Tradition, Change, and Holidays

There is something good about all seasons, and this, of course, is the beauty of fall, the pumpkins burning, the decorations, and the coming of good food, family, cheerful holidays, and the snow, which transfixes, hypnotizes, and sends me into a trance. Sometimes, I think something very bizarre and magical happened to me as a kid in the snow, and now, though I can't quite remember it, has left some long-lasting, subconscious effect. I simply love it. There is magic in all that white powder.

Aside from all that, though, I've been in a bizarre mood lately. Mom gave me word today that there is no longer a trace of cancer remaining in her system. Everyone has kept their fingers crossed, worn their pink ribbons, their pink bracelets, and prayed. Though, she still needs to be monitored, there is music in her voice. She is laughing like a loon. This has nothing to do with my own mood, though, I'm extremely happy for her.

It has been an interesting, odd year. How many of you can feel the changes as life moves by, the shifts in the air? It seems, for me, there is always some new perspective, some new thought to grasp, a new understanding about life, the universe, people, and all its little mysteries, nuances, and understandings. Sometimes the past can be a treacherous place, a reflection where very little shines, and it's not difficult to remain wedged there, stuck like some helpless child. Some of us need a little push in the right direction, and I am no exception.

I'm always on the lookout. That is, it seems hard to go through life without comparing yourself to others, resenting the past, or wondering why God put you here in these shoes instead of some one else's, things that could easily drive you mad if you aren't careful. It's hard to be grateful the things you have, no matter how little or how great. I guess a lot of that has to do with simplification, and understanding yourself and your life as much as you can. Accepting yourself, your position in society, and being okay with it. Everybody always wants more than what they have.

In writing, like in life, we express how we feel, and I have a tendency to get philosophical in my own pompous, pontifical sort of way. Maybe its the religion from years ago (which I fell away from), but still has a tendency to linger. Maybe it's the battles with personal demons, and the hope that I've conquered them to live a better life. What a better way to express the darkness of the past than through a dark tale? What I do know is that what works for me doesn't work for everybody else. You go through life by trial and error, and learn enough about yourself to understand what works for you, and what doesn't. Whatever it is, doesn't matter.

Lately, a new focus has taken shape, one I hope has a little more clarity than others before. Things don't seem as problematic, let alone, as dramatic as they used to, perhaps because other peoples problems, or the problems of the world seem vastly more important than mine. It's a good life here in the institution. I use that line comically, because I used it in one of my tales. But it is no longer, nor has it ever really seemed an institution now that I think about it. The prison I lived in, like for everybody, was of my own making.

I haven't been as disciplined sending out submissions. I sit here and think about all the novels I have behind me that have never seen the light of day, the short stories, the genres, the cross genres, the fantasy, the horror, even some coming of age, idyllic tales more of a wholesome quality. I think about the years I've gone over these novels and stories, the rewrites, the editing, the polishing, the pain, the rewards, the satisfaction, the tears as well. I think about my divorce, the religion, the failed relationships, the personal demons and hell, and I feel like I have a strong foundation to base a lot of ideas off of. I've been lucky to have this driving force to continue to express--for no real reason than because I love it. I do it for me, like you do it for you, and I put everything into it I can, like you do, and nothing makes me happier. It is--as perhaps a poet would say--a place among the stars.

Nevertheless, the tales that get penned now are not anything like what are at bloodredtales. Sure, they have their darker moments of emotion, their sadnesses, even their mental imbalances, but things change, and sometimes new perceptions allow room for newer ideas, perhaps bigger, grander, more emotional, meaningful, or long-lasting ideas. The dark is always home, a place I can go, love and appreciate. They always have room for me there, and often, when I've been away too long, I'm anxious to get back to some traditional roots.

Speaking of tradition, I've gone back to writing by hand, an intimate, virtually romantic way of getting closer to the words and the art. Purer, too, I guess. I've been reading Dickens, Poe, Hawthorne, James, even Jane Austen again, which I love because these people are our models. For people like you and me, it's hard to imagine life without them. I can't believe I forgot how beautiful A Tale of Two Cities was, or Dracula, not only as good as I remember it, but even better the second time around. Poe always has something new to teach me. There is simply abundance in each of his tales. This is why we keep the books on the shelves, I think. We don't want them, quite literally, to ever leave us. I could go on and on. For me, it's these classic stories and the language they are told in, something we just don't see these days, except by a talented, chosen few. The authors who pen lyrically, (Jonathan Carroll, Ramsey Campbell, Peter Straub--just to name a few) seem to take us back to their original love and appreciation for these writers of old. They do it in a contemporary way. What poetry! I think it's vitally important to remember, especially as writers. Of course, I'm just assuming here.

