ARTICLE VIA LITREACTOR | COLUMN BY RICHARD THOMAS

In my opinion, two of the hardest genres to write are horror and comedy. Why? Because both are so subjective. What might make one person laugh will leave another unaffected, and what will scare the hell out of one person will leave another bored. So know that you are taking on a difficult task when writing horror. But as there are millions of books sold every year by the masters of the genre, there is obviously an audience for dark fiction. In this month’s column I’ll try to share some of my experiences with writing horror, and hopefully give you some good advice on how to craft your horrific tales.

THE MASTERS

In Stephen King’s book, On Writing, he says that the only way to be a real writer is “to read a lot and write a lot.” And it’s that way with horror, as it is with any other genre. You must be familiar with those that came before you, the classics as well as contemporary authors. So take a moment to think about what names pop into your head when you think of horror. I of course think of the aforementioned Stephen King, the best selling horror author of all time. I grew up reading King and believe that if you want to be a great storyteller, you could do worse than to familiarize yourself with his work. Not all of his novels are what I’d call horror, though, or at least, the classic definition of horror. But I can remember being terrified while reading The Shining as a young boy, and other books like Salem’s Lot, The Long Walk, Pet Sematary, and It certainly have moments of terror. Some other names that come to mind are Clive Barker, for his violence and lyrical prose, Peter Straub, for his intelligence and literary voice, and Jack Ketchum, for his unwillingness to look away. Richard Laymon, F. Paul Wilson, Robert McCammon, Dean Koontz, Joe R. Lansdale, Richard Matheson, and H. P. Lovecraft- the list is endless. And don’t sleep on lesser known authors like Stephen Graham Jones, Paul Tremblay, and Jeremy C. Shipp, either. Just browse the horror section of your local bookstore, or see what Amazon suggests in relationship to your past purchases, or ask your friends. The bottom line is that you need to see what has come before you, study it, and then find a way to create your own voice.

YOUR VOICE

When it comes to horror, you also need to think about what kind of story you want to tell. A common link across the wide range of horror stories out there is the idea of something being scary. A situation, creature or event that is terrifying, unique, and unsettling. You need to think about how you want to scare people. Are you hoping to tap into primal fears, and by illustrating these common, everyday horrors, frighten your audience by reminding them of what darkness is around them at all times? Maybe you are looking for psychological horror then, a story that is the adding up of information to create a larger picture. Do you want to show horrific events, including all of the blood, gore and physical violence that comes with those moments? Then maybe you are looking to write splatterpunk, or graphic horror. Are you looking to build a world of zombies, to tell a story about something that lurks in the pond, in the woods, in the basement? Is there a component of sex, lust and the erotic that is important to your work? Or do you like to write about bizarre situations, events and people? The surreal? Just be aware of what you are doing, and then go back and study the masters of those individual styles. You don’t always have to write the same kind of horror story, but just keep in mind your goals when sitting down to write.

TENSION

When I think about classic and contemporary horror films and novels, the one thing that always comes to mind is tension. This will be a crucial part of your stories and novels. And in order to create tension, you must understand the difference between terror and horror. If terror is a feeling of dread, then horror is a feeling of disgust. By mixing these two sensations together, you should be able to set your audience up for some really intense moments. And how do you do that?

Tension is a combination of things, and we’ll probably go in circles a bit here as the column continues, as all of these components are connected. You need a character (or characters) that you care about. You need a setting that is atmospheric, creepy, and layered in unease and worry. You need something to be at risk, as little as a hand of cards, or as much as somebody’s life. Or maybe the whole world. The scope of your work, that’s up to you. But if you show us real people, involved in situations that people can relate to, your audience will follow you anywhere. You need to speak about emotional truths, because it doesn’t matter if it is a demon, a werewolf, a vampire or an alien, we need to be able to relate to the characters that are stuck in a difficult situation, and if we have sympathy for them, we will root for them to survive.

When creating tension, you want to show the audience (or hint at) something that is coming. You may show the audience something that the protagonist doesn’t see, perhaps the label on a bottle, the eyes glowing in the dark closet, the loaded gun under a pillow. Or, you can clue in your damsel in distress or reluctant hero at the same time with a visit from a policeman telling them that the phone calls were coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE.

The tension you create can be slow or fast, it’s up to you. You can slowly reveal small clues that will add up to something larger, a revelation or epiphany. OR, you may want to show us the danger right up front, tell the audience that there is a beast in the forest, look at those giant hoof prints in the dirt.

However you create your tension, be sure to alternate it with down time, quiet moments where your character (and the audience) can take a breath, reveal back story, and calm down, before you take them on a rollercoaster ride again. You can’t just hit the same note over and over, or it loses its effect.

