Writing Horror While Happy
“Write what you know”
It’s a trite, but I’ve often found it to be a true statement for me.
As a horror writer, that’s quite a loaded perspective. No; I don’t happen to directly know any black eyed kids (watch them show up on my doorstep tonight). Nope; I’ve never set fire to a haunted house (just wait ‘til you read what’s coming down the road). Nevertheless, the classic emotions behind horror are ones that I’m all too well acquainted with: fear; chaos; uncertainty; pain; shame - yep; I’ve unfortunately spent quite a bit of time with those.
So, what happens when a horror writer’s life no longer reflects horror? Where’s the inspiration for those tales of terror and despair if life is . . . well, lovely at the moment? Is it possible to dive into darkness when you’re living in sunshine?
I think so . . .
An interesting and beautiful thing happened to me recently. While writing at the end of a busy day, I sat back and realized that for the first time in a very, very long time, I am happy—not the kind of transient “happy” that comes with achieving goals or striking it lucky. Rather, it’s the kind of happiness rooted in contentment. It’s a steady current beneath the routine moments, bubbling up to the surface and surprising me every time.
Photo Credit: Melissa Groves-Christ
That’s not to say things aren’t tough: money is exceptionally tight; drama is high; the entire world seems to be falling apart quickly.
Nevertheless, I find myself grateful for and warmed by my relationships with family and friends; my home; my children; the little bits of magic I see around me every day.
I am safe. I am loved. I am peaceful.
It’s startling even if it is wonderful. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve felt something like this. Having wrestled with Bipolar I from a young age, depression tends to catch up with me very easily. Anxiety follows me around like a gnat on steroids.
I realized recently that invasive suicidal thoughts had become so common, I rarely paused to identify them as a problem. The recent absence of those ideations has jolted me far more than the actual thoughts did over the past several years.
I’ve actually spent a considerable amount worried about being happy. The all-too-familiar question ‘Am I manic?’ has crossed my mind countless times now. (Spoiler: I am not.)
I’m not euphoric or delusional. I’m not throwing money around like it’s confetti. I still wrestle with negative habits, but they’re the same ones plenty of perfectly sound people struggle with as well. None of my classic mania signs are present . . . except not dreading life.
The simple reality is that I’m just happy.
Once I stopped questioning whether this was real or my brain playing tricks on me, a brand new fear crept in: what if I’m not as good a writer when I’m content? If I’m not terrified of waking up tomorrow, if I’m enjoying life, how do I craft believable stories of dread? My version of horror is rooted in sorrow, so how do I funnel joy into grief?
Maybe you’re the kind of horror writer who has never questioned this, but bear with me as I’m green to the whole ‘happiness’ thing.
Writing—no matter the genre—has always been a form of therapy for me. It’s how I process my emotions and speak truths that I’d never be able to articulate otherwise. Most of the time, I don’t even realize what I’m writing about until it’s done. Sometimes, it takes YEARS for me to understand what I was writing about, in fact.
Pictured: Early concept imagery for CASE 32
For example, when I wrote NOWHERE, I was coming out of a horrific period in what would ultimately be a doomed marriage (didn’t know that piece for another 5 yrs). Hell, I didn’t even realize that the names of the daughters in that book began with the same letters as my own children’s names.
When I wrote THE HIEROPHANT, I had just begun working through an assault that had occurred years prior but didn’t see the connection until I’d wrapped the first draft. Even as I review material for my current work-in-progress (CASE 32), I now see threads of real-life pain that was taking place while simultaneously writing those opening chapters.
So, not being in a dark place felt challenging when I started to push forward with CASE 32. Suddenly, my brain was wanting to focus on the relationship dynamics between the main character and her love interest. Complicated as they may be, the characters really do love each other in healthy ways (Translation of Panicked Me at This Point: Sorry, what? Is this a romance novel??). I found myself softening the characters’ tones and emphasizing the good aspects of their home lives and personalities. Their motivations became more about lives worth living rather than escaping trauma, though that’s still a major component. Of course, their flaws are still there, and so is the terror.
And through that process, I realized all of those wonderful components of the characters actually amplify the horror. Suddenly, deaths become more tragic. Threats become more urgent. The fear of losing characters who, while very much imperfect, are good people is far more visceral. I want these folks to survive and thrive. I’m invested in them not because they’re fascinating train wrecks, but because they don’t deserve what’s happening to them.
When you look at it that way . . . well, perhaps happiness actually enhances horror. Look, no amount of prancing through wildflowers beneath technicolor rainbows is going to erase my love of ghosts and gore. My imagination will always cook up new ways to creatively ‘off’ a character (or at least scare the living hell out of them). Even as my kids and I laugh, my parents hug me, or my partner arrives on my doorstep with a smile, I’m still turning on the latest Flanagan flick or cracking open Malerman’s new release (my god, does that man churn out horror faster than T-Swift tickets sell out).
Horror isn’t going anywhere for me. But I’m learning that it doesn’t necessarily need to come out of fresh pain. Instead, it can function as a way to heal old wounds and share life lessons. It can reflect the fear of losing the things you love dearly and the joy you experience with those things in your life. It can be something beautiful and terrible all at once—just like life and all of us.
That’s horror, my friends. It is the mirror we hold up to the world and the x-ray into our own psyche. Being happy doesn’t detract from that and never will. If anything, it ramps up the stakes both in our “real” lives (whatever that actually means) as well as in our stories. Horror is healthy and thrives even on the sunniest of days.
Find peace where you can; magic in the every day; and as always, stay weird!
~Allison