But back to the mood-thing, and why I'm writing this. I guess I don't feel the same as I do, say, five years ago, or even as short as a year. This is change in a good way, though. I might not know the exact reason for it, but I do know that. Still, it seems strange, like I'm always scrutinizing myself, always on the lookout, trying to figure out more about life and how to get a better handle on it. The American Dream...? I work full time, come home to a bachelor lifestyle, watch all the hockey I can ingest, read all I want, and write when the true inspiration hits. Not a bad way to go through each day, if I do say so myself.

The reason I talk about all this is because I fail to see it sometimes. I think about all the other things I'd rather not go into now, but the most important things are there. The writing, the reading, the leisure, and the relaxing time a body needs to recharge. Publication has opened a little door, and though rejections still bombard me, like I'm sure they do you, I always find the energy to send one off at the post office, or click the button, via email.

I want to thank everybody who has spent time at BloodRedTales and read the stories. You have no idea what this does for me. Many of you have contacted me personally and said some very nice things. Thank you for that. I might be shedding some tears after all this, because I am rather sensitive to this sort of thing. So thank you.

Also, I know the tales here have been up for a while, and its probably time I posted some new ones, but the fact is, I never realized having my own stories on the web was considered published until after the website had been designed. That was just me being naive. And, of course, now that they're up, no one will publish them except as reprints, and even that is hard to do. So, though I have maybe a hundred other tales, I thought it best getting those into other avenues. Besides, these tales are only a very, very small handful. Maybe you have some suggestions. If so, I'm all ears.

Anyway, now that this it's done, I realize it was something I needed to get off my chest, something I needed to express in order to bring us closer. That was my inspiration. I feel better having done it whether I came to a conclusion or not. I come to my own. You come to yours. I think that's good enough for both of us.

Here's to you and yours during the upcoming holidays. Be safe and festive!

We'll see you next time, friends, and thanks for stopping by.

Happy Halloween!

And so the Halloween season is upon us. Here's to hoping you had a fabulous summer and all your schoolwork is going well. The house is decorated with goblins and ghouls, and the horror movies or coming out a little more often at my house. I like to let them play as I write. I'm not so distracted by the screaming. Makes me laugh, actually. Monsters growling, girls screaming. Is there a better form of entertainment?

I want to take this time to thank Professor Delphinius "J.C." Tucker, for the kindness he showed me and the kind words he said, which can be found at:
http://delphinius.atwaz.com/Conservatory/archive_jul08.php

What kind words! Thank you, Professor, and Cheers!

I just wanted to say have a safe and Happy Halloween as well, and for the Anthologies who published me this year. I'm proud to be a part of it, and hope for more publishing success. It's been a good year. Here's to you, horror fans, music fans, artists in general the world over. Keep expressing!

Some Time Away...

I just got back from eight days of fun in the sun in Sun Valley, Idaho at Anderson Lake. Ever been there? It's beautiful. Part Hemingway country, and the lake is massive, almost three hundred feet deep in some spots. My mother has finished (hopefully) the roughest part of her cancer treatments. God bless you, mom! She looked rosy and healthy and a few pounds heavier. I mean that in a good way, mother. I'll hear about that one later.

The kids got together for mom's sake, waterskiing, dirt biking, good food, camp fire, full moon, plenty of stars, and lots of laughter. It was good to get away. My first few days back to work, I was still on the lake. We saw a bald eagle, chased it in the boat for a while as it flew over the water. Deer ran everywhere, even a couple of bucks. My brother, being the snake charmer he is, went hunting snakes and had some luck.

The water was perfect, 74 degrees. I got on the wake board for the first time, and when I wasn't feeling cocky, switching and trying to cut the water, I made a few face plants. Ouch! That'll jog you back to reality. But I was ready to go again when the boat came around.