SETTING

Another crucial part of your story, and not just horror stories, but especially horror stories, is your setting. What will add to the drama and tension? If the roads are wet, if it’s raining, if there is a snowstorm on the way, trapping your cast of delinquent characters, if it’s dark outside, when they need the light to find the car keys they just lost, all of that will add to the tension. Use all of the five senses, not just what they see, but the sounds that come from the forest, the basement, the smells and scents of something rotting, even the taste of a cup of coffee that is now bitter, the poison slowly seeping into your system. Give the audience enough detail to see what is going on, but don’t get too bogged down in the details. They need something to latch onto, but give them some room to assign their own histories, so that they can fill in the gaps, and make the experience their own.

CARING ABOUT CHARACTERS

We touched on the need to care about characters earlier, but I want to expand on this a bit. Whether you are rooting for the young girl to survive, or the bad guy to get his justice, you have to care about these people. Love and hate are both strong emotions, but they are closer to each other than they are to apathy. You don’t want an indifferent audience. How do you get your reader to care? Show them a good person stuck in a bad situation. Show them somebody who has been wronged, either earlier in life, or repeatedly over time, so that the sense of what is fair and what is unfair, will rise to the surface. You want your heroes to win, and your demons to be killed. That doesn’t mean that you have to spend pages and pages on back story. Just show a pretty girl trying to fill up her gas tank, an independent mother, who is always being treated as less than an equal by the men around her. And don’t be afraid to show us flawed characters as well. Your protagonist can be an alcoholic, a liar, even a serial killer, and if you do it right, we’ll still root for them.

WHAT SCARES YOU

One of the best ways to mix up everything we’ve talked about so far is to think about what scares you, the author, the most. I’ve often tapped into my fears of losing my family, of failing, being alone, as themes and situations that scare me. I’m also scared of demons and anything with a cloven hoof. Again, it’s all relative. I thought the movie The Blair Witch Project was terrifying at the end, but many laughed. It’s very subjective. People with a fear of clowns may think that It by Stephen King is particularly frightening. Tap into those fears, because it will come across on the page, whether it is spiders, snakes, ghosts, the woods, drowning, fire, the dark, or the unknown.

TWISTS AND REVELATIONS

One of the classic ways to create a terrifying story or novel is to have everything add up to one moment, one realization, one twist that brings your story full circle. Soylent green IS people, and the person you thought was alive, was really dead, the phone calls were coming from inside the house, the rabbit they were eating was really human flesh. It’s up to you, but a lot of great stories and novels will add up to a large revelation. But be careful of twists, because if the whole story is relying on that last twist, that one phrase, then you won’t have much re-read value, and wouldn’t you rather have people read your stories (or novels) over and over again? One way to avoid that is to have your protagonist(s) come to a revelation that will impact how they save the world, or how they get out of a tough situation, as opposed to the entire novel hinging on a sentence, paragraph or page. Let them discover these things, and then react. Or, even better, have smaller revelations across the entire novel, the epiphanies allowing your cast, crew or ka-tet to survive whatever ordeal is in front of them.

CONCLUSION

There is no magic formula for writing horror stories, but if you play around with the tools I’ve given you here, you should be able to write a scary story. Give us a creepy setting, using all of the five senses, with characters we care about and can root for (or against), mix in some dark force or unsettling phenomenon, put something at risk, build that conflict up and then allow us to follow these brave and damaged fools to hell and back, and you’ll keep your audience entertained, hopefully on the edge of their seat. Good luck.

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Hi Neil,

I’ve recently subscribed to George RR Martin’s blog (http://grrm.livejournal.com/) in the hopes of getting some inside information regarding when the next “Song of Ice and Fire” book is due to be released. I love the series but since subscribing to the blog I’ve become increasingly frustrated with Martin’s lack of communication on the next novel’s publication date. In fact, it’s almost as though he is doing everything in his power to avoid working on his latest novel. Which poses a few questions:

1. With blogs and twitter and other forms of social media do you think the audience has too much input when it comes to scrutinising the actions of an artist? If you had announced a new book two years ago and were yet to deliver do you think avoiding the topic on your blog would lead readers to believe you were being “slack”? By blogging about your work and life do you have more of a responsibility to deliver on your commitments?

2. When writing a series of books, like Martin is with “A Song of Ice and Fire” what responsibility does he have to finish the story? Is it unrealistic to think that by not writing the next chapter Martin is letting me down, even though if and when the book gets written is completely up to him?

Would be very interested in your insight.

Cheers
Gareth

My opinion….

1) No.

