Inherently Weird. The puzzling Past of a Horror Writer

I've been attracted to death, ghostly visitors, and paranormal stories for as long as I can remember. Where does this fascination come, I have no idea, but while other kids played on their bikes or read funny comics, I was obsessed with witchcraft and read scary stories. The only way to entice me to read was to dangle in front of me stories of the sort, and so my mom introduced me to A CHRISTMAS CARROL and ghostly mystery stories for kids. 

Yeah, I know, I was weird. But before all that, my most distant memory and the way I was possibly introduced to the concept of horror was through a series of nightmares. I must have been about seven and had experienced nightmares before. This, however, was a totally different thing. Now, I know what you'll say, but my parents were not divorcing, I had no reason to feel stressed, and people didn't talk about horror themes with any of us children around. So no, there was no reason for my "Nightmare Attack."

It was only one nightmare, but it besieged me for eight months. It always started with me sitting alone in a small boat, drifting through a calm river. The water was so crystalline I could see colorful rocks on the bottom and the landscape was beautiful. But I was afraid, didn't know why, just simply afraid. Without any apparent reason, the water started to turn red, little by little until it was all the color of blood. I looked around for the cause and realized that at the bottom of the river laid severed hands. Completely terrorized, I jumped out of the boat and swam to land, running like crazy until I was facing a hill. I climbed it only to find a Roman soldier on the top that confronted me with a spear, threatening to kill me. The floor was littered with corpses and I knew I could not escape. Then I woke up, screaming and crying. Every night.

You can imagine that after a month, my mother could no longer dismiss the nightmares and became really worried. I don't remember much of what she told to me or the different remedies that we tried. All I know is that about six months in, she started to pray with me every night. The more we did, the calmer I felt when going to sleep, and the more the nightmares drifted away. Until one day, there were nightmares no more.

Now, I'm not saying it was prayer that took them away, at least not per se. I think it was the positive images and reassuring words that finally got to me. What intrigues me really is their origin and why then I became so intrigued by the unearthly. It is a passion that has always tugged on me, sometimes as a positive influence like in my writing, sometimes in a very negative way... but that is material for another post.

So, is it truly genetics all that pushes us? What amazing experiences shape us in all different ways and what brings them in the first place? Do you have one such amazing influence in your life? I can't wait to hear about it.

Enjoy your weekend!

Based on True Stories: A Nightmare on Elm Street

People in the writing business--and movie making--often say that there is nothing new under the sun. Every story is based on another story, on a real situation, on a century-old question. Everything that you can think of, someone has done before... talk about a downer. Truth is that original ideas are very hard to come by and after 2000 years of making up stuff, the well of new is not overflowing anymore.

But there is hope still. For those of us who like to create for a living, there are two possibilities. You are either one of those amazing minds that can still coop up the next best thing ever--Hello to all the Einsteins, Steve Jobs, and the like--or you can re-tell a known tale in an extraordinary way. And here is where Wes Craven and one of his master pieces, A Nightmare on Elm Street, come in.

For ages, males of Asian origin have been dying in their sleep. And I'm not talking about babies here, but full grown, perfectly healthy men. Depending on the country, there are a series of legends and demons that can be found responsible for such deaths. These countries' rich folklore has accounts as old as civilization and we, westerners, had no idea of how deeply rooted the fear of dying in your sleep was for the other side of the world. Until the late 1970s and early 1980s that refugees running away from their war-worn countries found their way into the USA.

As reported by the New York Times on May 9, 1981, The Federal Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta conducted "... an intensive inquiry into the manner in which 18 apparently healthy Laotian refugees died mysteriously in their sleep in this country within the last four years. One possibility being explored is that they were frightened to death by nightmares."

Surprised? I know I was--and more than a bit freaked out.

In the end the deaths were attributed to the Brugada Syndrome, where an apparently healthy man's heart (it is much more common among Asian men) fibrillates during sleep, causing a fatal arrhythmia, and death. And even though today we can diagnose the disease with an ECG, not every Nightmare Death Syndrome case (or Sudden Unexplained Death Syndrome, as it is known these days) can be explained in this way.

So, there you go, another freaky place where inspiration was found. But, if your not Asian, or male, don't feel too relieved, yet. After all, Freddy might still be lurking under you bed.



Have nice dreams. =)

Call for help. IWSG to the rescue

April is gone and we are now facing our May IWSG meeting. It's been a long time since I gave credit to the awesome ninja writer Alex Cavanaugh for being the master mind behind this group. There are hundreds of great writers posting about their insecurities, successes, and experiences on this day. If you want to find out more, you can alway click on the page I have dedicated to the group, or you can go directly to the source and find out bout the Captain Ninja yourself.