It definitely recharged the batteries. I feel a little calmer, not high strung like I did before I went. (Mainly because of work. Whoever said working in a bookstore was easy? The phone rings constantly. I can't believe how many people don't know where Mark Twain is) I had some personal demons to face on my own, I suppose, and it wasn't really an effort. One night, I took a walk out with my Uncle, who'd come down from California, and we stared at the full moon while standing on the dam. I loved the way the moon illuminated the hills to every side. Scorpio was barely visible to the south. I'm a Scorpio, so I notice things like that. I had some private moments, thinking about life, where I was then, and where I am now, and if anything was perfect, it was then. I had no qualms. I was just glad to be with my family, my brothers and sister, my nieces, and my mom and uncle. Even my sister's boyfriend, George, came along. He introduced me to some Otep. George is a great guy. Everyone likes him.

As all was said and done, like all vacations, it went by way too fast, and the next thing I knew, I was home again, back at work. I started a new story, relaxed in to the lateness of summer, and gradually watched the college students come back into town. It was a great way to end the summer.

Here's hoping you had similar adventures and great memories this summer!

Blood Red Tales Gets A Makeover

Since Blood Red Tales has been up, lots has happened. I don't know where to begin. I've met some great people, had some great help, got published in a couple of respectable anthologies, and heard from some fans. Blood Red, in that time, has gotten a makeover. Some of the tales could always be better, but not only have the tales been polished since, I've been fortunate to talk with some great and very kind artists. Their work is displayed, with links on my About The Author page, as to where to find more. It has been an exciting year. And I'm still trying to get more exposure, more publications, and meet new people. For everyone who helps, you have to help someone else. That's the rule. Blood Red Tales is not just about fiction. It's about great artwork and spreading light in dark places. It might be dark and bloody content, but that doesn't mean we can't have some laughs and help others along the way. After all, a dark sense of humor is healthy.

Check out some of the prints, if you are so inclined, and drop those artists an email. We're all in this together. Bringing passion to life.
Later....

Art As Teacher

The funny thing about life and its relation to horror...Or, in this case, art, which we all know reflects life, and vice-versa. As artists, honesty is essential. Without it, where does your art go? Does it fade into the shallow confines of one dimensional expression and fail to skim the surface of catharsis? Without the pain of honesty, no true creation can touch another's life. Of course, there are artists who do not create for others, let alone show the world their work. I create for myself, but still want to show the world my work, so I would like to meet these people and have coffee with them. We could chat about our inner demons, our life-long quest to create, to learn, to pursue. Maybe we could learn a few things about each other along the way.

I'm not talking solely about horror, of course, but art in all categories, genres, and sub-genres. The canvas, music, sculpting, photography, along with writing, and every art form imaginable reflects. It's a mirror. I think as true artists, those who are unafraid to say how they feel, express their honesty no matter how detrimental it may be to them as people or their state of mind. They could care less what you think of them as people. They want their art understood, appreciated. They want you to see them as artists, learn about them through their art. Of course, being a decent person isn't bad either. Hitler was an artist, too, and well...you get the picture.

Artists provide us with something sacred, vital, allowing us to see inside them in ways they can only express through art. This is not only catharsis, in my opinion, but the definition of beauty. Artists are accepting this risk when embarking on the quest, and it's a risk worth taking, at least for the artist. You sacrifice for the sake of the art. Hemingway said "Experience makes the writer," but of course, it applies to all artists, and not just writers. So, this little spiel (not that I know what the hell it's really about, I just felt compelled to write) is something along the lines of honesty, acceptance, pain, and creativity. So, to teach, to learn, we experience pain, the coldness of bleak isolation, the sorrow and anguish of wracking sobs. Yes, it's the old cliche, ladies and gentleman--or underground dwellers--as the case may be. Pain is the greatest teacher, but luckily, as artists, we have an outlet for the confusion, sadness, and turmoil. As to it's relation to horror or art, well, that's where I begin to move this little exercise into a darker abyss.

