I think the first Chris Ware comic work I saw was in Jab Comics Anthology (not to be confused with the adult comic), in the early 90s. (His little potato guy strips.) Some time after that, it was Jimmy Corrigan, the Smartest Kid on Earth and all that followed.

Ware is one of those cartoonists who does something so well: combining art and writing. Sure, comics as a medium are about words and pictures, but generally, cartoonists are cartoonists, working in one of the best mediums in the world and creating their own way of communicating with others. Some cartoonists hit on a different level, where it’s not the art or writing that is the fascinating thing: it’s the language of the medium that’s so wholly its own thing that floors me. And some cartoonists can do all that and just be damn fine writers.

Ware is one of those cartoonists who does that. He can tell a story, and…he can write. (Although for straight up writing and cartooning, Dan Clowes still floors me the most.)

I can’t remember the particular issue number of Acme Novelty Library where it hit me, but there was a point where the writing stuck out even over the art. For a moment, and in many of the issues that followed, it was like, “Damn, Ware can write!” The words were almost poetic, and through it all he cut deep, tackling the racism of the main character’s grandfather. It was one of those times the writing in a comic stuck out more than the art, or the two things combined.

This isn’t the first time I’ve posted a video about art or artists, and it sure won’t be the last. I think writers can gain a lot by looking to artists and thinking about what fascinates them about art — and see if there’s a way to do something similar with words.

You could do a lot worse than looking to Ware’s works and seeing what you take away as a writer.

This morning on Twitter, Michael Magras asked what “Fiction for men,” is supposed to mean. It’s perhaps a bit of a rhetorical question, as well as a way of saying, “I read much more than what is deemed ‘fiction for men.’”(From what I’ve seen, Michael’s very well read and reads anything and everything!)

I think we all know what “Fiction for men,” is supposed to mean.

At the same time, as a man, I rarely read “fiction for men.”

Marketing to Gender

I feel safe in saying that a higher percentage of men than women read Clive Cussler novels, and a higher percentage of women than men read Sophie Kinsella novels. The “fiction for men” Michael asks about, I’m guessing, is written by authors like Cussler, Clancy, and Coonts.

I understand that marketing to gender often works. Still, I think we lose something when we say, “This is for men/this is for women.”

Even though I’m a goofy guy built like a defensive tackle, I’d probably read a Kinsella novel before a Cussler novel. I’m far more likely to pick up the next Ann Patchett novel than something by Clancy or Coonts. If Anne Ursu were to write another adult novel, I’d preorder that book in a heartbeat without even hearing what it’s about. Margaret Atwood and Toni Morrison cut deep, and I’m not sure there’s a better opening line to a novel than Louise Erdrich’s Tracks. (“We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall,” for those wondering.)

Still, there’s obviously enough to some demographics that it’s worth marketing things to certain people. I’ve only read a couple romances in my life and have no real desire to ever read another. Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey is on my to read pile, but I don’t have a desire to read all of Austen’s works. I could read Jack London and Robert E. Howard boxing stories all day. My neighbor is a voracious reader, and when I’ve stopped by to chat when he’s on his balcony, he almost always has some kind of “fiction for men” in his hands.

I don’t see many men excited about beach reads, and the book clubs I’ve seen are mostly made up of women.

So there are some truths to the likelihood that “Men like this and women like that.” (At least if we’re trying to box things up nicely for the sake of marketing demographics, instead of just letting a good story stand on its own as a good story.)

Different Tastes?

So…do women and men have different tastes?

Some women and men have different tastes — enough that it’s worth it to publishers to market particular titles based on one’s gender. It’s a subject that fascinates me in ways because the men I know don’t read “fiction for men,” and the women I know don’t necessarily read “fiction for women.”

The women and men I know read fiction. Straight up — no “men’s” or “women’s” preceding fiction.

Sometimes it’s what falls along the stereotype of gender, and other times it doesn’t. While my wife likes Jane Austen, she owned the only Tom Clancy novel we’ve ever had in our possession. While she’s fond of period pieces on TV and in film (she’s a historical costumer), she just might like The Three Stooges more than me. An evening with a couple pints of beer and mixed martial arts fights on TV is a good way to spend an evening as far as I’m concerned, but calling an early night to climb into bed and read something like Jane Eyre works just as well for me.

Promise’s Gender

My own experience with tastes based along gender:

There’s a chapter in my book, Promise, that some male beta readers said the book can do without. Seriously, they said, “Yeah…just strip that chapter out entirely — it does nothing.”

The interesting thing: women who’ve read the book love the chapter. (One female beta reader said the chapter in question is one of her favorite chapters in the book.) Female beta readers feel the particular chapter is vital to the story.

