31 Days of Horror Day 14: Why I Love Horror by Jerry Gordon

Today I have yet another debut author to introduce to you-- Jerry Gordon. Before I get into why you should buy this book for your collections, first here is the cover copy for Gordon's novel, Breaking the World:

In 1993, David Koresh predicted the end of the world. 

What if he was right?

Cyrus doesn't believe in David's predictions, and he's not interested in being part of a cult. But after the sudden death of his brother, his parents split up and his mom drags him to Waco, Texas against his will. At least he's not alone. His friends, Marshal and Rachel, have equally sad stories that end with them being dumped at the Branch Davidian Church. 

Together, they're the trinity of nonbelievers, atheist teens caught between a soon to be infamous cult leader, an erratic FBI, and an epidemic that may confirm the worst of the church's apocalyptic prophecies. With tanks surrounding the Branch Davidians and tear gas in the air, Cyrus and his friends know one thing for certain: They can't count on the adults to save them. 

In his debut novel, Jerry Gordon takes readers deep inside the longest standoff in law enforcement history for an apocalyptic thriller that challenges the news media's reporting of the event, the wisdom of militarizing domestic law enforcement, and the blurry line between religion and cult.

Now let's talk about why you need to know about this author and this book. First, the topic-- cults, based on true events, the anxiety and terror built into the subject matter; this is a plot ripe for some wide readership.

But, it would all be for naught if he didn't pull it off. Don't worry, Gordon does. He is a rising talent you should keep your eye on.

Second, this book is published by Apex. Not only do they put together a good physical product that stands up to multiple checkouts, they also know how to spot talent. Don't believe me on that? Well, they were the first to publish Rebecca Roanhorse and look at her now.

Here are two quotes from authors I know and respect singing Gordon's praises for this particular book too:

"The things we do to each other are more awful than any haunted house, ghoul, or demon could ever be, and in BREAKING THE WORLD, Jerry Gordon delivers an unflinching look at real-life horror. This novel will gnaw its way through your skull, burrow into your brain, and mess with you in the best way possible. It’s a pitch-black tale of moral ambiguity, with sympathetic characters facing a home-grown apocalypse of twisted faith, fire, and madness. It’s one of the strongest horror debuts in recent memory, which not only entertains but provides penetrating insight into a dark chapter of American history. This is horror done right."– Tim Waggoner, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of LIKE DEATH

An absorbing blend of history and narrative fiction which elevates the Waco tragedy into an unforgettable exploration of society, faith, and truth. BREAKING THE WORLD by Jerry Gordon is a compelling novel that thunders, and challenges, from page one. The characters are genuine, the struggles throughout are powerful, balanced, and thoughtful. The novel’s conclusion and Gordon’s ideas within do what great fiction often hopes to – defies and then transcends what we thought we knew.– Geoffrey Girard, Bram Stoker-nominated author of PROJECT CAIN and TRUTHERS

Now here is Gordon on the dining moment when he fell in love with the apocalypse.

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A Love Letter to the End of the World

by Jerry Gordon

I was twelve years old the day I fell in love with the apocalypse. My grandparents were vacationing off the coast of North Carolina and had rented a beach house on the Outer Banks. The house had two distinct levels connected by an exterior set of stairs. They took the main level with the ocean view and gave me the ground floor, nestled behind a sand dune with a pair of small windows facing away from the beach.

In retrospect, it's clear the downstairs was a converted two-car garage, but I was used to living with four people in a one-thousand-square-foot house with a single bathroom. The idea that I would have an entire floor to myself, complete with its own private bath, made it a palace. Sometime after takeout pizza, I wandered downstairs to my new kingdom to watch TV.

I don't remember when the storm came in. As a kid from the Midwest, I’d seen my fair share of abrupt changes in weather. So the sheets of rain didn't alarm me, and I didn't panic when we lost power. I just grabbed a flashlight out of my backpack and started looking for something to pass the time. I found a yellowed copy of Stephen King's Skeleton Crew on a dusty bookshelf. My grandpa had a creepy wind-up monkey, like the one on the cover, and that was enough to pique my interest. I grabbed the book, plopped down on my bed, and started reading The Mist by flashlight.

The novella started with a storm much like the one howling outside my windows. The locals and their squabbles could easily be swapped out for my neighbors’ disagreements back home. And that town grocery store, the one with the floor-to-ceiling glass entrance, my grandma shopped at a place like it twice a week. About the time air-raid sirens from the fictional military base heralded the arrival of the mist, the storm outside my bedroom took a dark turn.

The wind ripped a metal sign off some beach post and slammed it into the side of one of the downstairs windows. The glass didn't shatter, but the clang was loud enough that I almost peed myself. I pointed the flashlight outside but could only see the waterfall of rain coming off the roof. I couldn't even see the stairs.

With no sign of flooding, I hunkered down with my book and flashlight and kept reading. The monsters in the mist scared me, but not as much as the people huddled in the grocery store. I had caring family members that protected me, but like most kids in my neighborhood, I had scary ones too. Drunks. Relatives with explosive tempers. The self-righteous.

For some reason, it's that last group that scared me the most. The self-righteous, in my twelve-year-old experience, were cold, controlling, and deliberate in their judgment and cruelty. As I watched Mrs. Carmody's power over the grocery store's customers grow, I felt the horror of her convictions in my bones. Unlike the monsters in the mist, she was one of us. And that somehow made her scarier. I can still hear her voice calling out for a blood sacrifice, for expiation.