So, yes, it's already May. The year is going so fast! And I think it has been a very busy, very interesting year so far. I'm making an effort to stray from my comfort zones, and grow as a writer. I tried my first ever Creative Writing class with success and a few tears (refer to this post); I'm also writing more thrillers and noir stories, which have been lots of fun; and I even learned a few things about writing poetry. That last one was a bit painful, though, and I don't think I feel inclined to try that road again, at least not any time soon.

In general, I'd say I'm feeling positive about my writing these days, although there are always doubts and it's been too long since I have received an acceptance. Of course, then, I'm having a hard time letting the rejections slip off me and I'm not jumping to write the next submission letter as soon as I can. Still, I have a short story and three flash fictions doing the rounds and I'm trying to keep my faith in myself up. How? By writing more. I'm currently working on three more short stories and a novel. So I'm busy, and kinda happy.

And where does the 'support group' part of the post come in? Well, I need to ask you a favor. One of those stories I'm working on is a gothic horror and I'm stuck. I've been told that the story 'told' to much and 'showed' little, so I worked on that. I was also told that it was a bit 'baroque', meaning I needed to pair down the narrative, which I also did. Sadly, by now I just don't see the story anymore. The details are too familiar for me and I like too much to be any objective. I would love for a few critical eyes used to gothic style to give their opinions, but I just don't know anyone willing to break my heart and be blunt. So, the question for you: do you, or do you know of anyone who would like to help me? I can always pay with the same token... And with chocolate. Lots of chocolate. =)

Well, then, that's it for me. Now to you: Tell me how do you feel about your year so far? Is it going like you expected? And what do you do to keep your morale high?

I hope you have an excellent an inky May. Cheers!

World War Z and Zombie Poultry. The Real Life Story of Mike, the Headless Chicken

Zombies have been on top of the wave of public interest for quite some time now; some may say that for too long. Truth is the genre is fascinating but you can only spin the end of the world by the hands of mindless eating machines so many times. It's getting repetitive and boring. There will always be the hard-core fans, but to the general public, the wave is approaching the beach. Or is it, really? When one of the most popular actors of these times--Hello there, Brad Pitt!--stars in the movie adaptation of one of the most iconic zombie books of recent times, one might be inclined to think the fun has just begun.

But not me. I do think this wave is about to reach the beach, and in true wave fashion, it'll go with a huge splash. World War Z, the movie--which, may I say, looks AWESOME!--will cause the biggest splash, filling theaters with over-excited fans--like me. We'll surely get a few other, smaller splashes and then the genre will fade out for a few years. Hopefully. Not another Romero remake in at least a decade, let's hope...

But will zombies be forgotten? I don't think so. The zombie figure is a predominant one in our unconscious mind, and then there are all the strange occurrences; like the guy in Miami who ate another man on a busy highway in the middle of the day. Turns out he was under the influence of some kind of drug--what a shocker. Still, for a moment there I feared I might had postponed my bunker buying for a little too long. And there have been more similar incidences. But if that wasn't giving you nightmares, then the CDC decides to post an official memo on Zombie Preparedness... Nop, I think the fear of the dead is quite alive.

Mind you, I haven't bought that bunker just yet. Mostly because I'm penniless. And my neighborhood doomsday prepper is not that friendly.

Come to think of it, I may know just the story to inject the genre with a bit of liveness. A 'real life story' is always welcome in Hollywood, isn't it? So I give you the story of Mike, the headless chicken.

It happened in 1945 in a Colorado farm, when one fine morning Lloyd Olsen went out to his yard to kill a chicken for dinner. Now, Olson must have followed the same procedure a hundred times, yet he did a lousy job on this one. Turns out, his machete had missed the jugular vein and left most of the chicken's brain stem intact. So what is the sensible thing to do under such strenuous circumstances? Why, you name your chicken and take it to the carnival! As part of the sideshow.

Mike, the Headless Chicken had almost all of his basic functions, like walking, breathing, and having a pulse. He even attempted to crow, which must've been fun... not. Since he couldn't eat himself--having no beak can do that to you--he was fed via eyedropper. He lived 18 whole months like that, and now there is a yearly festival on his hometown to commemorate this hard to kill rooster.