Another thing with Promise: I received more interest in the query when this line was left out:

“Hoping to impress Allison, Ryan enrolls in wrestling lessons, where he spends more time wrestling with unresolved issues from his divorce than impressing people in the ring.”

When I first shopped Promise around, I left out all mention of wrestling. (There’s really only one wrestling chapter in the entire book — any other mention of wrestling serves a symbolic purpose.) When mention of wrestling was left out, there was more interest in the story.

The moment I mentioned “wrestling,” the only agents to respond were males. (There was a steep increase in not even receiving rejection letters — just silence — from female agents after inserting the line about wrestling.) But I’d be foolish to say that it came down to a matter of gender that agents passed on Promise. The agents who replied with more than a form letter — male and female — had the same thing to say about Promise: “You’re a talented writer, but this is a bit too quirky for my tastes.”

It came down to people in the business of representing writers looking at all demographics (male, female, genres, etc.) and saying, “It’s good, but it will be a hard sell/just isn’t my thing, so I’m passing.”

Does Gender Matter?

Obviously, gender matters. There are things I like about being a male, and things I will never experience because I’m not a female. I was mainly raised by my mother and sister. Times spent in their care was much different than when I visited my father in the summer. Being raised in such separate conditions, I saw certain strengths that [typically] fall along the lines of gender. And…I also saw where lines blurred and reasons why stereotypes regarding gender are best shunned.

So where are the lines regarding gender with fiction? For me, they are the same lines I saw growing up in separate households. Sure, there are stories that are more likely to appeal to men and stories that are more likely to appeal to women. But my mother can be a stone in a storm, and my father was sentimental and teared up rather easily. But that doesn’t mean he was any less a man or that my mother is any less a woman. They are people who have/had strengths and weaknesses that go well beyond gender.

And like them, a good story is a good story, regardless of who the target audience is and who ends up actually reading it.

What’s a Writer to Do?

So what’s one to do as a writer? Should we all shoot for appealing to gender? I don’t think so.

Good fiction is good fiction. Sometimes it’s about men surviving in the wild; other times it’s about women surviving in a city. But mostly, good fiction is just about people.

Yeah, Beloved is a mother/daughter story, but it goes way beyond just that. Native Son is gritty, but it’s not a decidedly masculine book. Both books are about the effects people, the environment, and so many other things have on the main characters, regardless of gender. Sure, Sethe experiences certain things because she’s a woman and Bigger experiences certain things because he’s a man. But…the struggles involved in both stories are wholly human.

For me, the answer is simple for writers wondering what to do: just write the book you want to write and hope it touches a person in the way you intended!

Neil Gaiman Addresses the University of the Arts Class of 2012 from The University of the Arts (Phl) on Vimeo.

The first issue of Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman I picked up was #8. I’d recently gotten back into comic books and it just looked cool. (It was!)

I’ve had the chance of meeting him in passing at comic book conventions and he’s every bit as nice as people say he is. Hell, probably nicer.

Gaiman’s not my favorite writer, but he might be my favorite person who happens to write.

So it was nice stumbling upon this video yesterday, showing why he’s such a badass among badasses…

I Just Did the Next Thing on the List

I won’t go on and on about every point made in this speech…just a few. Right now I’m back to a point of looking at several things to tackle with my own writing. It’s easy to make something simple end up difficult when you think about it too much. Gaiman’s golden advice?

“I didn’t have a career — I just did the next thing on the list.”

It really is that easy, and I look forward to doing the next thing on my writing list.

I Still Had the Work

I think for me, this was the biggie in the speech — Gaiman saying:

“If I did the work I was proud of and didn’t have the money, I still had the work.”

I recently posted about my own struggles with “making it,” and coming to a sense of comfort in just doing the best writing I can regardless of what happens. (Part 2 and Part 3 of those posts, if interested.)

While the dream of writing full time is nice, even nicer is the act of writing itself. The dedication involved in waking up and hour earlier on work days to write, or staying up a little later to finish up a chapter. Those times, alone, when it all just comes together. Reaching that point where you realize you’re good. I’ve been paid for my writing, but those moments have all been better than the money.

For me, it used to be all about making it — a struggle between my day job and writing. Now, no matter what, it’s just about the writing. Worst case: nobody reads what I write, but I still have the satisfaction that comes from the work.

That’s not such a bad thing.

I’d go as far as saying that once one comes to that conclusion, the work gets even better.

When Things Get Tough…

In his speech, Gaiman says:

“When things get tough, this is what you do: make good art.”