My flashlight started to dim in the middle of the book's terrifying trip to the pharmacy. Scrambling for batteries in the dying light, I'm pretty sure my imagination could've supplied monsters ten times scarier than anything in the book. I scavenged some AA's from a toy in my suitcase and swapped them out for the dying ones. Before returning to the book, I took a few minutes to look around. I told myself I was checking on the storm, which showed no signs of letting up, but I was really looking for monsters. I hadn't heard anyone upstairs in a while. My grandparents must have found a way to sleep, but part of me imagined them lost in the mist.

Returning to the book, I raced back to the grocery store with our heroes for the final showdown with Mrs. Carmody. I didn't feel any remorse when they shot her. I knew that was the only way, just as I knew the people in the grocery store that stayed would die. I held my breath and ran frantically from the grocery store to the car, letting out a huge sigh of relief when we all pulled away safely.

When I got to the last page of the story, I didn't read the open ending as hopeless. I believed Hartford was still out there, untouched by the monsters. We just needed to get to it. I spent the rest of the night with a dimming flashlight, imagining how I would escape with them. 

Years later, I learned that Stephen King wrote The Mist after a huge storm tore up his town. So there's plenty of symmetry to my reading his novella by flashlight in the middle of a tropical storm. I've often joked that God made me a horror fan that night... and Stephen King paid him to do it.

I would fall in love with other apocalypses, Richard Matheson's I Am Legend and Cormac McCarthy's The Road, but you never forget your first love. When it came time to write my first novel, I found the perfect vehicle for both my love of the apocalypse and my fear of people like Mrs. Carmody. I wrote an alternate-history horror novel about the Branch Davidian Church's standoff with the FBI, a story that imagined what would have happened if David Koresh had been right about the end of the world.

I told Breaking the World from the perspective of three atheist teenagers, a trinity of nonbelievers not unlike me when I read The Mist. Dragged to the church by their born-again parents, the teens were trapped between a cult leader, an erratic FBI, and the literal apocalypse. Together, they would struggle to survive the real horrors of the historic standoff and the imagined monsters of the End of Days.

It's hard not to see my childhood love of The Mist shining through the book. The trapped, claustrophobic setting. The sense of being surrounded by forces beyond your control. The dark corners of religion taking a dangerous turn. The real world giving way to the apocalypse. I even wrote that beach house vacation into a small corner of the story.

Many years later, I find myself coming back to the ending of King's novella. I still believe, against all odds and "adult" common sense, that it's a hopeful one. The decision to leave the story open ended gifted me with the freedom to imagine the ending I needed, and it contributed to my desire to be a writer. For me, the end of the world was just the beginning.

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Jerry Gordon is the author of the apocalyptic horror thriller, Breaking the World. He is also the Bram Stoker Award-nominated co-editor of the Dark Faith, Invocations, and Streets of Shadows anthologies. When he’s not writing and editing, he runs a software company, teaches, and longs for a good night’s sleep. You can find him blurring genre lines at www.jerrygordon.net.

31 Days of Horror Day 13: Why I Love Horror by Michaelbrent Collings

Today for lucky day number 13, I have a special treat, author Michaelbrent Collings who is both an author himself and one of the best known writers about the genre and it's importance. He writes about the appeal and importance of horror while also teaching the craft of writing horror to authors all over the world. There are few people out there for whom this task-- explaining "Why I Love Horror" is more suited.

Before we begin, I wanted to mention you can see all of Collings books [fiction and nonfiction] here on Goodreads or on his website. His most recent book is Predators:

SHE IS ONE OF THE ONLY ANIMALS 

WHO CAN CHASE A LION FROM HIS KILL... 

Evie Childs hoped the all-expense-paid trip to Africa would give her a chance at adventure. Maybe it would even let her forget a past that haunts her, and find safety from a husband who abuses her. 

HER JAWS CAN CRUSH BONE TO POWDER... 

But when a group of “freedom fighters” kidnaps her safari tour group, intent on holding them for ransom, the adventure turns to nightmare. 

Now, Evie and the rest of the survivors must travel across miles of the harshest, most dangerous environment on Earth. No food. No water. No communications. 

And they’re being hunted. 

SHE IS THE ONLY ANIMAL ALIVE 

WHO LAUGHS AS SHE HUNTS... 

A pack of Africa’s top predators have smelled the blood of the survivors, and will not stop until they have fed. Because in this place, you can be either one of the prey, or one of the... 

Click here for readers' comments on this title.

And now, from an expert on the subject-- why Michaelbrent Collings loves horror...

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Darkest of Lights

by

Michaelbrent Collings

"Why do you love horror?"

Better yet: "Why do you write horror?"

This last is a question that I hear often – even more often than most horror writers, probably, given that I'm a guy who doesn't look like he's planning on how to make a wallet out of your face-skin, have no terrifying scars or eyes that have "Will Kill For Food" written across them, and (most of all) that I am a deeply religious person who teaches Sunday School in between writing about monsters. 

Yet despite these incontrovertible facts, I've not only read and watch horror, I actually make my living writing stories that make people cringe and shudder. 

So… that question makes sense. Why do I write – and read, and watch, and just plain love – horror?

My answer: I write horror because horror is the genre of morality, and the language of hope.

