As many of you know by now, I’ve chosen to write in the horror and erotica genres. Every once in a while I’ll combine the two (horrotica) and maybe even write a little paranormal romance to switch it up. In my opinion, horror and erotica are the most visceral genre’s you can write in. As the writer, you really do need to be able to elicit a pretty intense response in your reader to successfully pull it off.
When what you’ve written is making you squirm in your seat, longing for the touch of your main character, so much so, that you have to walk away and ‘take care of things’– you know you’ve done well. When what you’ve written causes your gut to clench, sends tell-tale chills up and down your spine, or screws your face up in disgust- you know you’ve done well. When you have successfully elicited a response in yourself, you know that your readers will more than likely experience the same.
All the writers out there will probably be able to identify with this: There is nothing more satisfying than reading through what you’ve written and wondering what entity has hopped into your body and shanghaied your fingers. You know, that ‘who-the-fuck-wrote-this-cause-it-sure-as-hell-wasn’t-me’ moment. That, in my opinion, is when you know that you’ve truly done well.
When I began my journey a little over a year ago, I knew what I liked to read. I enjoyed the novels that kept your mind engaged; the ones that kept all five of your senses humming. I loved the stories that were so well written that you could close your eyes and clearly see, smell, taste, touch, and hear everything the author was trying to convey.
Looking back now, I know why I was so drawn to those reads; my senses were dulled, suppressed in real life. It was hard for me to ‘feel’ anything. I had withdrawn. I will credit those visceral reads for making me ‘feel’ once again and also for allowing me to remember just what my mind was capable of; what I am capable of.
I hadn’t written anything, nor had I read a fictional novel in over 10 years. I gave up much of what I loved to pursue life and love, or … what I thought was love. I was stuck in textbook hell as I studied to become an RN and made no time to satisfy my obvious innate needs. There was no room for fantasy in my life!
All the while, I still had storylines and scenes running through my head, just screaming for release. But I ignored the voices of my characters because I was convinced that they didn’t fit into my life anymore. Yeah, it took me a while to realize that I AM a writer and if I didn’t ‘release the beast’, so to speak, I could very well drive myself mad.
The first fictional book I picked up after my 10 year hiatus was … wait for it … ‘Twilight’. *shrugs* What can I say? I really just wanted to see what all the hype was about. I actually read this book twice. My first read-through was ‘vanilla’. In other words, I had no unclean thoughts; which is pretty good for a horror writer, I think. During the second read through, I actually fantasized about what would have happened in the ‘revelation’ scene in the woods if I had written it. You know what scene I’m referring to; that infamous scene where Bella realizes just what Edward is.
What I saw happening in my head was far more horrific. I was actually disappointed with what Ms. Stephenie Meyer wrote. I just wanted …. More. I wanted Edward’s animal instincts to come to the forefront. I didn’t want him to suppress his urge to kill; nor did I want him to suppress his urge for hot, animalistic sex. I mean, he is an almost one-hundred year old stuck in a teenagers body that has gone without release for about as many years. He’s neither fulfilled his all too obvious lust for human blood, nor has he ever had sex. And furthermore … he’s a goddamn monster! C’mon Ms. Meyer, let’s be realistic here, what male vampire teen could resist a yummy, lust-filled, girl that’s all too willing to contribute to the Edward Cullen blood bank? And … to top it off, she’s standing alone in the middle of the woods! How could a hungry vampire resist?
In my mind, Edward went into a blood lust. This is what I saw …
Edward pressed Bella against a roughened tree trunk. He pinned her wrists above her head with one of his hands and gently caressed her flank with the other, her T-shirt climbing ever higher. His icy fingers glided against the soft, milky-white, skin of her abdomen, trailing ever upward until he cupped the tantalizing curve of her breast.
Bella gasped and shuddered. In a breathy voice, she said, “I know what you are.”
He gazed into her eyes as he leaned in, his warm breath puffing against the thin skin of her neck as he inhaled her intoxicating scent. “Say it. Out loud.” He inhaled once more, whispering into her ear, “Say it.”
Edward watched Bella’s carotid throb in time with her steady heartbeat. “Are you afraid?”
Bella’s heart rate increased.
Edward closed his amber eyes in complete ecstasy as her scent became stronger. “Then ask me the most basic question: What do we eat?”
“You won’t hurt me …” she said as if trying to convince herself.
Edward inhaled once again, his body shuddering with need. “Oh? Won’t I?” When he opened his eyes, they were filled with raw, animalistic lust.
Bella gasped at the sight of him; she struggled to free herself, her lithe body bucking against his. Her struggles only served to excite Edward more, igniting that carnal need within. He pressed his hardness against her, eliciting a satisfying whimper. He watched as a single tear trailed down her cheek and became consumed with an inexplicable rage.