Good art can carry a person through tough times. I’ve written while watching a sibling die and while dealing with a health issue of my own. When I’ve been laid off and the emergency fund was about to dry up and I needed something to give me hope, I found that hope in writing. (And time with my wife.)

Some of my fondest memories are the times money was barely there and my wife and I focused on writing and art. I remember the stress of not having much, but years later, what I remember even more is the wonderful feeling of doing what we loved.

I’ve never believed that one must suffer for their art, but I will say if one can make art while suffering, there are few things in life they can’t do.

Where Would Be the Fun…?

There’s something exciting about taking chances with art — not doing what pays or what you know will be accepted. I’ve written about the importance of wandering out to the edge before, and believe in what I wrote more each year. In his commencement speech, Gaiman talks about taking chances:

“Where would be the fun in making something you knew was going to work?”

The fun matters. It’s why I shun outlines — for me, knowing where I’m going every step of the way takes the fun out of it. There really is something about the excitement of writing what you want on spec instead of writing what you know is going to work and pay.

Because he chose to write the stories that excited him, Neil Gaiman is in an enviable position: he’s a successful writer who doesn’t have to write the same thing over and over. He doesn’t have to worry about fans yelling when he breaks away from the same stories about a famous detective he created. Because he’s always written what he wanted to write, he gets to write what he wants. He’s known for doing his own thing. He has fun doing his own thing.

This week, I’ve returned to my most challenging novel to date. I could, and some would argue should, work on a paranormal mystery series I have tucked away. A series is always good: you hook people and they keep coming back. You build a following and then, hopefully, money follows. But when I put the series next to other things that are more challenging, I like the challenge…even if the challenging stories are more likely to “fail.”

I have more fun pushing myself to be the best writer I can be than playing it safe and writing what has better odds of working.

Make Good Art

It all comes down to this: make good art.

Challenge yourself.

Don’t write what everyone else is writing just because it’s what’s in; take a chance on what you really want to do, even if you don’t think it will work.

I may be forever doomed to have every story I write greeted with the typical rejection I seem to receive: “Hey, this is really good, but…it’s a bit quirky and I don’t know how I’d market it, so I’m passing.”

It’s a rejection that used to bother me, but these days, I almost look forward to it.

I’m doing what I want (making good art), and that’s a fine place to be.

I previously mentioned that I’m giving away a Kindle Touch as part of an essay contest for the relaunch of Hell Comes with Wood Paneled Doors. I love the entries I’ve received so far, and look forward to reading more.

Last week, I made a little video reminder about the contest in which I show off the very Kindle Touch you can win. All it takes is a road trip tale that’s 750 words or less, emailed to hcwwpd [at] gmail.com by June 30th for a chance to have your essay appear in the relaunched e-book and winning the Kindle Touch.

I recently mentioned that I was working on a novella called Old Man. Well, a draft is done, and I’m beginning to polish things up a bit before offering it as an e-book. I also mentioned that I’d give everybody a sneak peek at Old Man. That sneak peek is right here.

What is Old Man About?

Old Man is about Phil Johnson, a 16-year-old who begins acting like an old man in a last-ditch effort to get to know his dying grandfather. After his grandfather’s death, the lines between Phil acting like an old man and believing he’s an old man blur even more — until it looks like nothing can bring him back.

Old Man is my favorite thing I’ve ever written. While I’ve written more ambitious stories, nothing means as much to me as Old Man.

I hope you enjoy this sneak peek!

Part 1: It Started in the Basement

Part 2: Stephen King

Part 3: My [Kinds of] Monster Movies

Part 4: My Own Tales of Terror

* * *

If you don’t know the name Joss Whedon, you’ve probably at least heard about a little movie called The Avengers that he wrote and directed.

But a month ago, he was part of another movie that I want to talk about: The Cabin in the Woods.

Whedon wrote it with Drew Goddard (who directed the movie). Why would I dedicate the final entry in my babbling about horror and me to this movie?

Because…it made me fall in love with the genre all over again!

Stopping Horror

I mentioned that I stopped watching horror when it seemed to take a turn toward movies about people just being tortured for 90 minutes. Apparently, that bothered Whedon, too, and was — according to an interview I read — one of the things he wanted to touch on when he and Goddard got together to write the script.

I know there’s been good horror being made; I just strayed away…and I’m not the only one I know. One can only watch so many Saw sequels or, “Hey, look! MORE ZOMBIES!!!” before it just all loses something.

Hell, the very first footage I saw from The Cabin in the Woods focused on the five characters in a cabin and left me thinking, “Aw, come on!” (BTW: “Aw, come on…!” is one of my favorite lines in The Cabin in the Woods…at least what follows the line being said. I don’t know the last time I laughed that hard in a theater.)

