![]() Always death.Īs I read about horror, my own fear of it grew smaller. I traced the particular patterns of American fears through eras of filmmaking. I read Tippi Hedren’s memoir and then dug deeper into the dark, abusive figure that was Hitchcock. I read about common tropes and genre luminaries. Then-being a history buff and being too scared to read any horror novels just yet-I got into the history of the genre. The main character: an opinionated, queer tribute to Wednesday Addams. ![]() The plot: the disappearance of the preacher’s daughter (who happens to be the main character’s crush). ![]() Satanic Panic-a time of extreme fear (and extreme ridiculousness). First, I cobbled together the story itself. It had every hallmark: the questions about what was and wasn’t real, the creepy, unnatural child, the forest that just might swallow you up.Īnd for me that begged a question: could I intentionally write one? If this book was horror, was horror something I was naturally drawn to? And-just perhaps-if I stopped trying to avoid the genre, would I find something there that spoke to my soul?Īs that first horror manuscript made its way to editor inboxes, I took up the challenge in those questions, plotting the novel that would become my YA debut: The Wicked Unseen. And it was true that this particular book was based on a European ghost story. It was true that my stories had monstrous villains. It was true that I didn’t shy away from true crime or thrillers, even when they skewed darkly toward horror. Because it was true that I wrote about things that horrified me. I called my best friend (who also chortled)-and then I paused. ![]() Horror? Ha! I, Miss Scaredy-Pants, was writing horror? ![]()
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