I Love Horror

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I Love Horror

This is no fantasy. This is no fallacious delusion of a sick, twisted

mind. This is the honest-to-God truth. I love horror novels. Stephen

King and Edgar Allen Poe are my idols. Perhaps having these two, demented

madmen as my personal mentors sounds sick, but I tend to think as they do.

Most of my writings are short stories of horror (usually about the length

of Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart" and "The Masque of the Red Death"). My

friends often ask me four questions: "Why do you not publish some of your

work?" and "Where do you get your ideas from?" and "What is it like writing

this horror stuff?" and "Why do you like writing horror stories?"

First, I do not publish my work because it's mine. I know this sounds

selfish, but I'm being honest. A part of my personality goes into my work

and I feel if people read enough of my work, they will discover certain

personal feelings I would prefer to keep private.

-- Honesty Check...I also think my work sucks. --

As to where I get my ideas from for my sick excursions, I sincerely do

not know. Like Stephen King (who got the idea to write IT when looking off

of a bridge) I seem to receive my mad phantasms out of thin air. For

example, when I first began writing the first draft of this essay, I

started out writing about writing horror stories and ended up writing a

short story about a vampire in London. It is safe to say I get ideas out

of thin air.

When I do capture the intangible, I literally feel a rushing sensation

in my head! I feel like a kid on a roller coaster. I feel astonished,

excited, and hyper. Quite often my mother will stick her head into my

room because she wants to find out what I'm giggling about. I usually tell

her I'm thinking about a joke I heard on T.V. -- how can I tell my mother

I'm laughing about a clever killing scene I've just visualized, or the

thought of some damsel being chased by the bogeyman?

After giving my mother further reason to worry about my sanity, I sit
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