There are certain gateways into the human conscious which should seldom open. I suppose every writer encounters a part of that self where morbid curiosity rises. Take a peak but do so with caution. Writing is a journey, not a destination. As a writer, if you are not going places and learning things, you're not really trying to be a writer. If you write but have nothing to say, no experience to share, you are not writing. Take your work off fanfiction.net, or wherever else you may post it and try again.
As I finish "Croix Insepency" I am forced to delve into those things kept in the dark; things that skirt at the edges of an artist's mind. There is darkness in some of those places. There is a darkness that smiles back at you and you know without a doubt that it tempts and calls and waits for your attention. I speak of the macabre, of the disturbing; images that hint of the sinister. Such writers as H.P. Lovecraft, Harlan Ellison and Stephen King breathe in that darkness and blow it across our minds.
It's okay to shiver. It's okay to wince as you are touched by the devilry of the human soul. If you did not bat an eye, then someone should be concerned for you.
When I started writing a techno-horror for my Transformers fanfiction, I did not think I had the ability to pull it off successfully. I am not a horror fan-or rather, I never watched or read anything of the genre. But upon my first draft of *Silent Scream* I found a power I did not know I had. And yes, I boast of a power, the ability to take a reader to a dark place and let them breathe in the specter of nightmares. From there I wrote "Testament" and then I took the plunge and wrote "Devil's Dance". What is this side of me that is fascinated by such things? To be certain, there is no sunshine in the eyes of monsters. There is no light-hearted laughter framing the shadows of things dredged up from the swamps of the human soul. The cold valleys of imagination are more of an expanse of quick-mud that drags the mind into the fiery bogs of hell.
I realize it might sound funny, that I'm using hyperbole to describe some of the things that I have imagined and seen. No. Not when I have imagined a place where creatures-people-are used as test animals. I have stepped into a place far, far from anything near a sun. I have seen things that I never thought I'd formulate on paper. Croix Insepency has handed me a photograph of things I have either denied within me or of things for which I fear to reveal. So I ask myself why it was necessary to take this road. Why did I choose to darken my canvass with such disturbing things?
I think it's to face fear itself; fear of the dark, fear of pain, fear of the rot and stench of death. I think we walk along the razor's edge of the macabre to look at our nightmares rather than wake in bed, screaming. We want to believe these things, this darkness, is not real. We don't want to openly discuss it. But it comes out in artwork, music, writing, sculpture... whatever other form of expression humans use. Is it a form of exorcism? Is it a source of personal reflection? Or is it, perhaps, a form of worship?
Everyone has to answer for themselves. As for me, I looked into the face of that dark to measure my strength against it. I have found that, yes, I can look at it without screaming and running away. I can taste the stilted air of the disturbing and the somber. But it is not a place in which I would choose to dwell.
If you plan to visit that darkness, don't stay too long. Such darkness must be controlled and contained or it will spread.
Listening to: the air conditioner
Watching: my spelling and grammar
Playing: story scenarios in my head
Drinking: iced tea