How is this story any scary? Well, granted, Mike wouldn't be able to eat us--being headless and all--but it is freaky. And then it got me thinking... What if the next avian flu does to us what the skillful Olsen did to Mike? Albeit without the actual cutting. What if a new virus just kills enough of our brain that we can actually walk and eat without conscious thought left? Even if we didn't feed on each other, it would mean the end of our race. And that's scary...

So what do you say? Who wants to write the script?

Burned. What to Do When Even Your Teachers Laugh at You

A few weeks ago I was visiting the blogs that I follow, which I don't do as often as I should. One of the posts was about a crit class where this girl felt cheated because the praise she was receiving wasn't deserved... or so she thought. We banded together claiming we rather hear a blunt truth with a nice "I know you can do better", than an undeserved compliment.

Well, I got my wish, alright.

For the past seven weeks I've attended my first ever Creative Writing class at my local college. The first class was kind of odd because everyone writes more literary stuff and there I was, just spilling blood and guts everywhere... Right. Not the warm reception I was expecting, but alright. With every week I learned to tone down the horror and they learned more of my style. I really enjoy the class and it is challenging me to explore different areas of my creativity.

Now, because I know my style isn't really their thing but keep getting rave comments anyway, I suspected they would always find something nice to say, no matter how bad I sucked. Which was kind of disappointing, but I get it. This is a class targeted to weekend writers, not to people actively pursuing a life as a full time writer. As such, the teacher is more lenient and doesn't try to squeeze out of us a master piece by the end of the course. The one positive is that it gives you the sense of a 'safe environment' to try and experiment in other literary forms or genres.

So, I did just that. I presented a 'poem' to the class. Did I tell you I know nothing of poetry? Yeah, and I mean NOTHING. I didn't study English in school because in Mexico they teach Latin-American Literature. Aside from rhythm and rime, there is nothing in common between Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz and Frost, which I should have taken as the first warning against trying it. But I'm an idiot, and what's worse, I was ignorant. And that is a bad combination.

I knew my 'poem' wasn't good but I thought I'd take the chance to learn something new, and learn I did. First I learned that that silence can be very loud. I also learned that my teacher is very much capable of annihilate your piece, burn your soul, and eat your heart without so much as a blink.

The first thing that happened after the silence was my teacher thoughtfully commenting on how the piece was not a poem, but prose with a few words that rhymed. It needed to be chopped and trimmed a whole lot. Which was true and, though it hurt, I understood. Then she laughed at my 'naiveté'. The pseudo-poem was about my kids and how much I hoped they remembered me forever. It seems that sentiment is cute but unrealistic, and worthy of a space in a shelf next to Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny.

Yeah, she laughed. OUCH

After the shock, the group took my side. Clearly unhappy with her way of putting down my feelings, the group opted to say nice things like they got the feeling behind it, or that they thought it was good for a first try. Another girl went so far as to say she would try my way to write a first poem, going from wordy to trimmer by editing. The teacher tried to coax me to rhyme right there and then, which I simply couldn't do. Not only was I too embarrassed and feeling inadequate, but there's also the fact that I knew nothing of Iambic Pentameters, or whatever the hell she was saying. So the class went on to read another person's work and the teacher told me she expected a re-write of my poem by mail in the course of the week.

I got home, kinda told something to my hubby, and shed a couple of tears. Then I started reading about meters, rhyming, rhythm, and what the fuck was an Iambic Pentameter. I'm way far from knowing everything there is about poetry, but sure as hell I learned more today than I did while I wrote that thing. I don't condone the laughter but I totally understand that I have to study more before attempting a style. I'm hell-bent on getting the best out of the situation, and though I won't be reading the new version to the class, I'll send it to my teacher and I'll try to squeeze whatever knowledge I can of her in the small amount of time I have left.

So, my message is this: Blunt criticism is very hard to take and the fact that you think you're ready for it, doesn't make it any easier. It is, however, one of the best opportunities you'll have to grow. Take it, learn from your mistakes, and don't loose faith in yourself. You may suck at 'x' now, but with every time you try, with every question you ask, with every burn you take, you know more. One day you will be just as good as the one who burned you.

Enjoy your weekend!

Nature vs Nurture.

Hope everyone got a great long weekend to enjoy, celebrate (Easter, Passover, or simply the joy to be alive), and get a head start on your spring cleaning... which I did not. Clean, I mean. I mostly enjoyed the family and talked to friends. It was a breath of fresh air.

For my awesome friends at IWSG, it's April's time for a meeting and I hope you find yourselves welcoming a yet cold but still here spring. This time I'm taking a different approach to the meeting and instead of focusing on my insecurities, I want to share with you something a friend asked me over the past weekend.