Who WOULDN'T want to spend a night here? WHY would you do such a thing? That -- and so much more -- is answered in The Cabin in the Woods

Things are Not What They Seem

When I started seeing trailers for The Cabin in the Woods, I realized it wasn’t what I thought it was. (Trailer here, but really…you should just go see it with no spoilers!)

The movie surprised me because it wasn’t what I expected — even after I realized it wasn’t what I thought it was. I don’t want to give too much away, but I will say it’s a love letter to EVERY horror movie ever made…and…explains the REASON for every horror movie ever made!

That’s no easy task.

Tight Writing

I’m not going to say The Cabin in the Woods is the best movie you’ll see this year, or that it’s the best horror movie ever. But in a weird way, it’s both those things (and more) to me.

What I will say is that if you remotely like horror and tight writing, GO SEE IT…and learn!

I really stopped watching horror because it all started seeming the same to me. With the exception of things that kind of deconstructed the genre, like SCREAM, horror left me flat. The writing was so basic, and often lacking any heart: take group of people, isolate them, kill a bunch — maybe letting one get away — and set up the sequel. And that’s all fine…I can’t argue that structure, especially when that basic structure is what taught me how to write. (Although I was always more interested in psychological horror.)

The Cabin in the Woods is a good reminder of the payoff that comes from knowing your history and refining your twist on it all until it’s…not what it seems. It’s basic in itself: set up an archetype, and then spin that archetype on its head, but I’m not sure I’ve seen a movie do such a brilliant job at that, recently, as The Cabin in the Woods.

It Pays to Be Funny

The Cabin in the Woods didn’t scare me. (That doesn’t seem to be the goal.) There are some creepy parts, but they lean on established horror techniques meant to evoke a sense of…well, creepiness! It’s a very interesting film from the opening scene, which could almost leave a viewer who hasn’t seen the trailer wondering if they are watching the wrong film. (The opening dialogue is the best opening to a movie I’ve seen in years.) It’s all…pretty damn funny!

It’s not a laugh-a-minute film, but when something funny happens, it’s like a headshot by a sniper — right on target! Little things established earlier pay off in remarkable (and often hysterical) ways. While there are truly horrifying things in The Cabin in the Woods (people in the theater seemed quite bothered by the last 30-40 minutes), one of the most horrifying things is finding yourself laughing at things you should be ashamed to find humorous.

It takes a particular understanding of what you’re writing and an understanding of human nature to pull that off. Whedon and Goddard wield that ability like a weapon. Weeks later, I’m still thinking about The Cabin in the Woods.

Letting the Creepiness Creep Back In

So that’s it! Like I said, The Cabin in the Woods made me fall back in love with the genre. I’ve looked at old horror stories I started years ago and set aside, wondering how they’d turn out with 10-15 years of experience between then and now. And…I’ve also been digging around, looking for the movies that slipped through the cracks while I stepped away. That’s where you come in.

In the last 10-15 years, tell me what I’ve missed!

And go see The Cabin in the Woods…

Part 1: It Started in the Basement

Part 2: Stephen King

Part 3: My [Kinds of] Monster Movies

* * *

Horror taught me how to write.

No matter what one’s views are of genre fiction, it’s a great place to start when learning how to tell stories. Within any genre is a structure worth learning. Once the basics are learned, there’s so much a writer can do that carries over to other writing — even that “serious stuff.”

My First Time

The very first thing I wrote with the goal of publication was for a horror anthology called Creature Features. I met the editor, Rick Klaw, at a comic book convention in Dallas. We chatted, and I walked away with a challenge: write a monster story for his consideration.

I used to love writing challenges. (I still do, but I have enough going on that I don’t have the time I once did for challenges. Must…stay…focused… If you like writing challenges, here’s one to consider — might be the oddest challenge you’ll face this year!) Having the opportunity to write a monster story that people might actually see and read had me walking around the convention in a haze of ideas. I could easily pull from my youth and write about basements or attics. (When in doubt, I’m a sucker for the past.) Maybe an ode to 50s B-movie horror? Or just go all-out and write the most gruesome story I could muster…

“Others will go there,” I thought.

So…I took a chance and wrote about a guardian angel. Not quite a creature, but it wouldn’t leave my head. I wrote the story and sent it to Rick, thinking it had no chance of seeing print.

I was kind of surprised when I got the call that it was accepted for the anthology…

It’s an Okay Life

The story, called “It’s an Okay Life,” is a different take on the Christmas classic, It’s a Wonderful Life. Even Rick admitted it wasn’t quite a creature story, but…he just liked it for some reason and thought others would, too. Taking that chance on the story I wanted to write — instead of what I thought I should write — paid off.