When was the last time you read an involved discussion of good vs. evil in a piece of literary fiction? How often do you find a discussion of the possibility of something infinitely greater than ourselves, and of our relationship to such a thing, in a science fiction epic? Not just a strawman discussion, either, but an honest-to-goodness throw-down over questions that have plagued us as a species since the first moments we learned to speak: Where do we come from? Why are we here? What, if anything, happens after?

Horror is uniquely positioned to ask these questions. And not just that, but to discuss them on a deep level that both assumes their importance and (just as critical!) states that those huge, radically important questions actually have answers.

In other words, horror matters. Which is also why it is so polarizing, because things that matter… well, people care about them. That means they get angry if you disagree about the importance of those things, or think you are caring about the wrong things (or even about the right things in a wrong way). Things that matter are things close to the heart. Things close to the heart are, by nature, the ones that can hurt us.

And the things that hurt us… well, of course, they're the things we most fear. And, more often than not, they're also the things we most love.

There's the dichotomy of horror: it is a genre that finds its footings in blood and fear – and some horror positively wallows in those things – but which, ultimately, is a kind of storytelling that defines goodness for the reader.* Horror tells us stories of morality: of the dangers of walking dark paths; and, ultimately, it reminds us that we live in a world of hope.

Some will read this and scoff. "But I read [insert name of book/story/movie/whatever here], and it was just blood, blood, blood!" Or, "What about every movie that came out of the 1980s? Just one kill after another, with the occasional pause for teens to get it on and show some skin!" Or even, "How can you claim that something like Hereditary (one of the darkest movie scripts ever written) is hopeful?"

But here's the thing: horror, in order to actually be horror, must cause fear in the reader. It has to evoke a sense that what we are seeing or reading or hearing is deeply, unsettlingly wrong. But "wrong" (and its far darker offspring, "horrifying") does not exist in a vacuum. "Wrong" is something that cannot be understood or even noticed unless we first understand – at least a little – that thing called "right."

Horror stories, by nature, exist to show us the opposite of the way "things should be," and so implies that there is a way things should be. A place where killers do not come for the innocent, where people can tuck their children in bed and be secure in the knowledge that no ghost or demon will come to steal them away (or, even worse, possess them).

There is a rightness in the universe. There is a thing we call "good," and competent horror stories show us that good by demonstrating what happens in its absence.

Competent horror tears out the hearts of its readers. It throws those hearts in a ditch, the readers' silent screams echoing in the authors' ears as they bury their bloody treasures deep in the earth, one shovelful at a time. Violence, loss, fear… each adds more dirt to the grave, each further cuts the hearts off from the rest of the "right" universe. Yes, competent horror does that.

Competent horror buries your heart. It kicks you and knocks you down. Then it leaves you gasping, dying, alone. The story is a moral one, for – again – it must be moral to matter. A sense of what is "right" must exist for the "wrong" to matter at all, let alone for it to terrify us. But competent horror only exists to assert this fact: there is what is "right," and there is also that thing called "wrong." Then, its basic lesson taught, it leaves.

But great horror does more. It cuts out the reader's heart (oft-times more cruelly and painfully than simply "competent" horror), and buries it deep (oft-times even deeper than "the good stuff" does). But – and here is the difference between competence and greatness – great horror adds one more step:

Great horror remains to see what will happen next. For the great horror stories know that the burial is not the end. For in horror, the burial does not signal the end of the story. After all, one of horror's great lessons is that the monster, once vanquished and buried deep, will eventually rise again to terrorize and maim.

But if the monster does this… then why not us? 

Great horror stories tear us apart and bury our still-beating hearts. And then it waits, knowing that given time, given encouragement, given (dare I say it?) a bit of grace… we can rise again. Our hearts will not only beat, but beat all the stronger because of what they have been through.

A decent horror story destroys us. A great one then helps us through the painful process of resurrection, and leave us with souls stronger than they were before.

Horror talks about ghosts and goblins, madmen and monsters, freaks and fiends. But what it actually does is this: it gives us the language to understand what we are seeing when we witness evil, it gives us the tools we need to confront that evil, and it reminds us that in the end – if we are smart enough, brave enough, true enough, good enough – we will triumph.

There are stories where evil appears to win. But great horror shows us that the battle goes on. In my own books, the "good guy" doesn't necessarily make it to the final page. In fact, some important stories demand an unhappy ending. My novel Twisted, for example, is a ghost story… but it is also a story about child abuse, and the horrifying effects it has on the evil and innocent alike. Such stories cannot finish with "they all lived happily ever after." Evil always leaves scars in its wake, and to ignore that fact is to do a disservice to those of us who have lived through darkness, and learned to survive and even thrive in spite of those scars. Some stories must end "badly," if only so we may know how to avoid becoming the monsters they have described.

Besides, even in stories where evil appears to triumph, the reality is anything but. Because the moment after "the end" happens, the reader proves those two words to be a lie. The reader closes the book. The reader turns off the Kindle. The story is done, but the reader… the reader does not end. For the reader has survived. The reader will continue and, hopefully, continue forward stronger.

All horror shows us the darkness we are capable of. Great horror reminds us of the miraculous creatures we already are.

And that is why I write – and read, and will always love – horror. 

--

* Or viewer, or whatever. I'm a screenwriter and author, so I deal with people reading, listening, and watching, but for ease of use purposes I'm just going to refer to "readers" from here on in. After all, you're reading this right now, so it seems apropos.