2) Yes, it’s unrealistic of you to think George is “letting you down”.

Look, this may not be palatable, Gareth, and I keep trying to come up with a better way to put it, but the simplicity of things, at least from my perspective is this:

George R.R. Martin is not your bitch.

This is a useful thing to know, perhaps a useful thing to point out when you find yourself thinking that possibly George is, indeed, your bitch, and should be out there typing what you want to read right now.

People are not machines. Writers and artists aren’t machines.

You’re complaining about George doing other things than writing the books you want to read as if your buying the first book in the series was a contract with him: that you would pay over your ten dollars, and George for his part would spend every waking hour until the series was done, writing the rest of the books for you.

No such contract existed. You were paying your ten dollars for the book you were reading, and I assume that you enjoyed it because you want to know what happens next.

It seems to me that the biggest problem with series books is that either readers complain that the books used to be good but that somewhere in the effort to get out a book every year the quality has fallen off, or they complain that the books, although maintaining quality, aren’t coming out on time.

Both of these things make me glad that I am not currently writing a series, and make me even gladder that the decade that I did write series things, in Sandman, I was young, driven, a borderline workaholic, and very fortunate. (and even then, towards the end, I was taking five weeks to write a monthly comic, with all the knock-on problems in deadlines that you would expect from that).

For me, I would rather read a good book, from a contented author. I don’t really care what it takes to produce that.

Some writers need a while to charge their batteries, and then write their books very rapidly. Some writers write a page or so every day, rain or shine. Some writers run out of steam, and need to do whatever it is they happen to do until they’re ready to write again. Sometimes writers haven’t quite got the next book in a series ready in their heads, but they have something else all ready instead, so they write the thing that’s ready to go, prompting cries of outrage from people who want to know why the author could possibly write Book X while the fans were waiting for Book Y.

I remember hearing an upset comics editor telling a roomful of other editors about a comics artist who had taken a few weeks off to paint his house. The editor pointed out, repeatedly, that for the money the artist would have been paid for those weeks’ work he could easily have afforded to hire someone to paint his house, and made money too. And I thought, but did not say, “But what if hewanted to paint his house?”

I blew a deadline recently. Terminally blew it. First time in 25 years I’ve sighed and said, “I can’t do this, and you won’t get your story.” It was already late, I was under a bunch of deadline pressure, my father died, and suddenly the story, too, was dead on the page. I liked the voice it was in, but it wasn’t working, and eventually, rather than drive the editors and publishers mad waiting for a story that wasn’t going to come, I gave up on it and apologised, worried that I could no longer write fiction.

I turned my attention to the next deadline waiting – a script. It flowed easily and delightfully, was the most fun I’ve had writing anything in ages, all the characters did exactly what I had hoped they would do, and the story was better than I had dared to hope.

Sometimes it happens like that. You don’t choose what will work. You simply do the best you can each time. And you try to do what you can to increase the likelihood that good art will be created.

And sometimes, and it’s as true of authors as it is of readers, you have a life. People in your world get sick or die. You fall in love, or out of love. You move house. Your aunt comes to stay. You agreed to give a talk half-way around the world five years ago, and suddenly you realise that that talk is due now. Your last book comes out and the critics vociferously hated it and now you simply don’t feel like writing another. Your cat learns to levitate and the matter must be properly documented and investigated. There are deer in the apple orchard. A thunderstorm fries your hard disk and fries the backup drive as well…

And life is a good thing for a writer. It’s where we get our raw material, for a start. We quite like to stop and watch it.

The economics of scale for a writer mean that very few of us can afford to write 5,000 page books and then break them up and publish them annually once they are done. So writers with huge stories, or ones that, as Sandman did, grow in the telling, are going to write them and have them published as they go along.

And if you are waiting for a new book in a long ongoing series, whether from George or from Pat Rothfuss or from someone else…

Wait. Read the original book again. Read something else. Get on with your life. Hope that the author is writing the book you want to read, and not dying, or something equally as dramatic. And if he paints the house, that’s fine.

And Gareth, in the future, when you see other people complaining that George R.R. Martin has been spotted doing something other than writing the book they are waiting for, explain to them, more politely than I did the first time, the simple and unanswerable truth: George R. R. Martin is not working for you.

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ARTICLE VIA LITREACTOR | BY JOHN JARZEMSKY

Less than a month ago (at the time of this writing), two explosions ripped through downtown Boston. The blasts killed three people and injured 264 others. As the situation began to unfold, the pressing question of the hour changed. First, we all wanted to know what was being done to make sure things were being handled as well as could be expected. This is certainly a reasonable, and even practical concern. As soon as it became clear that we were safe (for the moment), the nation’s collective thoughts turned somewhere else.

