The Failure of Horror in Fiction

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Fear has no more place in horror films. It has died, much like the sad sorry characters created to die, and die degraded, abused, and defiled within the genre they were wrought. Instead of the prickling needlepoint of creeping terror, modern horror movies relate to the worst, most vile aspects in Homo sapiens by using gore and death during coitus, among other slimy tricks to garner attention. A violent species, homo Sapiens have a penchant for violence like a sommelier for wine.

Snuff films. The ultimate horror movie, right? A real person mutliated, splayed, and displayed for the entertainment outlets reserved for those who deserve a worse fate than what they endorse. Everyone wants to see a snuff film. Immunity from this desire is not a question.

But most are too afraid to seek them, let alone view them. It is a reminder that horror is real, and that they too can be butchered and placed on gallery for the world to see. Homo sapiens strive to destroy what they fear. When they cannot destroy that fear, they sexualize it to remove the aspects of fear. Look how closely copulation and decapitation go hand in hand when watching a horror movie.

Gratuitous, sure. But that isn’t why it was placed there.

When Homo sapiens mate, and then are murdered in horror movies, it is placed there to for what some could consider as…a way to make a poor, pathetic story interesting. This could be true. More likely is these people are murdered out of jealousy. Jealousy and culture.

Men are taught to hate. From a child. Think it not true? Look a rabid football fan and his rabid little football fan boy. He is taught to hate a team that he has no connection to, physical, mental, or otherwise. They impose challenges to his father, and to himself by proxy. The spark of hatred is born.

When female Homo sapiens don’t want to mate with males, male response is conditioned to take her, or whomever his sexual target is. When a girl and her boyfriend (often blonde, beautiful, and with a fragile name like Jules, or Amy) are copulating in a horror movie, the woman’s death is guaranteed, typically while topless, naked, or worse. If a non-white, non-male character even EXISITS in a horror movie, all too often they’ll be dead before the first freak pops a boner in the movie theater. There are exceptions. But they barely exist, and are rarely looked upon fondly in modern society. Especially by whites, which is altogether another vile, hideous story on its own.

Many horror films delve deeper into the pain and madness of male sexuality and depict scenes of profound violence mixed with rape, misogyny, and torture. The audience wants to see her die because they already hate her for having sex. This mirrors modern society so perfectly…it would be satire if not fact.

Many would argue that these movies are harmless. Just harmless gory fun that can’t hurt anyone. Surely. Incorrect. Homo sapiens derive their sexual desires from their fears. It is why many of our modern sexual practices involve fantasies of rape, suffocation, torture, mutilation, and even death, extending into necrophilia. I know this because I have met people that masturbate to gory horror films and actual snuff, like executions and animal torture/murder. These are not harmless fantasies. And these people are a disease.

Modern horror films are made by those who need to delve into murder. They are either too scared to kill, or they are afraid to accept their nature. Horror films, and their creators and die hard fans, merely are popular because they give Homo sapiens the two things it desires most. Violence, and rape.

In horror movies, if one does not want to rape, one will want to see rape. If one does not want to kill, one will want to see killing. These are the only two values modern society deem any worth in at all. And entertainment reflects it- Homo sapiens hate to love seeing the innocent destroyed for fun. Seeing evil win because that’s what makes a horror movie good, the realism? The realism at the end, because the good guy doesn’t always win.

The good guy doesn’t always win in real life. More often than not, they are placed on top of the corpses of others who tried to good. A horror movie exploits that, using the inate fear of evil to try and improve its own story. It doesn’t work. Reality is worse. People can’t be reminded of that because they never forget.

Modern horror exploits what Homo sapiens fear and hate while the same time endorsing the whole Freudian package. Look into yourself. Your sexual fantasies. Where do they come from? Do you want to be choked? Do you like to do the choking? Do you like to look at sexualized cartoons? Does rape, or being raped turn you on? Why?

Because society is cool with it.

Ever think about why?

A Vacancy

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Dark thoughts must be replaced with light ones. It is not enough to slay the symptom, but never the cause. Betrayal is always an unfamiliar feeling because it is always expected. Dark thoughts betray.

Life and death are the same razor edge. Dark thoughts betray. So what do the light ones do? Depends. The negative range on the spectrum of human emotion and expression are useful only when their time remains short. Lingering…in those rotting thoughts makes illness and horror. Discomfort. Atrocity.