She recently read my book, PERPETUAL NIGHT, and asked me about the protagonist, Lilibeth Royster. She wanted to know why I chose Lilibeth to be a teenager and if the story was really at its core about the age-old debate of Nature vs Nurture. Since this isn't the first time that a reader makes the conclusion that the story pitches in on the argument, I thought it'd be an interesting post to share.

Childhood is the period of time when our parents teach us everything we must know. When the building blocks are cemented in a firm foundation that'll carry our future. If we grow good or bad, at this point, depends on them. And here is where the Nurture vs Nature debate starts. 

I don't believe that one person is born evil or bad, in that sense I'm with the nurture side of the argument, but it is impossible to deny that there are genetics involved in most every psychological aspect of our personality. The depressive personality, the overachiever, the shy, the sociopath... genetics can't be set aside. But not every psychopath grows to be a killer. Not every shy person will be insecure. Where does the difference reside between your manipulating ex-boyfriend and Ted Bundy? Our environment, I think, makes a huge difference in what we do with the cards we were dealt.

For me, the trickiest part of growing up is surviving our adolescence. I made Lilibeth a teenager because that's the period of time when we become responsible of our own lives. Even with the best foundations and the best materials, a building can fail if badly built. In PERPETUAL NIGHT, Lilibeth is confronted with a world that treats her like a child, that is condescending and unforgiven. Gone are the years of fairies that'll give her money for her teeth. Santa is not real and Lilibeth, like every other teen, must accept that real life sucks and then move on.

Teens are neither kids nor adults, they feel isolated because they are. They don't know where the self begins and the parent ends.They are searching for themselves. They lash at a society that has no place for them. They oppose their parents because they need to assert themselves as individuals. 

I tell you, being a teen sucks. Then, at the risk of looking like a cruel god, what if the teen is put under extraneous circumstances? Can they be trusted to make the best decision? That's a question over which every parents looses sleep and that's where I put Lilibeth. I surrounded her with night terrors, visions, and the shadow of mental disease in the family. And a bad breakup, of course, since 90% of the worst decisions I ever took were made under the influence of a bad breakup.

So there you go, in my mind PERPETUAL NIGHT isn't a story about Nature vs Nurture. Lilibeth's neither a sociopath nor a psychopath. It is an analysis of ourselves, the 'normal' people. We all have within us a dash of egocentrism, a sense of entitlement, and can experience genuine moral conflict. And still none of us are free of making bad decisions that'll change the course of our lives. We are just lucky that our worst didn't impact our future. We are lucky to have survived our teens.

Share with me, were your teen years too hard? And where do you stand, nature, or nurture?

For more info on the book or to read an excerpt, go to Perpetual Night, ebook and don't forget to 'Look Inside'.

4 Writerly Tips From Hemingway

Writing is a private affair. Everyone has a personal style and what inspires you might be downright distracting to another. That's why I usually take every 'how to do' list with a grain of salt. However, reading this insightful work of Hemingway's stroke a cord with me in several different ways. His personna came alive to me and I could feel him, also there were a couple of points that I think I should follow. They work with my style and would help improving my connection to my stories, therefore improving my ability (however reduced) to tell them better.

So, hoping you will find your own discoveries in his words, I share with you just a few of my favorite tips in his own words.

1. To get started, write one true sentence.

"Sometimes when I was starting a new story and I could not get it going, [...] I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, "Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know." So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there. It was easy then because there was always one true sentence that I knew or had seen or had heard someone say. If I started to write elaborately, or like someone introducing or presenting something, I found that I could cut that scrollwork or ornament out and throw it away and start with the first true simple declarative sentence I had written."

2. Always stop for the day while you still know what will happen next.

"The best way is always to stop when you are going good and when you know what will happen next. If you do that everyday when you are writing a novel, you will never be stuck."

3. Never think about the story when you're not working.

"That way your subconscious will work on it all the time. But if you think about it consciously or worry about it you will kill it and your brain will be tired before you start."

4. When it's time to work again, always start by reading what you've written so far.

"The best way is to read it all every day from the start, correcting as you go on from where you stopped the day before. When it gets so long you can't do this every day read back two or three chapters each day; then each week read it all from the start. That's how you make it all of one piece."

So there you go. There are much more words of wisdom in this book but I cut it to the four that spoke to me the most. Which has been the advise that has touch you the most? Doesn't have to be Hemingway, it could be your hubby, friend, or mom. Share it if you like, I'm always open to wisdom no matter the form.

Enjoy the first weekend of spring! However cold and frozen it may be... =)