Why?

The rampant speculation as to motives began almost immediately after reports of the gun battle that raged through Watertown, MA, broke on social media. This isn’t surprising: the Boston bombings had been the story of the week, and in the new 24/7 news cycle, those who aren’t reporting are lagging dangerously behind. When there was no new information to report, reporters began to wonder, in order to keep viewers glued to their television sets. These journalistic musings have a secondary goal as well: to help us understand why.

I’d argue that the most deeply disturbing elements of fear boil down to unanswered questions. Where is the strangler hiding? Which of my servants is trying to poison me? How will I escape this bottomless pit? However, none of these carry such a blossoming, poisonous dread as an unanswered “why?”

There’s a reason besides the commercial viability of a story behind the media’s constant search for “why?” Deep down, despite all the talk and falderal about Americans needing their news to scare the crap out of them, we don’t actually want our news to frighten us. To that end, our villains need origin stories. The problem: the most villainous villains tend to not have any. Horror cinema has been making this mistake a lot lately, making the current wave of reboot-addiction all the more unbearable. We’ve been given lame, cobbled-together nonsense that attempts to explain abominations like Leatherface and Michael Meyers. That said, it’s no surprise that the warmed-over reiterations of classic villains have gotten worse and worse, with a few notable exceptions. The most telling line of the wonderful film The Strangers comes from a terrified Liv Tyler, pleading with her youthful tormenters as she and her husband are run through the wringer. “Why are you doing this?” Tyler screams. One of the masked youth considers the question for a moment, and then turns to her before stating matter-of-factly: “Because you were home.”

Great horror doesn’t need a reason to exist. That’s part of what makes it so horrifying. We want realism in our horror yes, but the truth is, terrible things happen for no reason whatsoever far more often than an evil maniac decides to poison a water supply because his father touched him when he was six. Eternal optimists love to say that “everything happens for a reason”, but the realist, and the true maestro of horror might more accurately say: “things happen.” There are a few landmark horror works that stand as shining examples of fear, deep-seated, dirty, and as unblinking and unrevealing as a pool of black, stagnant water.

Clive Barker’s novella about a woman who unleashes a horde of cold-hearted shades that thirst for human suffering was the basis for the hit film Hellraiser, and was adapted and directed by Barker himself. The film spawned numerous sequels, each more terrible than the last, and though the canon of the Cenobites was later expanded via comic books and the like, the original world of The Hellbound Heart gives us very little to work on. We know that the device that summons the demons, the aptly titled Lament Configuration, was discovered by the protagonist’s brother-in-law years ago. However, the true origin of the puzzle-box and the spawn it unleashes upon our universe remains shrouded in mystery. Barker’s story is terrifying, not only because he dabbles so readily in things somewhat inconceivable to the layperson’s mind (the Cenobites are not depicted as necessarily malicious, and actually seem rather indifferent to the violence and suffering they inflict upon the human characters), but because of the thinly veiled subtext woven into the pages. Perhaps pain, suffering, and violence disgust and repulse us precisely because deep down, we are a little curious, perhaps even a little thirsty for the extreme punishment depicted in The Hellbound Heart, whether it be as slave or master.

The matter of subtext brings us to one of the reasons the mystique of horror is so effective when done with appropriate restraint. Most great storytelling in general has two sides to it, or an “A” and “B” storyline, in movie industry terms. Horror is certainly no exception, and much of the respected horror canon lacks any exhaustively researched origin story, partly because great horror stories tend to be about something other than what lurks on the top of the surface.

No article about indeterminate origins, subtext, and horror would be complete without a nod to Stephen King’s masterwork, The Shining. We’re certainly all familiar with the plot of this book by now, but to recap: a down-on-his-luck writer moves his family into a mountain resort, is possessed by evil spirits lurking within the hotel, and tries to murder his wife and son. That’s the “A” storyline, of course. The “B” storyline, disguised here more thinly than in some other tales, is Jack’s addiction. To that end, there’s a bit of history, but no real explanation for The Overlook being a fertile place to filet your family. That’s partly because King understands that audiences fear that which they don’t understand, and partly because The Shining isn’t really about a hotel at all. King himself has admitted that the through-line of Jack Torrance’s struggle is meant to mirror King’s own hostile and borderline violent feelings towards his own children.

“Sometimes you confess. You always hide what you’re confessing to. That’s one of the reasons why you make up a story. When I wrote The Shining…as a young father with two children, I was horrified at my occasional feelings of real antagonism toward them. Won’t you ever stop? Won’t you ever go to bed?…So when I wrote this book I wrote a lot of that down and tried to get it out of my system, but it was also a confession. Yes, there are times when I felt very angry toward my children and have even felt as though I cold hurt them.”