Light reinforces each soul it radiates from, each one its own radiant and self perpetuating power source, while more insidious emotions reside in the shadows of action, manipulative and life-draining, enervating. It cannot survive unfed.

Death is a piece of the whole, a puzzle yet to have been solved at least in reality. Comb through each piece, though. Acceptance of its size, its gravity comes from understanding. Mourning oneself through others. Death leaves a void. One that must be filled in.

Honesty is best with a dangerous approach. Even more important when trying to change or heal, to replace the void inside and outside. Love is best with a slow approach, to fill in the vacant parts of soul, body, mind. Accuracy in both, and both need one another.

Peace must fill the voids in life, a culmination of experiences and emotions; perfect in balance and difficult to maintain.  But it is the vacancy, and the process of filling it, that causes growth.

Novella – A Home

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Emotions leave powerful imprints on reality as the bodies they were wrenched from degrade into a stain; sometimes the emotions are so strong that they are able to bind a soul to a place, person, or object. Ancient places are often collectors of such phenomenon whether in fiction or non, steeped in the sorrow and joy of countless life forms across countless eons. There are locations in Melias that mirror our own in this manner and why wouldn’t they? Would not a home be haunted by a lonely widower? Or a grieving child visited by his late mother’s spirit? Going further, could not portals to other planes be opened?

Poezslav Manor is one such a place, a place buried in history. Genesis, a Cleric and Hero of Melias, is hired by the owner of the manor to investigate some strange occurrences within the estate before a large Gala- the first of the season. The fun of Manor Poezslav is that it is known in elite, wealthy circles for being haunted. In fact, that’s what makes the price so right for the owner. But as of late, the occurrences in the manor went from cheeky to downright horrifying.

Genesis investigates the Manor and the surrounding grounds, finding clues to Manor Poezslav’s bizarre past, discovering ghastly clues along with artifacts and knowledge utterly sibylline in nature. As her investigation wears on, Genesis delves deep into the bowels of Poezslav, deeper than any of its owners have ever dared; determined to unravel all of its covetous secrets.

As a rule, I hate the pure horror genre. I used to be an avid fan when I was a child (that tells you a lot, don’t it), but as I grew older, I realized that was the problem.  I was a child. Horror never satisfied me. All I saw was just victims getting splattered, and then an unsatisfying ending typically implying another film, or one that illustrates the monster/antagonist getting away to commit more murders. At other times, the “point” of the horror movie, or story was to simply kill all the protagonists. Lazy. Uninspired. Boring. Enraging. So instead…

Elemental horror places Genesis into Manor Poezlav, a hostile paranormal environment, and she will be able respond whenever there is danger, not possible in most versions of classic, pure-genre horror. In addition to her incredible prowess as a warrior, both in technique and physicality, Genesis, like all Clerics in Melias, channel powerful spells called hymns- songs derived from places of raw willpower and faith that manipulate the ether to a desired end. Most of the time, Clerics act as exorcists, banishing malicious spirits from the physical plane, or smashing the undead. The hymns aid to that end, either strengthening the Cleric, or weakening their foes.

Is she invulnerable? Will she be in danger? Will she be challenged? Absolutely. Genesis is human. She bleeds, needs to eat, drink, and sleep, and can die like you or me. Poezslav, and all of its horrors, will test her mind and body to their very limits and then some. But is this just some dumbass horror story with a hair-in-the-face ghoul haunting an antique mirror?

HA! Go rent a movie if your looking for that tripe.

As Celat

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*Journal entry stolen from Celat by Gya, directly following the events of The Hunters:*

“…nobles breed and those below them are expected to support their gluttony. I know because I was a body below, buckling under the weight. Until I realized they needed me more than I needed them. Enough time passed and I realized that I didn’t need them at all.

I had always suspected that the noble class, be they politician, wealthy entrepreneur, royalty, banker, industrialist, merchant, treated the lower classes unfairly. I had seen the abuse firsthand. But it runs deeper than that. The band of disrespect nobles have for those under them is actually black hole of rotting cruelty that demands to be fed, fed a never ending supply of human misery. Nobles merely decide who to cast into the abyss.