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About the author: Michaelbrent Collings is an internationally-bestselling novelist, multiple Bram Stoker Award Finalist, and produced horror screenwriter and member of the WGA. His father, Dr. Michael R. Collings, wrote the first book-length scholarly analysis of Stephen King's work, and followed that up with another dozen books on the subject, plus many more books and articles on the art and craft – and importance – of horror. So Michaelbrent got to read and watch horror stories as a kid, and writes them now as a kid stuck in a man's body. Find out more about him and his books at his website writteninsomnia.com – Written Insomnia: "Stories That Keep You Up All Night."

31 Days of Horror Day 12: 31 Days of Horror Day 11: Why I Love Horror by Ladies of the Fright Podcaster and Author Lisa Quigley

Yesterday and today I am featuring the women behind the amazing podcast, Ladies of the Fright. This is a horror podcast that all library workers should listen to, and I am not just saying that because they have had me on as a guest [episodes 13 and 14].

Lisa Quigley and Mackenzie Kiera met in their MFA program [where they were taught by the incomparable Stephen Graham Jones]. They are writers, yes, but there are also huge readers. Their podcast features author interviews, but they also talk to editors, reviewers, and librarians. However, the best thing they do for you, the library worker who helps leisure readers, is that they regularly have discussions about books they have read- books new and old.

I want to especially point those of you who don't really want to read horror yourselves to these episodes of the podcast because they go into such detail about the books that you don't have to read them in order to learn about them. Listen to their discussions and I promise, you will be able then to turn around and confidently suggest that book to a patron. All without scaring yourself too much.

I asked Mackenzie and Lisa to participate both as readers and writers. They are newer horror authors just starting to get their stories into magazine and anthologies, so keep an eye out for them in the future. But as horror readers, women who love dark fiction, all of you can learn so much from them as they share their love for horror. Why they enjoy reading it gets at the heart of why many of your patrons do too.

Today it is Lisa Quigley's turn:

Lisa Quigley is a writer, mother, wife, and irreverent witch living in New Jersey. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of California Riverside’s low residency program in Palm Desert. She reads and writes horror and dark fantasy because that’s what makes her feel the most raw. Her work has appeared on The Manifest Station and Dwarf + Giant. She has a background in magazine publishing, and she is a professor of literature.

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Because I Want to Know 
By Lisa Quigley 

I was traumatized by Jaws at six years old and subsequently, couldn’t take baths without my baby sister. Thinking back, it was kind of messed up. If I was so afraid that a shark would come bursting up from beneath the tub to shred my flesh, why would I subject my little sister to that same fate? But I was a kid, and terrified, and having company in the tub helped me feel more grounded in the real world, and less vulnerable to the torments of my imagination. 

I watched Carrie at a sleepover when I was thirteen and didn’t think it was all that scary until after we went to bed. Those horrible white eyes on the creepy Jesus statue were seared onto the backs of my retinas. The Exorcist is another movie that made me laugh in the moment. I proclaimed it cheesy and said the special effects were terrible (was that pea soup?) Later, alone in my room and unable to sleep, I couldn’t get the demon’s voice out of my head. I had to sleep with the lights on for weeks. I saw The Ring with my best friend in an empty theater after ten p.m., and afterward, she made endless fun of me for being afraid of the long blonde wig that hung on my coat rack in my bedroom. All that tangled, disembodied hair unsettled and disturbed me after watching that terrible, stop-motion girl climb out of a well and through the television screen. 

So, you might ask—and many do—why am I a fan of horror if it terrifies me so? 

The answer to that question is not simple. For many years, I couldn’t consume any horror at all. 

Since I was seventeen years old, I have suffered from a severe form of sleep paralysis. This is a sleep disorder in which the sufferer becomes conscious while their body is still in REM sleep. When we dream, our bodies are paralyzed so we don’t act out our dreams. During an episode of sleep paralysis, our mind is awake but our body is still paralyzed. The inability to move or speak is terrifying enough, but a large majority of people with this disorder also experience auditory, visual, and tactile hallucinations. In other words, the sufferer might see, hear, and feel things that aren’t really there. 

I am in this camp. 

As a young adult, I experienced sleep paralysis at least once a month and as often as three times a week. It got especially bad during my early twenties, which was the first time that I had my own apartment. I lived in a small studio, and I could see the front door from my bed. During my episodes, I would wake up to “see” my front door wide open; I “heard” voices and laughter; I “heard” loud breathing near my head; and I “felt” malicious presences standing over me. And that’s just a bare bones description of the experience. 

I didn’t understand what was happening to me. I didn’t know if it was biological, psychological, or spiritual. I didn’t even really know what I personally believed the phenomenon to be. I was raised in a Christian household. At that time in my life, I wasn’t following my indoctrinated religion, but I also hadn’t fully worked out my own belief system. I wasn’t sure if I believed in God, or the devil, for that matter. Were these experiences demonic? I wasn’t sure if I believed that, but these experiences were horrific, and at the time, I believed anything was possible.

I was curious about the cause, but not enough to investigate. I was too close to the experience, and the overwhelming frequency of the episodes was diminishing my quality of life. I just wanted whatever was happening to stop. Consuming horror of any kind put me in a suggestible state of mind, in which I had difficulty separating fantasy from reality. I have always been susceptible to speculation about the supernatural. I have always had a wild imagination. But at that particular time in my life, and because I didn’t know what I believed, horror movies exacerbated my sleep disorder. I hit a point where I needed to work out my own personal belief system and spend some time away from horror, so that I could work through my sleep disorder and get a handle on my own fears and uncertainties. 