The author’s confession here shines a light on the misplaced value of the “why” question in horror. Sometimes, the answer to “why” exists, but outside of the text itself.

I’ve been a big horror fan for a number of years, and I’ve always found that the best horror stories, be they supernatural stories or tales from urban reality, tended to work when their authors ignored the nagging voice in the back of their head that asked “why”? Max Landis, son of director Jon Landis and writer of the superhero found-footage film Chronicle, speaks about his father’s storytelling advice in a short film about the Death of Superman. During this clip, the younger Landis describes writing a horror story and becoming frustrated and trapped by the rules he had set up in the world he created. The elder Landis asked: “How do you kill a vampire?” Max replied with the old favorites: garlic, crosses, stakes through the heart. “Wrong,” Jon said. “You can kill a vampire any way you want because vampires don’t exist.” Horror writers are in the business of scaring people who want to feel the rush of a visceral sensation like abject terror, and sometimes (or most of the time), it’s enough to respond to the “But why?” query of a reader with a patient and saintly “because I said so.”

Even the most fantastic of horror writers deal in cold, hard, inescapable facts, though they may have to bury those facts under an avalanche of metaphor. The truth is, human beings are hopelessly adrift on a cold and uncaring rock, spinning into a dark and unforgiving universe, the machinations of which will never be fully comprehended by any one person. Horror is rooted in the darkest forms of reality, and reality is indifferent. An origin story, particularly one that tends towards theories of “nurture” versus “nature”, undercuts the very real possibility that all of the careful planning and decision-making will not necessarily save you.

Perhaps Dzhokar and Tamerlin Tsarnaev would have thought twice on that fateful day in Boston if the right person stepped in. Perhaps if the situation in the caucuses, or the USA’s foreign policy were different, we wouldn’t have spent the week glued to our twitter feeds and television sets. Perhaps there is a “why” behind all of the bloodshed and the alienation and the…horror. But even if there was a way to know the answer to every “why” question we wanted to ask, we could never, ever prevent every situation that prompted such questions in the first place. By all accounts, those people whose lives were either cut short or irrevocably altered on that day on Copley Street had done nothing to deserve it, had no reason to suspect that the day would be different from any other marathon Monday. They might ask “why”, and nobody would ever begrudge them such a thing. However, the simple, chilling truth is, there might not be an answer.

Original Post from Rhino’s Horror | Written by Ryan

The last we heard about the film adaptation of Stephen King’s A Good Marriage was way back when Joan Allen joined the cast to play Darcy Anderson who discovers her husband has been keeping an especially terrible secret for years. Now, it looks like the adaptation is set to begin filming later this month. Per Rivertowns Patch, production is getting underway at the end of May in Sleepy Hollow, New York with a 15-day shoot scheduled at a local home.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with King’s story, it was part of his latest collection of shorts from 2010′s Full Dark, No Stars and is titled A Good Marriage. This particular story in the collection was fantastic because it explores the idea of how we can never fully know anyone, even the people closest to us.

Peter Askin will helm the project from a screenplay by Mr. King himself. Check out what King had to say on his inspiration behind the story:

This story came to my mind after reading an article about Dennis Rader, the infamous BTK (bind, torture, and kill) murderer who took the lives of ten people–mostly women, but two of his victimes were children–over a period of roughly sixteen years. In many cases, he mailed pieces of his victims’ identification to the police. Paula Rader was married to this monster for thirty-four years, and many in the Wichita area, where Rader claimed his victims, refuse to believe that she could live with him and not know what he was doing. I did believe–I do believe–and I wrote this story to explore what might happen in such a case if the wife suddenly found out about her husband’s awful hobby. I also wrote it to explore the idea that it’s impossible to fully know anyone, even those we love the most.

I’m a genre fiction book reviewer, so it’s sometimes my job to read really creepy stuff. I’m also the father of two young girls—six and three—both of whom are undeniably fascinated by spooky things. Their new favorite animated television show on Netflix is Ruby Gloom, a decidedly dark series that features characters like Skull Boy, Misery, and Doom Kitty. My oldest has Monster High pajamas (black skulls on pink) and my youngest loves her black skeleton t-shirt (it’s not just for Halloween, she says). And they absolutely love spooky stories, like A Vampire is Coming to Dinner, by Pamela Jane, and Welcome to Monster Town, by Ryan Heshka.