Like any level of catharsis, some of the greatest work speaks louder through darkness, pain, and sorrow. At least, maybe this is why it reached me on the level it did. Horror made me realize I wasn't alone, and at the time, that was just what little Brandy-boy needed. And let's face it, growing up, we experience nothing but pain. In order to express, I thought loneliness, pain, sadness, and emotional anguish were best expressed through horror. And why not throw in a bleak winter landscape, maybe some freezing rain, just for effect. Ah, now you've got it! The point, I suppose, is that horror--like anything dark or evil--can be therapeutic, thus the catharsis. The blacker the tale, the deeper the understanding; at least I always believed this. Life comes at you hard and unexpected. Sometimes, it can be rude, humbling, and humiliating. Sadness moves, it wracks the body, but it can cleanse. And when it does, there might be enough space for clarity to shift the mind into another perception, or dimension, depending on your preference. Maybe you learn. Maybe you don't. It's a theory based on trial and error, and even as people, (you don't have to be an artist) we're able to appreciate and understand that. The beauty, I supposes, lies in the fact that art, like life, is our teacher, and, of course, vice-versa. We are all artists, in some way, in the painful throes of expression. Life humiliates, shames, pains, and confuses us. So, we cry, but no one hears us. We ache, but no one cares. Until some fateful occurrence, where the possibility presented itself that we touched someone's life. Maybe it made them cry, laugh, or shudder with fear. It doesn't matter. Emotion was evoked. The song had been sung. The tale is done.

As people, as artists, we've bowed as we've left the stage. We've poured our gratitude out and back again. We might be smiling on the inside, but, also, we are weeping torrential currents of light and tears. Life and art hold power. Fearlessness is part of the ingredient, I think. To be unafraid of where your mind takes you. Such a fine fine line, my friends, and perhaps dangerous. Are you willing to take the risk? Well, isn't that why you signed on in the first place? I think it has something to do with sharing the blackest part of you, and not harming, but helping others because of your experiences, pain, and vision. Some have brighter visions, some darker. Both are just as capable of teaching us something new.

I guess, that's enough of a soapbox. Can I get a pompous cheer? Like an evangelical tirade through blogs of horror. That wasn't my intention.

With life, comes pain. With art, comes redemption. Or so we hope. (Maybe a better title would be Philanthropy Through Art. And horror, too.) We learn through both, as painful as it is. The risk you signed on for when you made the commitment. Lessons come in all shapes and sizes. But you don't have to be afraid. Imagination as a lie? A fairy-tale? For shame! I don't think so! There's more realism going on under the shadow of fabrication. Does this mean--as an artist--you are allowed only pain? I don't think I can answer that. All you can do is build a kingdom. We have worlds inside us. Make it real. Teach us what we need to know...

LAST DRESSER DRAWER

Here's a complimentary tale that was published in 7th Dimension, but apparently, is no longer alive and well. 7th Dimension, that is. Hope you like it. It's a short, flash read. And I would love to hear what you think.

LAST DRESSER DRAWER

I come into my apartment and notice the smell, like wet pennies. I flick on the light. It’s small, my apartment. I go to the drawer and open it. There are many drawers, and they are all the same. I open the drawer to Confession and Lies. I see one of my eyes staring at me as it floats in a pool of blood. I didn’t know their eyes could float, now mine because I own them. It surprises me every time. Some of her black hair is in there still, too. The strands make scarlet webs on the outside of the drawer. People think it’s just the way I’ve decorated.

I can’t let anyone see this! What if they start to suspect? My friends are loyal, however, and I trust them.

I dip my hand in the blood and bring a mouthful to my lips. The lights go out, and I am enveloped in total blackness.

I take the mouthful anyway, tasting hair between my teeth. I rub my face in it and close the drawer. I hear the blood slop over the drawer and onto the floor, splattering my feet.

In the dark, I wipe my hands on my coat, adding to the other bloodstains there. I go to the bathroom, turn on the light, and look at myself in the mirror. I smile. I take the black ink out of the bathroom cabinet and paint my eyes and teeth.

I can’t live this way with anyone else. I am all that I can live with. That is enough.

“Villain,” I say to my frightening reflection. “Look at you with blood on your lips.”

I smile, painting my face, wondering when they’ll catch up with me.

Panicking, I finally remember to go to the door and lock it.

“Did you put her body away?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers.

“Where are her toes?”

“In the silverware drawer. The one above your favorite.”

“That was the one I was just at.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s why I put out the light.”

I look around, shaking my head. That was close!

“What did you do with her teeth?”

“I ate them.”

“Amanda? Susan?”

“In the cellar behind the wall.”

“Here,” I say. “Help me with the others.”

He helps, and we get the rest of them downstairs.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“Someone’s pounding on the door!”

“Don’t answer it!”

“What if it’s the police?”

“Tell them you’re in the shower.”

I run upstairs to the bathroom. I paint my face black, rub blood on my hands and face, adding to the color from one of the many drawers.