All this to say I understand why some people don’t watch or consume any kind of horror, or even why it might be difficult to fathom horror’s appeal. I get it. 

Even though I took a break from consuming actual horror, my love of the fantastical, the weird, and the supernatural persisted. Around this time, I discovered Neil Gaiman, and most of my adult reading life was spent immersed in science fiction and fantasy. What I didn’t understand at the time was how often these genres intersected with different styles of horror. 

When I started writing again as an adult, I knew I wanted to write some sort of speculative fiction. It took me time to discover my voice (and really, “my voice” is something that will always evolve.) But when asked what kind of fiction I liked to write, I struggled to articulate. 

It wasn’t until I was in my MFA program that I circled back around to horror. One of my professors in the program was Stephen Graham Jones. He always selected horror novels for our class group reads. I had gone so long identifying as a person who “didn’t watch or read horror” that I had just sort of adopted this motto as absolute truth. A major reason for this is that I didn’t yet have a full understanding of what horror truly was, and what it could encompass. 

What if I was ready for horror again? 

It was Stephen who recommended that I read Joe Hill. And that changed everything. 

I am one of those weird horror fans who discovered Joe Hill before Stephen King. 

The first Joe Hill novel I read was Horns. And, my god, it shattered my previous perceptions of the genre—this was horror? 

This was wonderful. This was what I had been looking for. This was the kind of book I wanted to write, the kind of story I wanted to tell. 

And it was horror. Was I a horror writer? 

I am aware that, while Joe Hill is shelved and marketed as a horror author, his work isn’t strictly horror. There’s a lot of genre-mashing in his stories—but that’s precisely why I love them. This diversity of possibility is exactly what I’ve come to love and celebrate about the genre. 

Joe Hill was my gateway drug to reading horror, and I haven’t looked back since. While I will often step outside of the genre, the majority of what I read skews dark and weird (whether it’s dark fantasy, supernatural, thrillers, true crime, dark YA, pure horror, or some weird combination of all of the above.) This genre allows us to explore what is possible on the spectrum of human experience. From the overwhelmingly good to the unimaginably terrible and everything in between, horror allows us to imagine the capabilities of the human spirit. 

I also need to address the monster in the room: horror still scares me. I still occasionally suffer from sleep paralysis, though not nearly as severely as I used to. I think a part of that is because, while I still don’t know exactly know what I believe of in terms of the supernatural, I know that I don’t believe in gods or demons in any traditional or Judeo-Christian sense. In learning to cope with the sleep disorder, much of my fear transmuted to curiosity. It’s still a terrifying experience when it does happen, but it doesn’t shake my foundation in the same way that it did when I was younger. 

My imagination is still unbelievably impressionable. I can’t really watch horror movies alone (I make my husband suffer with me.) After reading a lot of horror, the images begin to infiltrate my dreams. But I’ve reached a place in my personal life—as a reader, writer, and traveler of this universe—where I treat my fears as an investigative opportunity. The quality of my writing improves when I explore what scares me, because it’s coming from a place that’s raw and emotionally honest. 

These days, I’m not so much afraid of the dark as I am curious about what’s in it. 

So, I love horror precisely because terrifies me, and because I want to know why. What’s hidden behind my fears? What’s behind yours?

31 Days of Horror Day 11: Why I Love Horror by Ladies of the Fright Podcaster and Author Mackenzie Kiera

Today and tomorrow I am featuring the women behind the amazing podcast, Ladies of the Fright. This is a horror podcast that all library workers should listen to, and I am not just saying that because they have had me on as a guest [episodes 13 and 14].

Lisa Quigley and Mackenzie Kiera met in their MFA program [where they were taught by the incomparable Stephen Graham Jones]. They are writers, yes, but there are also huge readers. Their podcast features author interviews, but they also talk to editors, reviewers, and librarians. However, the best thing they do for you, the library worker who helps leisure readers, is that they regularly have discussions about books they have read- books new and old.

I want to especially point those of you who don't really want to read horror yourselves to these episodes of the podcast because they go into such detail about the books that you don't have to read them in order to learn about them. Listen to their discussions and I promise, you will be able then to turn around and confidently suggest that book to a patron. All without scaring yourself too much.

I asked Mackenzie and Lisa to participate both as readers and writers. They are newer horror authors just starting to get their stories into magazine and anthologies, so keep an eye out for them in the future. But as horror readers, women who love dark fiction, all of you can learn so much from them as they share their love for horror. Why they enjoy reading it gets at the heart of why many of your patrons do too.

Up first is Mackenzie Kiera:

Mackenzie Kiera is the author of 30+ articles, essays and short stories. She has been a contributing author for Gamut Magazine and The Last Bookstore’s Dwarf+Giant, where she reviewed books and interviewed various authors. Currently she is working on her second novel and is a contributor to The Mighty. If she's not writing or reading Mackenzie is either running with her rescue dogs or she and her husband are saving the world from zombies. Mackenzie's work can be found at mackenziekiera.contently.com

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I love reading horror because my sister and I are twelve years apart and she left for college when I was six. An empty, silent house surrounded me. Her music was gone and her friends were gone and her big socks and special pillow were gone and I wasn’t exactly a final girl, but I sure felt like the last one. 

I read horror because of Robinson Crusoe. It was the biggest book my parents owned and I’d wanted to read something that was half my weight, so I let the pony-tailed, bearded, shipwrecked man guide my way into books and it’s probably where I developed an affinity for men with untidy hair and cannibals. 