Of course, in the world of independent comic books, few things go as planned. The deal with the original publisher didn’t work out, but that turned out to be a good thing because it ended up being the first title published by Mojo Press. That meant a bit more exposure, including the very first signing I did.

I’m Not Worthy!

While there were quite a few creators  involved. the first signing we did for the book — at a comic book shop in Austin, Tx — wasn’t packed with creators. In fact, it was just me and this other writer…some guy named Joe Lansdale.

Lansdale’s one of those writers I really respect. Known for horror and gritty mystery, the guy is also funny and he has a way of making a reader feel for the characters he creates. Few writers can put a reader within the places in his mind like Lansdale — and when he decides he wants to make you hurt, he can devastate a reader and make them feel a sense of loss for characters like few others.

And there I was, a goofy, green writer — sitting next to him at a table signing books. Maybe if other contributors to the book had shown up, I wouldn’t have felt so self conscious, but it really seemed like it should have been just a Lansdale signing. People definitely weren’t there to see me!

The Beginning of a Bad Habit I Will Defend to the End

A lot of people in my place would have schmoozed with Lansdale; even been opportunistic of the situation, but at that time, I’d never read any of Lansdale’s stories (well, maybe some comic book stuff.). So…to jump on and try to milk the situation would have seemed smarmy to me. Hell, had I read everything Lansdale had written to that point, I wouldn’t have tried making the moment about me — that’s just the way I am.

At a comic book convention in Dallas after Creature Feature’s release, a friend introduced me to George Pérez, who told me he loved my story. (I was surprised he’d read it.) He went as far as saying “I don’t see good stories like this much these days.” (Something to that effect, anyway.) He was friendly and willing to chat, but…again, I didn’t feel worthy to be in the company of people I’d heard of (and in Pérez’s case, really looked up to). I thanked Pérez and slinked away at my first opportunity.

Okay, so I won’t defend totally slinking away or feeling unworthy in the company of more established writers and artists. It’s not that I didn’t feel I was good enough — I just didn’t want to be perceived as desperate. I wanted to be seen as their equal, and to attain that meant putting in my time coming up. Maybe something good would have happened were I more assertive, but I will always defend that it was right to not glom on to the people I had a chance to be around in the hope of it benefiting me.

Desperation Reeks

Like monsters smell fear, people who’ve made it in their field to some level can smell the desperation of those who want what they have. Many of those who’ve made it are damn nice people who won’t just tell somebody to leave, even when it’s their right (especially in a time when even some of the most accommodating and cordial creators have been deemed “assholes” online by those who’ve felt slighted — even though the creator was giving the true asshole more time than they deserved).

I suppose I could have bothered the creators I’ve met in the hope that eventually one would help me. But…the writers and artists I’m now actually friends with…I don’t even ask them for favors, even though I know they’d help if they can. I know some cool people, in part, because I’m not desperate. If an opportunity arises through a friend, I’ll take it, but I’m not out to force possibilities in a momentary act of desperation because I want something.

Especially since I’m not writing much genre fiction these days.

A New Taste of Terror

Somewhere along the way, horror as a genre seemed to move more toward suspense and torture. I know there’s still great horror being produced, but I noticed attention to creepy tales waned a bit in favor of something more…mean. Interest in the stories I was writing was met with, “Liked this, but we’re looking for more edgy horror.” Creatures chasing and devouring people was no longer edgy; tales of torture were in.

Now, I know 70s horror was full of terrible exploitation films. Rob Zombie kind of revived the good ol’ days of that kind of movie with some of his indie flicks. But even in something as terrible as those old movies, there was still a sense of, “How did they do that?” with the effects. People still had a chance to run away. The first Saw movie at least poses some interesting questions: how far will we go to save ourselves?

But what followed seemed to be little more than torture porn: an hour and a half of people just being…tortured. I get that it plays to a society that seems to have lost its imagination and spends its time terrified of what ifs: being kidnapped and tortured by terrorists and madmen, even though the odds say you’re safer now than you’ve ever been.

I still love a good monster movie with victims who understand the risks. (You go on that deserted planet that could sustain life, bad things just might happen…just like if you go hunting for trolls or dig up a creature hidden in the ice in Antarctica.) But I just can’t sit and watch people being tortured for an hour and a half. It really bothers me.

With that shift in flavor and having learned so much from the wonderful structure offered by writing horror, I moved on to other things, leaving all the creatures lurking in basements, attics, and other places behind — at least until a few weeks ago.