Some people may disagree with me, but I think exposing your children to horror-nuanced children’s literature at an early age is a positive thing. And here’s why…

1. First and foremost, it gets children interested—exhilarated—about reading. I remember that as a kid, I was fascinated by any book that dealt with monsters or ghosts or anything weird. It was literally thrilling to open up and experience some of these books. There was a sense that I was pushing the boundaries, exploring new territory, doing something that bordered on naughty… it was a little scary and a lot of fun! If your child gravitates towards dark storylines, I’m all for nurturing that love of reading in any way possible.

2. By exploring (albeit superficially) the dark side of humanity and the nature of fear, kids learn more about themselves (their strengths and weaknesses, etc.) and hopefully become more empowered because of it. In Charles Gilman’s excellent Tales from Lovecraft Middle School saga (Professor Gargoyle, The Slither Sisters, and the upcoming Teacher’s Pest), unlikely hero Robert Arthur is an introverted 12-year-old who, through his own ingenuity and a little help from his friends, overcomes all kinds of otherworldly monstrosities.

Heroes come in all shapes and sizes.

3. There are life lessons to be learned. Don’t invite a vampire into your house. Don’t take that shortcut through the cemetery. Staying out late and not telling your parents where you are can be dangerous. Walking into a forested area at night looking for a wayward pet is a bad idea. Don’t take candy from strangers.

Reading horror-infused stories from an early age gave me a healthy dose of paranoia—not a bad thing, if you ask me!

4. These stories create a broader knowledge of literature and its history. When I first read A Vampire is Coming to Dinner to my girls, they asked: “where do vampires come from?” After a much too lengthy explanation, they now know that vampires are fictional creations. They also know all about vampires in literature (Carmila, Dracula, Bunnicula, etc.) and pop culture (Count von Count, Count Chocula).

Just look at Gilman’s Slither Sisters. In it, he introduces kids to H. P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu, although on a much smaller scale:

“The creature was no bigger than a thumb. Its body had the slimy green scales of a dragon. It had two long flippers for arms but walked on two legs, like a miniature person… The creature had tiny eyes and nostrils, but its mouth was hidden by a dozen mini tentacles that hung from the bottom of its face like party streamers.”

5. Ultimately, reading these kinds of stories is reassuring. The creepy stuff is fiction; it’s in the book and not a part of our everyday lives. Once we have indulged in our dalliance with darkness, we put the book—and the fictional terror—away. After reading about a kid who travels into another shadowy dimension and has to battle his way through all kinds of nasty creepy crawlies in order to get home, having to brush your teeth before bedtime isn’t really that bad, is it?

I have always believed that if ghosts were to exist, it was less likely that they were sentient beings and more likely “psychic scars”, spiritual residue left on a place long after its inhabitants had passed. If that is indeed the case, there are few places in the world that have absorbed as much emotion as hotels. They see the unbridled joy of honeymoon couples and families on vacation. The workaday despair of businessmen living out of suitcases. Druggies and prostitutes and schizophrenic geniuses, murders, suicides, heart attacks, arguments, trysts, a revolving cast of thousands playing out their own individual drama each night. If any place on earth is likely to be haunted, it’s a hotel. Below are ten of the world’s spookiest.

10 Hotel Chelsea, New York

A bohemian landmark the Hotel Chelsea was built between 1883 and 1885. Although it was the home of countless artists, authors, poets, and musicians, it is perhaps best known as the place where Sex Pistols bassist Sid Vicious stabbed girlfriend Nancy Spungen to death—Vicious himself died of a heroin overdose before the case could be brought to trial. Poet Dylan Thomas was staying at the Chelsea when he fell into his fatal coma; he died later in the hospital. But it’s possible Sid Vicious and Dylan Thomas never left the Hotel Chelsea after all; theirghosts have been spotted wandering its halls, along with playwright Eugene O’Neill and novelist Thomas Wolfe. Other guests have reported all manner of paranormal phenomena, from cold air to phantom footsteps to lights that switch on and off at will. The Hotel Chelsea is currently closed to new residents while undergoing renovations.

9 Talbot Hotel, Oundle, England

Fotheringay Castle was built circa 1100. It had a colorful history, being the birthplace of Richard III (whose remains were found last year beneath a parking lot), as well as the place where Mary Queen of Scots was tried and beheaded. By the 1600s, the castle had fallen into ruin and was razed, but not before parts of it were salvaged. Most notable was the castle’s oak staircase, which found its way into the nearby Talbot Hotel of Oundle, Northamptonshire. Legend has it that Mary walked down those very stairs on the way to her execution, leaving the mark of a crown on the wood from a ring she was wearing. Even though she has been dead for over four hundred years, Mary has not slept easy. Her ghost has been seen walking down the staircase, furniture has been moved around, and a portrait of Mary has been known to leap from the wall.