I read horror because I love violent video games. 

I read horror because of The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. I sat in the school library in a nest of all the horror books I could find when Stephen King taught me that I wasn’t alone and that horror could be beautiful. 

I read horror because I am most alive underneath the covers with a flashlight, reading to the end of a book trying to figure out who the killer is and my eyes can’t go fast enough and the buzzing in my brain is never quite loud enough to drown out the creaking sounds of the house letting me know that magic is real and the killer could be just outside my bedroom. 

I read horror because blood has never bothered me. 

I read horror because when Mom was grieving over the death of her father, she and I used to watch movies late into the night. Through Mom’s grief, I was introduced to Ripley and the T-1000, Men in Black and Independence Day, Norman Bates and Jack Skellington, Young Frankenstein and Sleepy Hollow, poltergeists and exorcists and Mulder and Skully. 

I read horror because I’d rather be scared than lonely. 

I read horror because the first time I sobbed onto the pages of a book, it wasn’t for the two dead girls or for John Coffey or the mouse on the Mile. I cried for their curse. The Green Mile was the first book I curled my body around, determined to not let anything else hurt those characters. With me, they would always be loved and protected. 

I read horror because in horror you don’t have to be the strongest, smartest, prettiest or strongest. Just the most persistent. 

Reading horror taught me how to fall and keep going, because time is the ultimate killer and if you make excuses and stay down, he’ll get you. Horror taught me to cut my own wrists if I was hungry and guzzle: to be my own source of strength. Let my own beating heart power me up to run. 
I read horror because horror is that helping hand, when you say you can’t take much more of whatever is getting to you, getting you down, eating away at you. Horror is what smiles in the dark, all teeth and knowledge and says: “Oh, sure you can.”

31 Days of Horror: Day 10-- Why I Love Horror by Chad Stroup

Today I want to introduce you to an author you might not have heard of, Chad Stroup. I only know about him because a mutual friend introduced us at StokerCon 2018. We got to talking and I found out his debut novel was published by Grey Matter Press. Well, I love Grey Matter Press. They are based in Chicago and go out of their way to find literary dark books that push the envelope.  I have literally never read a poorly written or poorly physically constructed title by them

Chad, and especially his debut novel, Secrets of the Weird is also a perfect read for our current times.  From Goodreads:

"Trixie loathed her penis." That shocking revelation begins the emotional and personally horrifying quest for self-realization in a truly messed up world. 

Secrets of the Weird has been likened to the David Lynch's groundbreaking series Twin Peaks, but only if horror master Clive Barker and dark fantasist Neil Gaiman had teamed up to create that iconic 90s cultural masterpiece. 

It's here, within the dark tapestry of Sweetville, where a new designer drug offers the enticing yet dangerous promise of salvation through physical transformation as it makes the rounds of the community of club kids, neo-Nazis, drag queens, prostitutes and punks who populate the city's sin-drenched streets. Its chewable hearts and candied lips threaten to change the lives of those in the city's underground in terrible ways. And on her seemingly herculean struggle to once and for all become the woman she was born to be, Trixie is the ideal candidate to accept its treacherous bargain.

With Sweet Candy poised to ignite the tenuous powder keg that is life, love and lust in Sweetville, could the arrival of the mysterious back-alley surgeon Julius Kast and his cult of peculiar specters be the final spark that lights the fuse? 

Take an unforgettable journey with Trixie and a cast of outsiders in Secrets of the Weird, a novel that's equal parts irreverent social commentary, dark fantasy and horrifying reality for a counterculture society where frequently dangerous, often deviant and always dark secrets will be revealed.

Proudly presented by Grey Matter Press, the multiple Bram Stoker Award-nominated independent publisher. 

Grey Matter Press: Where Dark Thoughts Thrive

This is a violent and erotic book, yes, but it is also extremely thought provoking. Stroup will take you completely out of your everyday world, yes, but after you close the book, you cannot help but think about the book within the context of your own life. And even though this book came out just over a year ago, it is even more important to read RIGHT THIS MINUTE.

You can find out more about Stroup around the web:

• https://www.facebook.com/ChadStroupWriter
• http://subvertbia.blogspot.com/
• www.linkedin.com/pub/chad-stroup/3b/451/23/

Now here is Chad on Why he loves horror.

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Blame my mother. 

My earliest memories of horror are from the ripe age of two, when I stayed up much later than the average toddler to watch all the old Universal monster movies, likely in innocent awe (Creature from the Black Lagoon is still my favorite of the bunch). My mother was a fan of horror movies (or, as she referred to them, “scary shows”), and when my father went to bed, she’d keep me up with her to watch the black and white classics. I never had nightmares from watching the films, and even when my own imagination occasionally did spawn dark dreams, I figured out quickly they were make-believe. 

Sometimes, though, the monsters were able to claw just deep enough under my skin to haunt me. Take Gollum from The Hobbit (the Rankin/Bass animated version), which was probably the first thing that truly terrified me in my young life. I used to have one of those little storybooks that came with a 7” record narrating the scene where Gollum tries to fool Bilbo with riddles, and anytime Gollum’s voice crept out of the speakers I peeled out of the room in hysterics. Once I conquered my initial fear of this strange creature (I’m lying…I never completely got over it), I started to think about what he did during the long, lonely times before Bilbo had come around, what his life was like deep down below. How lonely and pitiful it must have been. That got to me, like real bad. Should I have been thinking about this stuff when kindergarten was on the horizon? Probably not. But there it was. 