Those who suffer under the nobles’ harsh rule look for others to strike out against. Children. Women. Men. But mostly it’s animals. In all my years as a Ranger of Enpelison, I have learned one thing if nothing else. Humans abuse ones lower than them. Cruelty is an accepted part of human society, and one is considered weak if one does not abuse their lesser peers, or if one shows compassion toward beasts and other flora or fauna.

I offer a counterpoint of violence to this logic and show that compassion at its very core is inherently violent. Who does not fight harder than from a place of protection? Love? Hope? Peace? I have fought and repelled conquerors and men and women fighting from places of great cruelty and evil. They have failed. One and all.

It is this very reason why the noble class seek such cruelty and wealth and power over others. Even other nobles. They fear usurpation. They fear it because they are vile and tyrannical. I destroyed a child trafficking ring where nobles treated human beings like holes to be bought, sold, passed, and murdered for pleasure and barter- simply to grease the wheels of corrupt transactions dealing in sums of land, coins, and power. Considering how much blue blood I’ve spilled in the last three weeks, one would think a few names would come to light as the Crown of Enpelison investigates the site of an invasion. But nothing. Not a single name. Just a list of “philanthropists” and “family men and women” that were brutally murdered by a rouge agent of the state. If I destroyed one, I know there are more and I know there are bigger ones. I shudder to think. No, I am nauseous with terror to even consider it, truth be told.

If the public knew what I knew and saw what I saw that night at the fort, the Crown of Enpelison would be broken and bloodied before nightfall and the people would demand a new ruler.

In a world such as Melias, justice does not arrive promptly. It is lazy, often taking decades to arrive properly. This is unacceptable. I, Celat, am the catalyst and reaper of pain, and I have learned time and time again that regardless of consequence. There is no justice except for that which I take.”

*end of entry*

Novella – Oppidan Inquisition

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Wretched things happen in the real world that I cannot control. Instead, I use them in my work and twist them against the forces I am too vulnerable to face alone, but not only for me. Every twisted ideal, each abominable act of violence. When a new fiend develops a vile new way to violate an innocent soul I develop a way to strike back for the vulnerable innocent because they can’t. That being said. The new novella I am creating is called Oppidan Inquisition, and it centers around Celat.

Celat, a Hero of Melias, and quite possibly the most gifted Ranger on the planet, starts this legend by tracking a band of poachers through a dense forest along an overgrown trail. It starts standard, sure. Celat is no fan of poachers or animal abusers in general, if you read The Hunters, which is the first novella I ever featured him in.

From the wilderness, we track Celat and the band of foes to a town, changing the Ranger’s approach completely. Well known and now even wanted in some parts of his homeland after his exploits detailed in The Hunters, he must forego his telltale armor, equipment and weaponry and rely more on subterfuge, sabotage, and wits. Like usual, Celat’s relentless and curious nature pulls a thread that unravels a momentous adventure, one that he could never had expected.

Without spoiling their plots, I will say that both The Hunters and Oppidan Inquisition visit two subjects that are very abhorrent to me. Human trafficking and animal genocide. Celat does two things. He provides revenge and violence to a group of individuals that are completely helpless. Children and most animals are helpless in the cross hairs of predatory humans. Celat preys upon the predatory human, inflicting fear upon the fearless.

Empathy is another aspect of Celat’s personality that may not be at the forefront. As violent and vengeful as he can be, he does everything that he can to protect and help others. Be they an ant or ice bear (the polar bear of Melias), be they beggar or King. If there is an innocent soul being abused, Celat is often lying in wait, ready to ambush their tormentor.

I want to bring these horrific subjects to light not to sell books or for shock value but because these things are happening. Right now. As I am typing now in my past, and as you are reading now in your present. Be aware of what is happening to the most vulnerable around you.

Just by doing a simple Google search, I was able to find numerous sites where one can donate money, goods, or time toward helping people and animals in need. People who have been victimized again and again. Animals who have no reason to trust humans again. These wounded souls need help, and it is up to those who are Good to do it.

What side are you on?

 

 

All Things Marry

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Melias has begun to grow large enough where I can no longer entertain it on my own. I must branch out and share it with the world more than ever, and I want anyone and everyone to come along with me and discover how incredible this planet really is. To make things easier, I am doing a number of overhaul activities to help get, and keep, things straight.