“Police!” I hear through the door. “Open up!”

I stamp my bloody hands on the cupboards and walls, the refrigerator as I go.

Don’t panic! I think. Don’t panic!

I open the door and put on a winning smile. Blood drips down my chin.

He’s standing there big and authoritative. He’s all dressed in dark blue like the rest of them.

“’Heard about a disturbance down here. Everything all right?”

I nod, pretending to be puzzled. Disturbance? Harmless me? What on Earth could I possibly do?

“What kind of disturbance?”

“Loud noises. Things like that. Bumpin’ and thumpin’. You been jumpin’ up and down?”

I shake my head vigorously.

“No, sir.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Hmmm.”

He looks around, eyeing the apartment.

“Just who are you trying to be, anyway?”

I shrug.

“Little obsession of mine. Like to paint my face. Sometimes, I…”

“Yeah yeah. Just keep it to yourself, buddy.”

I nod.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well,” he says, eyeing the apartment again. “Just try to keep it down, will ya?”

“Yes, sir.”

He looks at me, giggles at my make-up, and shakes his head. He turns, walking back to the patrol car, which is parked under the street lamp. I shut the door.

“Whew!” I say, locking it. “That was close.”

“What did he say?”

I didn’t even know he had come upstairs.

“Nothing. Just to keep it down.”

I look around.

“Well,” he says. “I thought you had a date?”

“I do,” I say. “I was trying to get ready before he knocked on the door.”

“What are you going to wear?”

“Something nice. She’s taking me out, she said.”

“Lucky you.”

I make sure some of the drawers are empty, but I find only one left.

“I thought you were going to buy another dresser. We need another dresser.”

“I’ve been busy. Quit hounding me!”

“Sorry.”

I look through the closet, push a body aside, and find something nice to wear.

“Oh, she was nice,” I say, reminiscing.

“Janice,” he says. “Her name was Janice.”

“Hey, is this okay?”

I turn around, but he’s gone. I go to one of the drawers, finding something to tie around my neck.

“Where the hell did he go?” I ask myself.

New Tales Available!

I'm pleased, proud, privileged, honored--you name it--to announce the release of Twisted Tales 3, and the Abominations Anthology. Both are featuring tales I'm rather proud of and have worked hard on over the years. When I first dabbled in horror, I was bombarded with short story ideas I thought were original, exciting, and literary. I fell in love with a lot of these ideas and tried--over the years--to hone my craft around these tales. In other words, I tried to find my voice through these particular horror stories. We had been through a lot together, and I always thought of stories, especially the short story, as children. You nurture them, shape them; you get them ready to face the world and send them off, hoping for the best. I'd rewritten, lost, resurrected, and rewrote these tales probably hundreds of times. And as many times as I wanted to let go of them, I knew there was more work to do, so I went after them all again. Each time, it was like reliving something special that I loved. I loved these stories, and I didn't--in some aspects--want to let them go. Each time I worked on them was a special time for me. I loved being there; I loved getting to the end, and I loved feeling the proud, fatherly satisfaction of what it may be (I'm just assuming) to be proud of one's children. In a span of fifteen plus years, I grew to love these tales in ways I'd never thought, saw them gain shape in ways I never imagined. Some of those tales like Richard Korbett, Barriers, and Silly Girl were among the first. They were difficult and challenging, at times insanely frustrating, but always worth it. What child isn't? I wanted them to be the best they could be. The Ghost of Korrim McKarthy (Twisted Tales 3) and Mosquito (Abominations) were among these original ideas. I can't tell you what it means to me to see them in print. The rest of the original horror story ideas are still hidden, waiting to see the light of day. I'll just have to be patient, but we're working on it. Anyway, if you were so inclined, the links are on the www.bloodredtales.com main page, if you haven't noticed them already. Of course, any support is always greatly appreciated, and I am open for you to tell me what you think. Just drop me a line.
Signing out.

P.S. Twisted Tales 3 is available as an ebook and a paperback. If you want the paperback, you will have to click on the Amazon link. Thanks again everybody. Hope you like tales!

The Latest from the Front Office...

It wasn't easy getting rid of the St. Patrick's Day Girl. I'm a sucker for pin-ups, though, so Happy Spring Cleaning, Everyone!

