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Tuesday, October 18, 2022

31 Days of Horror: Day 18-- Why I Love Horror by Sara Tantlinger

Yesterday, I featured one of the StokerCon 2023 Co-Chairs, Michael Arnzen, and today have another one, Sara Tantlinger as part of the Why I Love Horror series.

Again a reminder that sign-up for StokerCon 2023 in Pittsburgh from June 14-17 is live.

Also, I want to give a shout out to the third co-chair, Ben Rubin, who runs the Horror Studies Collection at the University of Pittsburgh Library. Last year he did both an introduction to the Collection and a Why I Love Horror post. Please check those out as well here and here.

[Side note: us library workers have infiltrated the HWA enough that we have a board member, the volunteer coordinator, and now a StokerCon chair.]

Back to today and Sara Tantlinger. 

Sara Tantlinger is the Bram Stoker Award-winning author of The Devil’s Dreamland: Poetry Inspired by H.H. Holmes. Her other books include Cradleland of Parasites, Love for Slaughter, The Devil’s City (co-written with Matt Corley), and the Stoker-nominated novella To Be Devoured. She also edited the anthology Not All Monsters, which features stories by women in horror. She graduated from Seton Hill University with a BA in English literature and creative writing, and later with an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction. She is an active member of the HWA (Horror Writers Association) and also co-organizes the Pittsburgh HWA Chapter.

Her love of horror started in middle school where she discovered the Fear Street and Goosebumps books, Rob Zombie, and an Ouija board. When she’s not writing, reading, or teaching, Sara enjoys coffee, music, movies, and is prone to over-attachment to fictional characters and cats. She also possesses a collection of sea glass and shark teeth fossils, which make her want to move to the seaside as soon as possible.

Take it away Sara. And sign up to join us at StokerCon in Pittsburgh this coming June.

Why I Love Horror
by Sara Tantlinger

Storytelling has been a constant companion of mine, perhaps along with my anxiety, which is definitely the unwanted one of the two, but alas. If nothing else, however, the two have combined in a way that’s established a strong love for horror fiction. Creating my own stories has proven to be a useful outlet for the way my brain likes to imagine horrible outcomes on the daily. Taking my fears and worries out on the page continues to provide a kind of catharsis. From writing angsty (and terrible) middle school poems to winning a Bram Stoker Award for The Devil’s Dreamland: Poetry Inspired by H.H. Holmes, horror has always been there. It’s allowed me to openly explore and take control over all the things I dread, at least through stories and poems.
Fiction often holds up a mirror to society. As a writer, I get to decide how I want to display that reflection. Will my horror lens provide distorted and exaggerated echoes, or something more authentic when it comes to the raw aspects of humanity? I love knowing so many other horror writers because you never have to explain why you would even want to do that. They don’t ask “why horror?” with an upturned look on their face. Instead, they want to know your process for getting into that serial killer’s mind or what kind of research you did to get all the gore-filled, gooey details so accurate. There is an honesty in horror, sometimes a brutal one that shows us things we don’t want to admit to ourselves. I can understand why some writers or readers may shy away from such a path, but for me, I’m constantly drawn toward those revelations, even when they’re painful.
The stories and poems I write may be fictional, but like so many other writers, sprinkles of real-life experiences and emotions find their way into the work, not always on purpose. I’ve discussed in several interviews and podcasts how horror has been a huge outlet for me in terms of dealing with grief, and I think that will forever be true. Loss has been with me since childhood, and I’d say experiencing grief at a young age doesn’t leave much childhood to be had, anyway. For me, losing the people we love is the scariest part of being alive. If nothing else, it also reminds me to follow my passions to the core because tomorrow is never a guarantee. Using horror to embrace that reality has taught me a lot about what I value with my precious time. Luckily, storytelling is one of those things.
Another thing of value to me is learning. I adore writing because it’s an endless learning process. I’m not sure if anyone ever truly masters writing; any artform is of course subjective, but writing also constantly presents new challenges. There are always ways to try something new. Throw horror into that mix and you have even more ways to test your boundaries and limits, which I find delightful. As someone who has worked various jobs in higher education, it’s not surprising I love learning, but so many other writers share in that hunger to know more. It makes the community all the better. As evidenced by StokerCon and other conferences, writers are eager to listen to panels, take notes, attend classes, and have those difficult conversations. The whole environment of people who enjoy learning and applying fresh knowledge to their gritty, dark stories makes my heart happy.
My passion for learning has contributed a lot toward my interest in historical horror. I tend to be drawn toward taking accurate and known details and twisting them into my own version of events. Whether I was writing about H.H. Holmes in The Devil’s Dreamland or the Black Death in Cradleland of Parasites, I kept coming back to the human elements. Murder and disease, all those grim moments from the past, they can swirl together and take you far into horrific depths, but the most disturbing elements often stem from human interaction. For example, how Holmes lured young women into his clutches before they were never seen again, or how plague doctors could easily get away with robbing the dying patients they “treated.” It’s all upsetting to think about, but there’s a fascination there, too. Humans have always done terrible things to each other. Writing historical horror allows me to explore those moments, but from a safe and respectful distance.
I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t interested in some aspect of horror. A love of Halloween as a child, which is still true as an adult, plus reading every R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike book in my middle school library, and then igniting an obsession with Edgar Allan Poe, Shirley Jackson, and so many other classic writers. Discovering small press horror and indie authors has been the brightest light of all though, since that is what continues to give me such a great sense of community. Additionally, I grew up in rural Pennsylvania where my closest neighbors were my late grandfather and his cows, along with way too many other animals he kept on his farm. So many weird memories from that have spawned into my stories. Plus, spending endless hours in the woods as a child gave me both wonderful memories and some unsettling ones. My love for nature really inspires how I look at horror overall. There is often a sense of beauty in the shadows we create, just as the most delicate flower or vibrant mushroom can hide fatal poison.
So, while I love horror for its unique grandeur and terror, for the catharsis it can provide a broken heart, I also just think it’s fun. There are so many subgenres and hybrid genres, too, which I find continually inspiring. Whether it’s horrormance like in my collection Love for Slaughter or exploring dark elements of the ecological, cultural, supernatural, and many more, I know embracing the varied ways horror can branch out into the world will only continue to make the genre richer and more diverse, which we all benefit from.

Even if my brain never frees me from its minefield of anxiety, I know horror—in its own odd way—will offer a sense of comfort that feels like home. It might be a haunted house or a crumbling castle, but I’m there in the ruins with my fellow ghouls and goblins of writing. Together, I think we can dance in the macabre gloom and craft some pretty spectacular stories.

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