And things only got worse from there. 

By age five I was already skipping with glee over to the local newsstand to read the latest issue of Fangoria, and I was probably devouring horror novels and short stories by some fly-by-night author named King by the time I was seven or eight (hey, I started reading when I was three, and I had to go somewhere from The Poky Little Puppy, didn’t I?). Then came comic books illustrated by the late, great Bernie Wrightson. Then the legendary Gore Shriek series. I looked forward to each new dark thrill while most kids my age were still desperately trying to wean themselves off their own thumbs. 

In my pre-teen years I discovered Clive Barker via Cabal and the Books of Blood, and the game hadn’t just changed, it had completely mutated. From there I found Splatterpunk—David J. Schow, John Skipp, Poppy Z. Brite, et al. The visionaries who continued to kindle my love for the genre over the years and eventually inspired me to jaggedly carve my own path. Splatterpunk is a much misunderstood genre, but one that, when approached properly, has as much brain and heart as it does guts. Fitting that my first semi-pro short story sale was in an anthology that dared to inject new life into Splatterpunk (Splatterlands, Grey Matter Press, 2013). 

For me horror has never been primarily about the fear aspect. Sure, I crave the thrill like any other fan, and some films and works of literature have frightened me to my very core (albeit rarely these days…can you say “desensitized”?). More often than not, this fear possessed me with a sense of sickening glee. An adrenaline rush. But that wasn’t my main attraction to the genre. If I had to pinpoint it, I think it was horror’s weird sense of wonder that won me over. The sense that things weren’t quite right. Happy endings weren’t always a guarantee, and sometimes life was left in disarray for whoever remained at the end of the story. The appeal goes deeper than a body count or how many gallons of blood are spilled on the page or on the screen. It’s about raw, feral emotion. But many people don’t get this. To them, horror is the bastard son of literature and film, a quality I equally reject and embrace. 

Which brings me to another major factor involved in my love for horror. I believe I was destined to be attracted to art hung on the fringes of society. I didn’t fit anywhere else. Square pegs. Round holes. You know the deal. My tastes in film and fiction have always skewed toward 
the dark side, much like my lifelong love for outsider music has never wavered. A match made in the darkest, sulphur-drenched sewers of Hades. I wouldn’t be the same person I am today had the wicked side of art not hunted me down and demanded I pay attention. 

It should come as no surprise, then, that I prefer to bring a rebellious attitude to horror, both as a fan and a creator. Like all rules, I believe genre is meant to be bent and often broken, and I’ve always felt the top shelf horror is certainly not that which confines itself to blatant misogyny, violence without repercussions, and cheap jump scares. I would have given up a long time ago if that was all that the genre offered. Horror is a versatile tool when authors know how to use it without simply following the instructions. It can be used to create a foundation, but at some point the other devices in the toolbox can become useful as well. Horror should be weird, should make you feel uncomfortable in ways you can’t quite describe. There are so many terrible things in life to observe, consume, and regurgitate in unique ways, so there’s no need for endless pastiche, reimagining, or flat-out plagiarism. It’s perfectly fine to wear your influences on your sleeve as long as you’re willing to rip off the shirt and bare your soul and your unique vision to the world. The writers and filmmakers I respect most are those who are not afraid to take these types of chances. And, yes, I realize I’ve been referencing films just as much as books, but I firmly believe every great film begins with a great writer. 

I crave horror fiction today because I’m still hoping for words on a page to rip my face off. And sometimes they do. Not necessarily because of the violence they convey or a mind-bending plot twist. The most important things I look for in dark fiction are unforgettable characters and vivid language that allows a story to be told in a way no other author can tell it. These two elements ensure a short story or novel will stick with me for years to come. If a story is all plot and no heart, I’ll probably forget about it by the next day. This is not to say a wonderfully woven plot lacks weight. But life does not take place in three neat acts, and most experiences are never tied up neatly before moving on to the next stage of life. Fiction should attempt to reflect that on some level, and horror fiction especially deserves to be a little messy. Horror should demand the reader be sucked into the hell that takes over the characters’ lives, whatever that hell might be. Whether likeable or unlikeable, those who inhabit a story just need to matter. Characters should go through significant changes from the first line to the last, and the reader should wonder if these characters will ever have a shot at being okay again (here’s a hint: probably not). And while it takes skill to use interesting language without it getting in the way of a story, I still yearn for those times when I can just pause on a sentence that makes my jaw go limp and lets the words gnaw into my flesh and lay thousands of pulsating eggs. 

That’s not too much to ask, is it? 


*** 

In addition to my debut novel Secrets of the Weird (Grey Matter Press), please check out my recent and upcoming releases: My brand new novel Sexy Leper (Bizarro Pulp Press), my limited comic series Hag (American Gothic Press), and my latest shorts appearing in Lost Films and Chiral Mad 4 (a collaboration with Kristopher Triana), all of which will hopefully be released by the time you read this.

31 Days of Horror: Day 9-- Why I Love Horror by Jeremy C. Shipp

Today I want to begin the "Why I Love Horror" series with Jeremy C. Shipp. I recently reviewed Shipp's new book Bedfellow in Booklist Magazine here.