First, I’ve offered links on my website (look above) that direct you to a fixed page where you can acquire my novels/novellas in digital format. As always, full novels are $2.99 and anything under that is $0.99.

Second, I am going to be opening an art gallery on Etsy this summer. I post very rough concept art here sometimes, but where I really display my work is on Instagram. I have provided a link (also above) where you can view these pieces if you are so inclined. Instagram will provide more information on the piece, where the blog will go into length on the piece’s backstory (it’s place in Melias).

Third, Twitter is going to keep everything annoying in your ear, always letting you know what I am doing with Melias and when new art or writing is coming out, or came out. It’s my mouthpiece. I’ve discontinued Facebook because I find it redundant.

With that being said, I am going to start this plan and do everything that I can to share the World of Melias as much as humanly possible. I care about what I have created, and I want you to care too- not just for the fucking money. All in all, all money is just a system of points. I want you to care because I truly believe that your life will be better because of it. Period.

Still care to draw steel with the men and women that call Melias home?

Flash Fiction – Celat, The Ranger

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Time had claimed the slick features of youth, dragging the long lines of grief, anger, sadness, smiles, and laughter into a silvered hairline which melted into a calm, but wooly beard. Age had also claimed Celat’s urge for violence and revenge. Perhaps claim is too final. Soothe would be more accurate.

He still thought of the pigs. Of Elgon. The bodies. The screams. The tastes…odors…

But those thoughts weren’t as sharp now. They were easier to evade, and the act of dredging them up to mind didn’t spark an unquenchable urge for violence. Instead, Celat found new ways to help the wildlife of Enpelison, his homeland, the land he had protected for his entire life.

Stepping from his small hut, Celat inhaled the cold air of the forest’s wet pines. He was the local herbalist, vet, and hunter. Unable to keep up with prey, or train a bow on target any longer, he offered advice on the local fauna and stuck to gathering herbs, roots, buds, and other vegetation to keep his reagents stocked. His hut was several miles off the beaten path- hidden but not impossible to find and an essential stop for most anyone looking to venture deeper into Melias.

He smiled as he watched a herd of deer gently make their way through the pines to a hidden meadow a few dozen yards from where he lived. In the spring, if the timing and weather had been just right that year, the meadow would partially flood into a vernal pool. Being this close to nature…he loved it. Celat helped animals here. People. Himself. Without bloodshed. It was his first, and only, true home.

Locals would stop by looking for remedies, herbs for their own concoctions. Children would often bring Celat creatures they would find injured beside the road or in the forest, wounded by misadventure or cruelty. He would mend these little souls, and then send them back into the wilderness, much to any nearby child’s joy. These people didn’t know him here. Didn’t know what he did, what he was, or what his name meant. He was just a wise old man in a hut.

A drop of water hit the top of Celat’s head from the awning above. It was cold- it had hit a balding spot right at the crown of his skull. He rubbed it with his hand, smiling at this silly little situation. He jumped, startled by an animal’s scream from the road. He exploded into a sprint, his aged body protesting at every hinge. As difficult as it had become, (in his younger days, sprinting might as well have been walking) he had barely lost any of his speed. He rubbed an old medallion at his belt, comforted by its warmth.

Before he approached the noise, he slowed his pace to calm his heartbeat and breathing rate. Electric vein patterns burned bright shadows into his vision as his pounding heart pushed blood into every hidden inch of his body. His movements as breath, he disappeared into the underbrush and inched toward the disturbance, almost right in the middle of it all.

Celat spied three boys torturing a stray cat. The cat was lucky- they had just started their fun. A boy held the creature by the end of its tail (an act which is agony in itself for the feline) which another slapped at its face, laughing as the cat tried to claw his hands. The final boy had a small studded club. Celat had seen enough cruelty in his lifetime to know what was to happen next.

“Hold it still!” The boy with the club yelled, “I wanna good whack at ‘er!” The cat was pregnant. The game was to bust open her womb in the least amount of strikes and make her kittens spill out of her belly. “I wanna see those babies!” The boys screamed and laughed with rabid glee. The boy with the club raised his weapon.

A bolt of pain exploded from his wrist down into his shoulder as three fingers made of living stone bruised and crushed his delicate skin and flesh. The boy shrieked and looked at his friends’ faces, both of which paralyzed in horror, the cat released without thinking. The club wielding boy turned slowly, tears streaming from his cheeks.

