Horrible Writing

As a writer of horror (and the greatest horror is in trying to get published) I watch horror movies. Part of the fun is that some poorly made movies can be quite good while some studio productions can be awful. The difference is in the writing.

I’m sure we’ve all seen horror films that are dashed together startle scenes and gory with no plot or storyline. Good escapism they may be, but they leave you hungry. The mind craves a story to follow, even in horror. Especially in horror.

I’ve recently entered the market for buying a house. I’m a first time buyer. Probably it wasn’t a good idea to binge watch the Amityville trilogy. The first film is okay, being loosely based on the book. The second film is more disturbing than scary and that’s because of an evil father. The third is pure tripe.

Amityville 3-D has plot lines raised and dropped like fire bombs over Dresden. So spare in its writing that actors are frequently given no lines, they stand stupidly watching things that’d make a warrior scream. No wonder the screenwriter was billed under a pseudonym.

I’m not picking on this film alone. The point is that what makes a film good is the writing. Of course, if you’re reading this blog you probably know that few people like to pay for writing. Literary magazines sometimes try, book publishers actively try to avoid, and some movie producers abhor paying writers. They are, however, the ones who spin and weave the threads that make whole cloth.

It’s a curious state of affairs that those who come up with the ideas, the story line, the narrative arc, are devalued in the process. Perhaps its because we struggling writers yearn for whatever we can get. Society prefers cheap entertainment. When it gets what it pays for, as in some horror movies, it will complain. After all, it’s less costly than paying a writer.

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Dusty

My, this thing is dusty. My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic. No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third. With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give. Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out. I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again. I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut? My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago. Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction. Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up. I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best. When you’ve been writing for half a century, you l

Too Much Writing?

Has this ever happened to you? Have you written a story that you’ve completely forgot? Not only completely forgotten, but made unfindable? I play games with my stories and sometimes the joke’s on me. Okay, I suffer from graphomania. I write constantly. I do try to keep organized—I use a spreadsheet that has all my submissions on it. It has rejection/acceptance dates (mostly rejection). Lots of information. I decided to list on it every story, whether finished or in process. There are far too many (mostly in process). When I finish a story I often submit it. If I get burned, I’m shy about resubmitting. I often rewrite at this stage. Then, when I feel brave enough, I try again. The spreadsheet is color-coded. There, in the color that indicates finished and ready to submit is a story cryptically titled “The Password.” I don’t remember this story. I can’t recall what it was about or why I thought it was ready to publish. Looking through my electronic files,

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The other day I asked a friend to define “gothic.” Heavy, dark, supernatural—these were a few of the words suggested. When autumn comes my thoughts turn gothic, and I’m always looking for good gothic things to read. I have blogged in the past about how reading literature that isn’t great is good. I’m serious about that. You can learn a lot by reading poor writing. Some gothic literature is more the former than the latter. Like Dark Shadows novels. Dark Shadows was running on daytime television when I was a child. As a teen I began to read the novelizations, by Marilyn Ross, whenever I could find them. Belles lettres they’re not. Gothic, most decidedly so. That’s why I keep coming back to them. They aren’t scary. In fact, they’re formulaic and predictable. But so, so gothic. Spooky mansions, the Maine woods, forlorn vampire, faded wealth. Even, yes, dark shadows. The stories create a mood I find difficult to locate elsewhere. Inspired by the most r

K. Marvin Bruce

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