More about that in the final installment tomorrow…

He likes long walks on the beach, puppies, and...BRAAAAINS!!!

Part 1: It Started in the Basement

Part 2: Stephen King

* * *

When VHS tapes came out and we no longer had to wait for a movie to air on cable or see it in theaters, one of the greatest things in the world to me was being able to rent the horror movies I’d only heard about: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Evil Dead, The Beyond, Hellraiser, The Thing (Because I couldn’t get enough of it on HBO), Fright Night, and even hokey horror movies like The Toxic Avenger and the brilliant Killer Klowns from Outer Space. And, because it needs to stand out on its own, one of the best movies ever: Tremors!

Oh yeah — and zombie flicks.

Plenty of zombie flicks…

Zombies A Go-Go

It’s not a big secret that zombies bother the hell out of me. The first zombie movie to terrify me: Zombie.

I’d heard about Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead from my big sister; she liked the movies enough that she couldn’t wait to see Zombie. I was 10 or 11 at the time, and I wish I’d never even seen the commercial, let alone the movie! (She also brought me to see Scanners and told me she had the power to make my head explode.) The thought of the living dead petrified me. (30+ years later, that hasn’t changed.) At the same time, zombies fascinated me.

A singular creature like The Thing or even the monster in Prophecy was a stand-alone beast, but zombies represented widespread infection! (Quick aside: My sister took me to see Zombie; my step brother took me to see Prophecy. At a young age, I was convinced that what we did to the environment would come back to kill us all in the form of malformed creatures or disease. I’m still not ruling out the possibility.)

I knew by then the bite of a werewolf made you a werewolf, but…I also knew you could just lay low on the night of a full moon, or at least stand a chance with a gun loaded with a silver bullet. Zombies are ever present, though. While you sleep, they are coming for you. You can run and get ahead, but they are like the proverbial tortoise in the race against the hare: slow and steady wins the race. A silver bullet (or any bullet) will stop one, but…zombies are not singular creatures like werewolves — they are a virus or bacteria that is unrelenting.

For that reason, back then (and even today), they bothered me!

Well, with a few exceptions…

“Send…More…Paramedics…”

I saw Return of the Living Dead before I saw Dawn of the Dead — probably a good thing. (Dawn of the Dead is everything that creeps me out about zombies as a genre…just the whole depiction of the apocalypse. It’s brilliant horror, but man…it was one of the few movies that bothered me in high school when I finally saw it. I have no desire to see the remake because I know it will freak me out all over again in new ways.)

Return of the Living Dead will always be one of my favorite movies. It epitomizes the 80s — and while it’s wrong of me, it’s much easier to stomach a bunch of punks getting killed, instead of families being devoured by the living dead. Hell, Linnea Quigley, of Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama fame (yes, you read that title correctly), plays a character obsessed with death — so in a way she gets what she wants!

There’s also a link between Cold War fears I grew up with and those my parents grew up reflected in horror movies a generation apart…just in a different manner. Little things like that made [and still make] horror matter to me, even though I don’t watch much horror these days.

There’s no doubt that Return of the Living Dead is creepy and gory, but the combination of humor and snappy dialogue was unlike anything I’d ever seen in a horror movie to that point. For me, it’s that combination of horror an humor that makes the genre accessible to me. Straight up, well-done horror, while having the ability to be brilliant, drags out that little kid in me. Even as an adult, it sticks in my head and I will go for weeks on edge after seeing a horror flick lacking humor that does its job with making me feel uncomfortable in my surroundings.

But toss in just a sprinkling of humor, and I’m good…

Horror and Humor

So Night of the Living Dead…love it! And it’s not the only movie to combine humor and horror that I love.

Shaun of the Dead is obviously known for its humor, and that’s definitely what I love about the movie…but there’s a lot more to it than that. The opening scenes and then the next day walk-through of the same patterns of the main character (only with a zombie apocalypse going on and the statement being made that we have become a society of zombies in our routines) is brilliant as far as I’m concerned. And when the film turns from humor to horror, it’s a reminder that zombies aren’t fun…especially when it’s family and friends turning and you’re faced with hard decisions.

Another zombie-ish film combining humor and horror that I love: Night of the Creeps. It may be one of the earlier memories of seeing how a touching moment in a story that’s otherwise pretty ridiculous can hit a reader or watcher. It’s mostly schlock, but there’s one scene that stands out as a testament to friendship and, in a weird way, how being infected with slugs from space can be a special thing if you look at it the right way.

Seriously.

Let’s see Citizen Kane do that!