Celat towered over the boy, his fingernails dug deep into the child’s skin, drawing a few drops of blood. His face was twisted with anger far beyond any the child had seen in a grown-up. Celat’s eyes wide, his brow furrowed, his mouth relaxed, even, but slightly turning into a scowl. His hood cast his features into shadows, the shine of his eyes almost like a animal’s against the moon.

He uttered, “flee.”

The two boys fled; the club wielder screamed in horror as Celat held him without difficulty. “LET ME GO! LET ME GO, PLEASE! LET ME-“ Celat released the boy as he jerked himself away, causing the boy to fly backwards. The club fell from his hand and slid to Celat’s feet. Sheer instinct shot his foot out, kicking the weapon deep into the woods. The child scrambled to his feet and began to run, looking back once at Celat, who was still standing there, staring to walk toward him.

He doubled his pace, his horror ignited anew. He dared not to turn back again, feeling the heat of Celat’s body bearing down on him, hearing the crash of his boots just inches behind him, his labored breathing. I’m gonna die, the little boy thought, I’m gonna die! I want my momma! Dadda! He turned around and closed his eyes, shrieking, waiting for Celat to finish him off. When he opened his eyes, there was no. Trace. Of his attacker. He had completely disappeared.

Sobbing, the child didn’t question his sudden good fortune and took off for home.

THE END

A Flood of Work

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In the time I’ve spent away from this place, I have created six works, all ready to be purchased, all outlined below. If you’ve been following this blog for awhile, you’ll know that documenting my whole experience from writing to publishing is kinda this whole blog’s thing. As much as I like to use the blog for emotional release, I’ve never forgotten its true purpose.

1. The link below leads to one of the first novellas I wrote that took place in Melias. The main character, Thas, is a Warrior Shaman- a strange wanderer unique to the planet and all of its inhabitants. A hero first and foremost, I wanted this story to not only give the reader an excellent introduction into how magic can work in Melias, it also illustrates the finer points of Thas’ personality, ideals, and goals. Find yourself curious?

Path of the Warrior Shaman: http://tinyurl.com/jyos2e3   $0.99 on Kindle

 

2. One of my favorite legends, this work depicts what can happen when people work together to oppose evil. I introduced a few new characters with abilities and secrets of their own, along with a vile. Antagonist. This story was meant to illustrate the mark of the truly privileged- apathy. And with apathy and power comes cruelty. Is your heart beating a little faster? The Heroes of this tale think it should.

Suffering and Hope: http://tinyurl.com/hpzqmmp   $0.99 on Kindle

 

3. This tale is one that stands to scream a hideous truth; shining light on the abuse and ruthlessness of man. However. Celat, a Ranger (and the protagonist), is a human that aims to turn these hideous qualities on those the most deserving. This tale illustrates that no man is invincible. No creed is certain, no fate, no fact. There is only Celat and the lifeless, broken bodies of evil men left in his wake. Push the weak around long enough and they push back. Hard. Did this speak to your darkness?

The Hunters: http://tinyurl.com/z27b43e   $0.99 on Kindle

 

4. Might as well be a campfire tale. This work illustrates how the fanatical never make sense- and only seek to destroy what does not suit them. Humans have turned to human/animal sacrifice for eons to communicate with the otherworldly. More pleas than communicating really; hoping to appease a being that doesn’t answer to our base, and disgusting offerings. But…what if one such being answered back from behind one of our bloodied and broken boons? Indulge that shiver in your spine.

A Memory of Suffering: http://tinyurl.com/jh2fe5j   $0.99 on Kindle

 

5. A tale coated in rust and scalded by salty winds of the sea, Gruun the Barbarian tests his mettle against seafaring bandits hell bent on raiding and destroying any village that gets in their way. The story seeks to truly highlight the mortality of even our most dangerous, horrifying foes and obstacles can be crushed, and crushed by everyday people like you. Ready to draw steel with Gruun?

Joy and Misery: http://tinyurl.com/zwnbgj4   $0.99 on Kindle

 

6. Truly the best for last, this is the first novella I ever wrote for the 99 Cent Novellas series, and was a launchpad for my entire body of work to date. This legend follows Gruun as he carves his way through a nasty batch of bandits, putting his sword and skills to good use against evildoers. His employer, however, seeks to change the terms of his employment. This does not bode well for out hero. Witness a caged beast break free.

