So, like I said last time, I’ve been spending most of my week playing with the horror story and taking a bit of a break from Dreamstate II. I’ll probably jump back into the latter at some point this week—see if I can’t fill out the very end and call it finished. There’s still all the editing, obviously, but as far as first drafts go, it might get done. Also, and I’m not sure if I’ll end up doing this or not, but I don’t know if I’m really producing enough content to blog twice a week. I’ve had less to talk about since I’ve been made to stop moving forward on the publishing half of my writing ventures. I feel like a fair number of my stories came out of that, and without it I oftentimes think my posts are a bit short. I’ll have to muse on if I want to cut it down to a once a week post or not—as long as things keep filling out I’ll keep posting, but it’s a thought.
In the world of writing, I’ve been poring over my new horror book and all other things horror. I’ve found, as someone who has never written horror before, and really only ever got into the realm of ‘slightly creepy,’ that it’s very easy to have scary things sound stupid. I think it comes, at times, from trying a bit too hard to make something unnerving or scary when it isn’t. Sometimes I have an idea for a bit of the story, and even if it sounds interesting in my head, once it’s own on paper, and I can read through the whole scene, it just isn’t. I’m not quite sure why that is, possibly I’m over thinking the wording of the writing (which does happen) and I’m just not saying things correctly, or the thought works better as a movie in my head.
I also find that I can get caught up in the story, and when I back up from it a bit and re-read the text, I realize that my character is either acting dumb/ or is scared of things that aren’t scary. At one point, early on, I had him trying to escape from something in the fog—a common trope and potentially spooky, until I realized that he was just taking off like a deer at the first sight of anything. He has no idea what the thing in the fog is, and he has no reason to be afraid of it. For all he knows, it could be a squirrel running through the bushes. I’ve gone for walks and heard things that I couldn’t see, and my first instinct was not necessarily to take off running for home—I don’t see why the main character should do so either. I have since fixed the scene so that it is a bit more alarming, but I have to keep an eye out. I really don’t want to write a whole book, go back, and realize only then that what I’ve written is the story of a man running away from sounds and shadows for three hundred pages; that would be most upsetting.