8 Hotel Castello Della Castelluccia, Rome, Italy

One of the most world’s most ancient cities, more blood has spilled on the soil of Rome than nearly anywhere else on earth. The Castello della Castelluccia, a renovated 11th century castle described by some guests as something out of a fairytale, has experienced its fair share of that history, changing hands many times and serving as the home to many aristocratic families, including this Orsinis, the Mutis, the Odelskanis, and operatic tenor Francesco Marconi. But this legacy has left its shadows; it is said to be haunted by three ghosts, possibly including the mad Emperor Nero who wanders through the gardens, and guests have reported seeing spectral horses passing by in the night.

7 Queen Mary, California

Built by the Cunard Line, The Queen Mary was the premier ocean liner for transatlantic travel, carrying celebrities and dignitaries. During World War II, it was painted gray and used as a troopship, but after the war was over, it was returned to its former grandeur. The Queen Mary was retired from service in 1967 and permanently docked in Long Beach, California, where it became a floating hotel. Dozens of people died on the ship over the years, including at least two men crushed by a door in the engine room. Spectral women in 1930s style bathing suits are often spotted around the swimming pool, telephones ring without benefit of callers, and the forlorn cries of children are heard in the night. Unlike many hotels, which downplay alleged paranormal activity, the Queen Mary embraces it’s spectral residents, offering daily ghost tours.

6 Akasaka Weekly Mansion, Tokyo, Japan

The Japanese have always been serious about their ghosts, and Tokyo has been the home of tales regarding the Noppera-b?, a terrifying spirit who appears normal until a person approaches. When it turns to acknowledge you, it exposes a white face completely blank of features. One of the most haunted places in Tokyo is rumored to be the Akasaka Weekly Mansion, an extended stay apartment where guests have reported apparitions, ghostly mists, and feeling disembodied hands touch them while sleeping.

5 Fairmont Banff Springs Hotels, Banff, Canada

Located high in the Canadian Rockies, the Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel calls to mind a beautiful medieval castle in the wilderness. The Fairmont management adamantly denies any ghostly activity, but stories abound. One spirit frequently witnessed is that of a bride allegedly killed in a tragic accident right before walking down the aisle. The other, far more whimsical tale involves an elderly bellhop named Sam McAuley. Sam so adored the hotel that after he passed, he continued to work there. Guests report a white-haired bellhop helping them, only to vanish before they have a chance to tip him.

4 Russell Hotel, Sydney, Australia

Australia has a rough and tumble history, with origins as a British penal colony. The Russell Hotel shares those dark origins; it served as a hospital during deadly outbreaks of smallpox and bubonic plague, and later became a rooming house and hostel for sailors. It would seem that at least one of the seamen refuses to leave. Guests of Room 8 report waking to find a dark presence looming over their bed, peering down at them. Others claim to have seen the ghosts of prostitutes wandering the hall or doors opening and closing. Some claim that recent renovations on the old sandstone building have only served to rile up the old spirits, and activity is reportedly up.

3 Grand Hyatt Hotel, Taipei, Taiwan

It is rumored that the Grand Hyatt was erected over land that had once served as a Japanese execution ground and prison camp during World War II. The earth was so poisoned by death and despair that paranormal experiences abounded in the modern hotel, and locals shun the place like the plague. Even action star Jackie Chan reported a creepy experience, storming out of his suite in the middle of the night after encountering a ghost. Desperate, management turned to feng shui experts, who installed wind chimes, amulets, and Buddhist scrolls in the lobby designed to frighten off spirits.

2 Ballygally Castle Hotel, Larne, Northern Ireland

Built in 1625, Ballygally Castle might have a less than intimidating name, but it possesses quite a formidable history. It belonged to the Shaw family for many years, until finally becoming the property of Cyril Lord, a carpeting magnate who modernized and expanded the property. It was sold again, finally becoming a hotel. One of its former residents was James Shaw, husband of Lady Isobel. Poor Isobel is said to have crossed her husband somehow—some speculate that she’d been an adulteress and still others that she’d been unable to produce a male heir. Shaw had his wife imprisoned in the turret room where, starving to death, she flung herself out the window to her dorm. Lady Isobel has since proven a very active presence in the castle, appearing frequently to guests and knocking on guests’ doors at odd hours. James himself might also be present; it is rumored that he was poisoned in the castle. Another spirit, one Madame Nixon, is seen in a swirling, elegant dress. The mischievous laughter of children is also heard tinkling in the hallways.

