even awkward) when family members, friends, or readers ask questions about my personal life after reading a piece like my thriller, The Scream of the Siren, published last year by Mocha Memiors Press. Readers want to know, who the characters are really. They find certain physical or name traits of individuals that appear to match up with the characters in the story. A favorite character to do this with has proven to be the love-maddened antagonist in The Scream of the Siren, Alejandro. Readers wonder if he is based off of a real person; my husband sometimes gets funny looks.
Again, I like to think of my characters as pieces, little pieces of anyone who has ever made an impression in my life, taken completely out of context, and mashed up into one juxtaposed mess that I then interject with all the things I have to tell you (remember, I suffer from communomania). While some aspects of the story, the main character, and even Alejandro do have very strong parallels in my real life experiences, writing is, in the end, what I like to refer to as quantum communication—sharing with you pieces of possibilities out of what already exists.