Jeremy C. Shipp is the Bram Stoker nominated author of Cursed, Vacation, and Sheep and Wolves. Their shorter tales have appeared or are forthcoming in over 50 publications, the likes of Cemetery Dance, ChiZine, Apex Magazine, Pseudopod, and Rosebud. While preparing for the forthcoming collapse of civilization, Jeremy enjoys living in Southern California in a moderately haunted Victorian farmhouse with a legion of yard gnomes.

I like the way bestselling author Jeff VanderMeer described Shipp here:

"I'm convinced Jeremy Shipp is a little bit crazy, in the best possible way." -- Jeff VanderMeer 

Here is why Shipp loves horror in their own words. 

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Why I Love Horror 
By Jeremy C. Shipp 

One of the reasons I love horror is that life can be horrifying. 

My father once told me that he read H. P. Lovecraft and William Peter Blatty quite often in his younger years, because his childhood was sometimes hell. The horror stories helped him cope, the same way someone might listen to sad songs after a breakup. At that time, my father didn’t read lighter, happier fiction, because those stories felt like a lie. 

After my grandparents passed away, I too found some solace in darker stories. In the realm of fiction, I explored haunted houses and chased after ghosts. I touched the ectoplasm dripping down the walls. I trapped the grim reaper in a bell jar. Horror, for me, was a safe way to think about and process death. 

As a writer, I have received numerous emails (and letters, back when people sent letters) from readers, telling me that my books helped them through difficult experiences in their lives. It seems almost paradoxical, that a horror novel could provide someone with a sense of comfort, but I have witnessed this phenomenon time and time again. Of course, people deal with death and fear and the darker aspects of our reality in different ways, and everyone’s process is valid. But for those of us who gravitate towards horror, perhaps there is something special about connecting with characters who are living the worst days of the lives. Perhaps there is something meaningful about entering a world where death and pain are not taboo subjects. In horror, there is nothing hidden in the shadows, because the shadows are alive, and they are hungry for human flesh. 

So far, I have spoken of suffering and death and ravenous shadows, but is that all there is to the genre? Do horror books and movies merely tell us that life is tough and then we die? Sometimes, perhaps. But personally, I find the genre most compelling not merely because of the monsters and the terror, but because of the sparks of hope and the moments of compassion and strength that occasionally burn bright within that darkness. In Rosemary’s Baby, Rosemary looks upon her baby, and instead of dismissing him as evil incarnate, she sees the potential for goodness in him, because of the goodness in her own heart. In The Shining, Danny is able to escape the hedge maze, because he played there with his mother earlier, and now he knows where to go. Wendy’s willingness to spend quality time with her son helps to save him. The Exorcist is as much about Chris’s interminable love for her daughter, and Father Damien’s capacity for self-sacrifice, as it is about demonic forces. 

In my favorite horror books and movies, you’re allowed access to the hearts and souls and psyches of the characters. You connect with the protagonists. You feel what they feel, as they hope and struggle and love and face the darkness. And for many readers and viewers of horror, this journey can be cathartic and even empowering. One of the reasons I love horror is because life can be horrifying. 

Life can feel like a haunted house, or a daunting hedge maze, or a conversation with the grim reaper. And sometimes it helps to connect with some imaginary people, and face the worst together, and hope for the best.

31 Days of Horror: Day 8-- What Turns People On to Horror

One of the main purposes of 31 Days of Horror is to provide you, the library worker, with exposure to all facets of Horror RA. What I hear most often from you as you work in your libraries is that you know you have readers who enjoy horror, but that you don't get why.

Sometimes you don't get why because you yourselves don't like horror. Others tell me they don't have enough interaction with their horror readers to have them articulate why they enjoy the genre. Either way, the outcomes is the same: you need to have more examples of why horror appeals to a wide range of readers.

The second most common complaint is that you don't know about enough different authors. Maybe you can find the names of authors, but you don't really know a lot about them.

For both of these reasons I spend a lot of time in the months leading up to 31 Days of Horror, soliciting authors to provide "Why I Love Horror" posts for me to run during this month. You can use this tag to pull up everything  that has appeared in this series over the years, but no matter which year the guest post ran, the goal is the same. Authors of horror share what draws them to the genre. This is both to introduce you to them and their work, but also to give you an example horror patron. These authors are passionate about the genre, they have made it their life. But, like our patrons, they all come to the books they love for their own personal reasons. The more reasons why people love horror you are exposed to, the easier it will be for you to help your own horror loving readers, and all without reading a single horror novel yourself [although if you think you are too scared of horror, I can help you find something to at least try to see the appeal of the genre for yourself.]

Beginning tomorrow, I am going to be highlighting this year's crop of "Why I Love Horror" guest posters.  All were personally invited by me. I do not accept unsolicited posts for this series. I have handpicked this group because I know they have something worth sharing with you. Also, taken as a whole, these authors represent a broad spectrum of the genre.

To kick things off today, and get us in the spirit, I want to begin with a recorded panel from WorldCon 76 sponsored by the Horror Writers Association entitled, "What Turns People On to Horror." This panel gathered 6 authors, including bestsellers, Richard Kadrey and Scott Sigler. The first 15 minutes of the video is the authors talking about why they write horror. Literally a spoken presentation of what I am trying to do with these guest posts.

So click here to watch the video today. And stay tuned for the next 10 days [or so] as authors introduce you to their love for the genre and I introduce you to one of their books that I think you should add to your libraries.

And don't forget about the multiple years of backlist "Why I Love Horror" posts, which include authors from the well known to the barely known sharing their love for this, the scariest of genres.