Why These [Often Stupid] Movies Matter to Me

I’ll be the first to admit that with some exceptions, the movies I’ve listed here are not the best horror movies of all time. Many of them really are little more than 80s schlock. But…

Just as the fears of the 50s and 60s drove the horror movies of the times, the culture I was ensconced in was reflected in the horror movies I watched. Again, like the writing of Stephen King I mentioned yesterday, it didn’t belong to the generation or generations before me — it belonged to me!

Like the shows I watched on TV, the music I listened to at the time, and so many other things…it wasn’t my dad playing a song he liked in the hope I’d see in it what he did with decades of nostalgia behind it all. What I watched belonged to my generation and helped define who I was in some weird way, whether I liked it or not.

Chopping Mall is a butt-dumb movie, but…mine was a generation raised in malls and on the cusp of that time we traded freedoms for a false sense of corporate security. Nothing could go wrong with weaponized robots in charge, right?

Right…?

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Tomorrow: my own Tales of Terror…

Photo by MadMolecule (http://www.flickr.com/photos/zeke_/)

Part 1 of 5: It Started in the Basement

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I mentioned Stephen King a couple times in yesterday’s entry. I’ve previously mentioned that it was the story “The Body” in King’s Different Seasons that made me realize I could write the kinds of stories I dreamed of writing. I think I’ve even mentioned how much I love King’s book, On Writing.

I don’t read as much King as I once did, but there was a time in my life he was almost all I read.

The Power of the Short Story

I’ve always been a sucker for short stories. The first adult fiction I read were short stories by John Cheever. I lived for Ray Bradbury’s short stories. But the world of short stories was turned upside down for me when I had my own copy of King’s Night Shift.

Oh, sure, there’s the hokiness of “The Mangler,” a story about a possessed industrial laundry press. And there’s the downright serious story, “The Last Wrung on the Ladder,” which is a favorite story of mine to this day. But most of the stories in Night Shift introduced me to the kinds of stories I never knew people told. It was clear that King knew his shit, but he also made the shit his! And by way of that, I was no longer reading tales that had come before, like the works of Poe and Lovecraft — I’d found something that was new and mine!

Pet Sematary and Beyond

Pet Sematary is one of the few books that ever scared me. Sure, when I was younger — as I mentioned yesterday — everything scared me…but after coming to like horror, I became pretty fearless for awhile. (I even challenged myself to go into our basement…with the lights out!)

I didn’t care if it was about a killer dog, the end of the world, or a weird tip of the hat to tales of the old West. If King’s name was on it, I read it.

When his collection Skeleton Crew was released, the first story in the book, “The Mist,” floored me. Sure, it’s a seemingly simple story about people trapped in a grocery store while a strange storm rolls in, bringing with it creatures lurking just out of view, but the paranoia that sets in and the leaps in logic those trapped make fascinated me. It was one of the stories, like “The Tell-Tale Heart” in a way, that reminded me sometimes the scariest thing is what people do to others under duress.

After High School, Here and There…

After high school, I stopped reading King’s every work. I still picked up the occasional novel, and still enjoyed what I read, but I no longer had to read his books the moment they came out.

In many ways, I appreciated the later books more than the books I devoured when I was younger. I will always maintain that King can hold his own with the best of them. When he steps away from horror (which he does much more than some people believe), he writes some of my all-time favorite stuff. I’ll go down swinging in a battle arguing that he’s one of the best writers of our time. (Anybody who has the admiration of John Irving is all right by me!)

When I heard King was hit by a van while out on a walk and that it was up in the air whether he would make it or not, the world seemed a little unfair. I’m not one to act wounded at the mention of a deceased celebrity, but the thought of a world without Stephen King was a world I wanted nothing to do with. Obviously, he pulled through, and obviously, he’s writing again.

As long as King’s writing and people are making movies out of his stories, the world is on its proper axis as far as I’m concerned.

And speaking of movies…more about horror movies tomorrow…

(In case you’re wondering, this is a 5-part series.)

Photo by Der_Krampus (http://www.flickr.com/photos/gfoster67

I owe my overactive imagination to my big sister, who convinced me at a young age that our basement was a place of horrors. Slick, gurgling creatures waited until nightfall to emerge from the sump pump. A twisted, oily horror resided behind the boiler. Mummies and vampires found refuge in the closets in the basement. And in the crawlspace lurked things that would make the Old Gods from Lovecraft’s stories flee in terror.

To make the basement — particularly the crawlspace — even worse, my sister threw the bottom half of a scarecrow far back in a corner so there was the constant reminder that if I ventured into the basement — at best — I’d be rendered in two. Worst case scenario: I was convinced the thing that lived behind the boiler could turn me into liquid (but still being aware and feeling pain), and pump me through the radiators in our home all winter in a super-heated, claustrophobic nightmare where I was so close to family, but unable to do anything about it. When the grief of my disappearance finally waned enough that my mother and sister could move forward, there they’d be unwrapping Christmas presents, warmed by my agony!