Also, it hasn't been easy keeping these posts updated the way I should, either. Between work, writing, submitting, and playoff hockey, I get bogged down. I know I'm not the only one, and who knows how many people really read this anyway. I've been working on another novel called Castle Juliet, which is anything but horror, dedicated to a very dear friend of mine, Diane Evans. Through lives and worlds away, sometimes we imagine living many lifetimes with our closest friends, and Castle Juliet is no exception. It is the story of a boy and girl, both ten, and both the best of friends. I wanted to get away from horror for a bit and try something bright and more uplifting, so I spent the winter reading Dickens and working on this novel. It is about 99.9% completed without a publisher. I'll shop around for it a bit more later, perhaps.

Anyway, the Twisted Tales III anthology is soon available. Here is a pretty cool link where you can check out an excerpt from one of my tales, the cover of the anthology, and anything else that might tickle you in all the right places. http://www.double-dragon-ebooks.com/single.php?ISBN=1-55404-567-3

I was pretty excited they used my tale for the excerpt. I recommend reading the story out loud during a camp out, in the middle of the dark, silent wilderness with all of your friends.

Also, I was lucky enough to get another story accepted by Timothy Deal for the Abominations Anthology. Their theme is creatures and critters, so I sent them Mosquito, a little vacation trip to Florida--that, of course, goes terribly awry. My ode to Dracula tale. Anyway, thank you so much Timothy, for accepting the tale! It's one I'm rather proud of.

Also, for this blog, I thought I'd give an idea of what I've been doing lately. For those who haven't read The History of Love by Nicole Krauss, I urge you to do so. Simply a beautiful story. Also Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Foer is worth the read. I've been in memoir mode lately, too. I've thoroughly enjoyed Touching the Void, Into Thin Air, Manic by Terri Cheney, The Quiet Room, Pete Hamil's, A Drinking Life, Lucky by Alice Sebold, and The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls, which is simply amazing. Some of these are older titles I'm sure you've read. I'm still trying to catch up on what are popular but worth-the-read- titles. The beauty of literature is that there's always great stuff to read, and you can never catch up.

On the movie front, I recommend Martian Child, the film starring John Cusack. Yes, I know it's not horror, but just bear with me. On the horror front, The Ruins was pretty tasty, too, though I still haven't read the book. I simply couldn't wait. There's a great scene from up above of the town going berserk in 30 Days of Night you might enjoy. I was impressed. Also, The Orphanage, though a while back, was flat out creepy. I highly recommend it, and it won't kill you to read the subtitles.

The main priority these days is writing and submitting, paying the bills, and staying well fed, which I hope you're all doing as well. I've decorated the house with horrifying cinematic movie posters, which is also something I've wanted to do for a long time. "Hello Girls!" I always say to the pin-ups when I come home. (The Elvgren prints, like the Spring Cleaning above. Give me a little credit, will ya?) Hockey corner is by the television, and the gourmet coffee is always brewing. Sometimes, I opt for hot chocolate. Just because it's spring, doesn't mean there isn't still snow in Colorado. It's a good life, and I'm smiling more now than ever before. I'm a lucky man...

With that, I hope you are well, my little underground dwellers. We'll see you next time...

How Do You Like Your Horror?

The stories here at BloodRed are, I hope, a decent example of my theory concerning the horror story. That's not to sound egotistical. Horror story? End in Horror. I love horror, so I write horror according to my own theories, philosophies, and beliefs. Hopefully, the tales here express those theories and beliefs. And the theory is quite simple: if horror is the genre, then horror it should be throughout the tale: beginning, middle, and end. Pretty obvious, at least to me, but not always the case. And not everyone agrees, as some of my peers have mentioned. But the formula is simple, and usually spot on every time. Horror tale? Make it end in horror? You will be pleased with the results. At least, this is what I tell myself, but it doesn't always ring true in every case. After all, there are a lot of stories in the world, and some need their own genres and sub-genres to classify them.

Over time we've all seen some great horror movies--read some great stories, novels, short stories, only to see them turn bad because of the nice, pretty little package all tied up like a sparkling rainbow under an equally sparkling Christmas Tree. It's like the Care Bears visits Night of the Living Dead. Not a good combo. Usually this happens to satisfy the reader or viewer, who is not always a fan of the horror genre. As a fan of horror, of course, I'm not satisfied. In fact, I'm slightly repulsed. Aren't you?