Path of Violence: http://tinyurl.com/z22yvu7   $0.99 on Kindle

These are the works that I plan on presenting first because I feel like they make the biggest impressions. Not only do I want to entertain with my writing, I aim to enlighten, educate and inflict cognizance.

Truth be told, a lot of the fucked up things that happen to characters in Melias are based off of things I’ve seen, experienced, heard, or studied about first hand. Many protagonists highlight the best in humanity, while the antagonists highlight the bad; both sides constantly being influenced by the other while being influenced by nothing. It is this struggle that I am interested in. If you are a reader of the Fantasy genre, prepare to become obsessed.

 

Rotted Vile Hole

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There is no hope. There is no help.

Longer than the usual have weathered the wear, each moment something to be selected and discarded. One foot in front of the other, watch life curdle and die before innocent eyes, what hope can be dashed that has not started inside? It’s where it always is.

Stuck in a mire. Guilt. Time and time again the message is lost against the bones they fall on, the need replaced with the desire. One person lies, the other smiles. The other again smiles ’till death. See it lurking? Writing through the thick shades.

Light a luxury, the future holds the lies of all kinds dear- unknown, realized, or otherwise. Familiar faces vomit ugly words as they continue to forget to listen. Apathy realized, there is nothing but a fleeting odor of rot. Hollow and lifeless. Empty and hopeless.

Where is the waiting? Always waiting. Fatigue. Despair. Guilt. Terror as the inescapable becomes accepted. Submission. Envied, spiteful submission. Jealousy.

Hiding where we should thrive.

I’ve lost my patience.

Dark Hope

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Human matters have become more and more alien to me.

There is no purpose in this pathetic life. Why do you breathe? Why do I? I don’t have any reasons except the need to find a reason every day I draw breath. Why? I don’t know. I truly don’t.

I guess friends and family can stay the tide of self harm. But when does that cease being effective? Or when does it stop offering comfort?

This world and its people deserve to die and burn in the fires of unimaginable agony to pay for all the terrible, horrible destruction and corruption we have plagued this planet with. All my endeavors are tainted by my own humanity, my own innate disgusting human- my species.

Watching the world with tired, angry eyes as the humans scurry around me, worried about problems that I will never care about. When I am told by someone that they purchased a new car, I truly don’t care about your pathetic achievement. I took a shit today. They are on par. When I am told by someone that they love their job, I want to suffocate them with my fists, jam them down their ignorant throats and fist fuck their face until death. Why? I don’t fuckin’ know. Envy? Jealousy? Frustration? Anger? You pick. When someone gushes about a new product they’ve purchased, or an inconvenience they’ve suffered, or the dues that they no longer have to pay my only answer to them is SHUT THE FUCK UP.

That’s the answer I have for myself most days. Not today.

Ever spent some time in the burning purgatory of retail? What about customer service? If one wants to find out how petty, useless, and pathetic the human race is, enter the working world and listen to what people complain about. Are they valid? Or empty? It doesn’t matter because they will tell you if it is or not. And you must believe it. They will abuse and berate you, and you must exercise control.

I knew a greeter for Sam’s Club once. Vietnam veteran. He asked an individual for his club card as he entered one day, and the individual spit on him and said, “I don’t have to show you a fuckin’ thing.”

Because he took that abuse, he kept his job. Was it worth it? Fuck what you know. When others complain, I cannot listen. Mostly because there is too much running around in my mind and coherent thought is a luxury most days. I complain. Right now, I’m complaining. And I am just as useless as the rest because I am doing NOTHING about how I feel. I am letting myself feel miserable, and every day I recognize this means nothing. Nothing beyond self awareness. But I am functional.

I found my hatred bare one day before I adopted it into my soul. Hatred starts scared. Tiny, puny, shrinking from conflict. I took it in, sheltered it, and it became a part of me as I nurtured it with fear and watched in horror as it grew into a black, endless rage thickened by depression and despair.

In this world. This shitty, terrible fuckhole of a gaping diseased asshole we call modern society, there are people working actively to make it worse. Are you one of them? If yes, kill yourself.

Maybe that’s why I haven’t tied my own noose yet.