Everywhere, Monsters!

I lived in a world of monsters as a child. Free to roam outside longer than most kids, branches from trees were terrifying things I just knew would pull me high into treetops and shred me in the dark. Disembodied hands waited beneath my bed, just waiting to pull me under and kill. I spent many nights awake and in pain because a walk to the bathroom meant being near the entrance to the attic, and the picture window in the living room also in view on the walk may as well have been a movie screen showing the worst kinds of horrors that lived in our back yard.

Even away from our home, terrors lurked. Once, while spending the night at my cousins’ house, I peed the bed because just outside the bathroom door, my aunt — for some twisted reason known only to her — hung a painting of several clowns. Laughing and crying clowns! (Who does such a thing?!)

Even today, every morning I wake up — as I wander the apartment turning on lights — I expect to see something in the dark. Just standing there. Waiting for me.

I still hate mirrors. Oh yes, how I still hate mirrors…

Embracing the Terror

Somewhere along the way, again, because of my sister, I came to find myself dragged in deeper with horror. My sister was a reader, and while she lived to terrify me, she also encouraged me to read anything she had in her room. The first horror I read was The Gold Bug and Other Tales of Mystery, by Poe. (To this day, I can remember the very spot on her floor where I found it.) I was fascinated by the psychology in “The Tell-Tale Heart” and developed an irrational fear of orangutans and strait razors after reading “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.”

From there, it was a collection of Lovecraft stories. (Finally, the creatures in the sump pump had names!)

Then, Stephen King’s Carrie and Salem’s Lot. (See, I was wise to fear windows!)

Meanwhile, Movies

My dad seemed to lack the filter that tells most parents, “Maybe the kids shouldn’t watch this.” He took my sister, step brother, and me to see The Exorcist at the drive in when it came out. It was a double feature, with The Legend of Hell House leading the way. My step mother spoke up, but my father insisted we’d all fall asleep instead of watching the movies.

He was wrong.

In the weeks that followed, my sister woke me up several times telling me she thought she was possessed. She wasn’t trying to scare me — she truly believed that she had succumbed to the grip of Satan himself!

It didn’t help when HBO came around that my dad let me watch The Amityville Horror in a living room with the very kinds of windows the house in the movie had. Yet again, my fear of windows was justified. I was terrified of the basement of my father’s house in Kansas, and the attic was even worse. I knew my dad kept his old stash of Playboys, Penthouses, and Easyriders in the attic, but fear won out over my desire to see boobs. Unless my step brother was brave enough to venture into the attic and drag a magazine down to his bedroom, I was having none of that!

My Irrational Fears

As the best example of how irrational my fear for things was, I offer this little story. My sister took me to see Jaws when it came out. The scene where the head comes out from the hole in the bottom of the boat? Scarred me in a big way. Safely in bed at home, the sound of acorns or other things falling from the trees above our house and onto the roof had me convinced that head was what was really up there making noise. The Saturday Night Live “Land Shark” skit may have been funny to some, but it made rational sense to me. I was convinced that Jaws would find his way into the St. Lawrence River from the Atlantic, swim through the Great Lakes, and find his way near my house through streams and creeks from Lake Michigan. From there, he would flop out of the water like a walking catfish and come to my house to devour me!

(Another quick aside: my mom took me to see Young Frankenstein at my repeated insistence. The row of skulls with Marty Feldman jumping out? Yeah, that’s as far as I got before freaking out and having to be dragged from the theater.)

Excuse Me. What’s that Star on the Wall For?

For some reason, An American Werewolf in London changed it all for me.

I don’t know why, but when I watched that movie with my dad, something clicked. I became not terrified of the genre, but a die-hard fan. I was fascinated by the movie in the same manner I was fascinated when he brought me to see Dog Day Afternoon. There was something more to the movie that hit me in a way I still don’t understand.

I was suddenly able to watch the movies that once scared me. Sure, Linda Blair as a possessed kid is still one of the most terrifying images to me, but I could watch it all. I even ventured into the attic to see what magazines my dad had tucked away up there.

I couldn’t read or watch enough horror after seeing An American Werewolf in London.

My sister was 5 years older than me, and that had its advantages. At 17, she could get my friend Mike and me into R-rated movies. When you’re 12, Stephen King’s Creepshow on the big screen is about the coolest thing in the world.

Stephen King…

I suppose this is a good stopping point for today.

More about Stephen King tomorrow…