Let's take the word Horror, what it suggests, the way it looks in BlockBuster Video in that particular section, so different than Drama, Action Adventure, Science Fiction, and Comedy. Horror stands alone. It should live up to its name, that simple one word, so ghastly, so lovable, so capable of making all its fans smile.

There are times the wrapped-up endings (pretty and proper) is appropriate, but a horror story with a happy ending doesn't seem a horror story--a story that is horrifying throughout, filled with darkness, death, blood, and monsters, only to have the main characters fall in love, defeat the antagonist (whatever that might be), kiss...then eventually fade to black. Yes, this happens. We've all seen it. Horror Story? Or Love Story with dark elements and monsters throughout? Hmmm.

Pet Sematary by Stephen King is a great example of the perfect Horror Story. Just as the movie, The Evil Dead, the short story The Tell-Tale Heart by Poe, all fine examples of traditional horror. Granted, there are exceptions to every rule. Jacob's Ladder, for example, starring Tim Robbins--an incredible horror movie,even with the "brighter-salvation-like" ending. It fits the rest of the story. But as far as traditional terror goes, horror, fear, death, blood and madness, all leave a perfect, pretty, bright scar in the end. Scars that warp the mind in a nice way for fans like us. Characters can live, but they must go mad, or lose all hope in order for the ''horror" to deliver. Drama goes beyond drama and compassion when we create unforgettable characters we love, only to have horrifying things happen to them in the end. This isn't a cop-out. This is reality, a lesson in blood. The horror story is teaching us something here, that life isn't always sweet and romantic. For those who love the genre, we already know this. The horror story is a lesson, helping us prepare for the terrifyingly unexpected, a powerful concept in any story, but especially horror. Horror stories fail to focus on character development and instead focus on the horror itself. A great failing, I believe, and thankfully, not true in all cases. Despite how supernatural the tale may be, hints of realism still exist, making for a more believable tale, a more effective and memorable horror story. Jeepers Creepers (just an example) failed at this because the characters were unlikable, mainly the sister (her name escapes me). Why should we care about character we don't like? I remember watching the movie, unable to contain my excitement, predicting when she would die. I hated her, the way she talked, the way she acted, and I WANTED HER DEAD! Imagine my disappointment to find out she was one of the characters left standing in the end. Other than this, it would have been a great movie. Some horror, unfortunately, is a cop out. A sad reality for fans like you and me, who want the horrifying ending.

Traditional horror is on the rise, however; the comebacks are on the way, the dreaded, horrifying conclusions leaving us in a state of breathless shock. This is the goal of the tale. Wide eyes. Paling skin, a nice little scar when we walk out of the theater, or put down that book, making us laugh because we have a twisted sense of humor. Horror becomes comedy for us. The laugh we deliver watching the madness is actually a sound of praise. Do you do this? This is the goal--at least when it comes to that precious art form, "The Horror Story."

Anxious to deliver your two cents? I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions on this topic, and why you agree or disagree, like or dislike, or have a fetish for both. You can bludgeon me with my own naivete, my lack of understanding, even, but don't be surprised if that bludgeoning comes back to you in another form. After all, the horror tale in the form of revenge is--though a cliche--still running strong.

Our Little Secret...

Well, a little Bloody Valentine news is here to inspire those horror writers who may be reading this. The article on the woman was found by my good Agent Nelson, who thought news briefs, related to BloodRedTales, might be a good way to keep the sight updated, and I have to agree. So, thank him for the article. Any news you may have on your own blood drinking experiences will be greatly appreciated here. Do I have any of these fetishes myself? Well, maybe I shouldn't share those with you, though, I am working on creating a Dracula-like setting in my own home, mainly the bedroom, of course. Red and Black, oh, my brothers and sisters! But I assure you, I would never drink my fair maiden's blood, nor chase her down the street with a pick-axe should she try to run away. I wouldn't mind if she had fangs and pale skin, however. Besides, I plan on keeping the ladies around, and I think acting like a gentleman is the sure-fire bet to do such a thing. I think the traditional roses and chocolates are the way to go. Then, again, this is the new millennium, and people are getting weirder and weirder by the day. Me? I keep the blood and dementia inside my dark, cryptic brain where it belongs. I write, so I don't have to act out these little fantasies. It's safer that way, and I have an image to uphold. What that image is, of course, well, let's just make that our little secret, shall we?