The post, Why Do We Write Horror got me thinking. How in the world did I get into dark fantasy?
I used to feel a bit guilty about being attracted to stories with questionable characters and a whole lot of badness going on. I mean, dark is bad. I’m not supposed to be fascinated by it. On top of that, the stories get inside you. The type of stuff that goes through my mind often disturbs me.
I don’t often go into my stories intending scenes to be hard to read, just like I don’t often intend for them to be graphic. The Sciell opens with a pretty…horrendous scene. I tried to describe it in a way that wouldn’t make it so bad. It didn’t work. I couldn’t water down the scene any more. I wouldn’t do that to the story.
But me…honestly, I have no idea where my love for dark came from. I’ve been trying to track when it started. I was always drawn to stories about vampires and werewolves. My parents bought me all kinds of books when I was a kid. The ones that stuck with me the most were paranormal stories. I loved Blood and Chocolate by Annette Curtis Klause so much I finished the book and read it again right away.
The first “novel” I wrote was about a group of teenagers away at camp being possessed by aliens. The kids went around killing people, butchering them. The story was told from their perspective. I wrote that in middle school.
Do we choose our genre or does it choose us?