Edward threw all caution to the wind, ripping her pants from her body effortlessly. He released her arms, and unbuckled his pants, his throbbing cock springing forth. He grasped her thighs, his fingers digging into her pliant flesh as he spread her open and entered her fully with one deep thrust. Bella screamed out; her body tightening around him.
Overwhelmed by his senses, Edward reared back and viciously sunk his fangs into her carotid. The sweet, coppery taste of her hit his taste buds, eliciting a bestial growl that originated from the very depths of his being and echoed throughout the woods. Reality blurred as her hot blood flowed down his throat, his cheeks flushing with the new warmth she gave him.
Bella’s blood curdling scream rang out. The venom rushed through her system, setting her blood ablaze. She writhed and bucked against him involuntarily. Edward relished every single moment as he impaled her with his straining shaft over and over again. Leaves and detritus fell all around them. The sound of snapping twigs and fall leaves underfoot assailed his ears, drowning out the rushing sound of her blood.
Bella’s life blood continued to gush from her carotid and flow freely down his throat. Some of the excess fluid escaped the corners of his mouth and oozed down his cool, diamond-like flesh in rivulets. The crimson mess dripped onto her heaving chest, soaking her t-shirt. He relentlessly pounded into her, her bones audibly breaking. Finally, Edward screamed out, convulsing against her in his final moment of ecstasy.
After a moment, Edward released Bella from his grasp, allowing her broken body to fall to the ground in a heap. He watched as she inhaled her last shuddering breath. Her eyes glazed over. He heard her heart beat it’s last, and she went completely limp, her head lolling to the side. The gaping wound on her neck stared back at Edward accusingly. Bella was irrevocably broken. He couldn’t take it back. And surprisingly, he found that he was okay with that.
A disheveled Edward stood over her mangled form; his chest heaved as he tucked himself back into his pants. He gazed down at her impassively; the blood and gore still oozed down the pale flesh of his chest. A ray of sunlight shone through the canopy of coniferous trees and illuminated his being. With his skin shimmering in the beam, he slowly swiped his hand across his blood-stained mouth smearing it further onto his pale cheek. He raised his face toward the gently swaying tree-tops and squinted into the sunlight with his now crimson, volturi-like, eyes. A satisfied smile slowly curled his lips.
I will give Stephenie Meyer this … she has a real knack for leaving her readers wanting more. But, she takes it to a whole new level by never showing her readers what they truly want to see. How many of us wanted to read the sex scene in its entirety in ‘Breaking Dawn’? I know I did. Now I know that the way I’d have written the books would have changed the entire storyline and that technically this is a YA book, but GODDAMN! It could have been so much more! After I read all the books, this thought echoed throughout my mind …
We can do better …
Well, we shall see, won’t we?
I’ve been writing as much as I can since I read those books, and I don’t think I’ll be stopping anytime soon. I need to write. I need my literary release! Writing helps me in so many ways and it helps that I thoroughly enjoy doing it. I enjoy reading just as much. For all you writers out there, I want to experience your world with you … so, take me on a journey! Use the five senses and paint the picture so clearly that I see, smell, taste, touch, and hear everything that you are trying to convey.
I’ve started on the editing/revision/reformatting process of my first novel. Here’s what I’ve learned: Eventually, you find our own voice. Your writing style changes over time. A good friend of mine gave me this advice:
“Shut up, turn your brain off and just fucking write the first thing that comes to your mind. If you can type without looking, close your eyes even. See everything around you, but don’t describe it all. That’s textbook, not fiction. Pick out what YOU think is important, not what Tom, Dick or Harry will think is important. They won’t know it was supposed to be in there because they weren’t in your head. Let it bleed from you. See your character, but don’t analyze them, don’t brainstorm about them, let them come to life within the story. Let them tell you who the fuck they are. They are living, breathing actors and you are the writer, producer and director. Do whatever the fuck you want. Horror, SciFi, comedy, drama, shit even more erotica, just WRITE. Stop plotting, stop character design and just get to know everyone. They will tell the story for you.” ~ Edward Lorn
In other words, STFU and write! That’s the best advice I’ve ever received as a writer. Thanks, E!
I’ve added to that advice as I’ve started to find my own voice.
I have to write my stories and then return to them to mold them. That’s just how I write … I layer my stories. I stretch the canvas first; then come back around to paint the picture. I’m the artist-the sculptor–my medium is the words of language. I need to create from them, use them. A photographer snaps a picture, but the elements of light and shadow, black and white or color, focused or blurred, show us different views of the same scene. So do the words of the writer. I need to use them, re-define them, and re-shape them.
Thanks, yet again, for listening to this writer drone on. And here ends another rambling from my blackened mind. Until next time!
Who doesn’t like a little ‘Paramore’? Plus, it fits in with the theme … in more ways than one.
And this one. Just because it has been echoing throughout my head for the last few weeks … I’m finding me and my voice again 🙂 I’m ‘Wide Awake.’