1 Le Pavillon Hotel, New Orleans

Built in 1907, the hotel’s website describes is as “A place where guests can instantly conjure the days of genteel luxury, romantic evenings and glittering nights.” Guests might also have a brush with the dead; Le Pavillon is reportedly haunted by at least five different ghosts. The most famous of these is Adda, a tearful teenage spirit killed by a runaway carriage who has been known to bump into people in the lobby, claiming to be lost, then vanishing. Adda might predate the construction of the hotel itself, witnesses claim she’s dressed in the style of the mid 1800s. A gray haired old woman in a black dress has been spotted, as have a spectral couple holding hands. Some say they can smell the man’s cigar smoke and smell the lady’s perfume. Most amusing of all is the hotel’s resident hippie—a young man with colorful garb, bell bottoms, and no shoes, who is frequently seen running around and disappearing into the walls. The hippie ghost is a prankster, often charged with hiding objects and yanking blankets off unsuspecting guests.

Mike Devlin is an aspiring novelist. He worked for years at an (occasionally creepy) Borscht Belt resort hotel in the Catskills.

Read the full article @LitReactor

Article by Kimberly Turner

Bram Stoker (1847–1912)

“We learn from failure, not from success.” —Bram Stoker in Dracula

Before writing: Even poor Bram’s Wikipedia page comes right out of the gate with the fact that, during his lifetime, he was better known for being an actor’s personal assistant and manager of London’s Lyceum Theatre than a writer, which just goes to show that even if you pen a genre-defining classic, your stint as an Applebee’s bartender is still going on your Wikipedia page. The internet misses nothing.

Prior to his PA and theater management days, the author of Dracula got a degree in math, worked in civil service at Dublin Castle for a decade, and wrote some unpaid reviews of plays. Through those reviews, he got hooked up as the assistant to actor Henry Irving, who was, from what I gather, the Tom Cruise of his day—exceptionally famous but batshit crazy. When Stoker asked Irving to give his opinion of Dracula, Irving told him it was “dreadful” and flatly refused to play in the theatrical adaptation.

Turning point: Stoker had dabbled in writing for years—theater reviews, a number of short stories in his late twenties and early thirties, and things like a guide to the duties of clerks of petty sessions in Ireland—and some of it had been published in magazines, but he didn’t devote himself to longer works until 1890 when, at the age of 43, he published The Snake’s Pass. Heard of it? Probably not. That’s because it would be another seven years before Stoker wrote Dracula, the book that became his legacy. The author was 50. He hit a prolific streak at the end of his life, churning out seven more novels before he passed away in 1912 at the age of 64.

Buy Dracula (Norton Critical Editions) from Amazon.com

Laura Ingalls Wilder (1867–1957)

“There is no great loss without some small gain.” ― Laura Ingalls Wilder

Before writing: As a child, Wilder lived in a little house on the prairie. Go figure. Her father moved Laura and her four siblings around the Midwest until she settled into a teaching position in a one-room South Dakotan school house at the age of 16. She went on to help her husband through diphtheria, lose a child, watch her home burn down, get smacked around by drought-induced crop failures and other prairie challenges, and struggle to make her family’s settlement profitable. She moved around some more, worked as a seamstress, served meals to railroad workers, became an authority on poultry farming—pretty much conquered everything except for writing.

Turning point: Enduring the kind of hardships that Wilder endured without telling those stories to anyone outside the family would’ve been downright criminal. After all, if David Hasselhoff and Paris Hilton can sell their stories, certainly the harrowing tales of a family struggling to survive frontier life were worthy of some ink. Fortunately, Laura’s daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, was a writer who was able to inspire (and probably assist) her mother in writing down the dramatic stories of her youth, first in a column in the Missouri Ruralist, then in the elder Wilder’s famous Little House series. Wilder published her first book, Little House In The Book Woods, at the age of 64. The eight-book series has since been translated into forty languages.

Buy The Complete Little House Nine-Book Set from Amazon.com

William S. Burroughs (1914–1997)

“When you stop growing, you start dying.” — William S. Burroughs in Junky

Before writing: Before becoming a voice of the Beat Generation and acclaimed author of eighteen novels and novellas, including Naked Lunch, Burroughs lived a life so absurd, it sounds fictional. He got an English degree from Harvard, and that’s the last standard step he took on the path to writerdom. His wealthy parents bankrolled him, which left him with plenty of time to develop a wicked drug habit, pick up boys in Austrian steam baths, drop out of med school, and get arrested several times. He married a Jewish woman in Croatia to help her get to the U.S. He severed the little finger of his left hand at the last knuckle to impress a dude he was crushing on. He enlisted in the army but was discharged because being infantry rather than an officer made him too depressed to carry on. He was an exterminator and waiter in Chicago.

And that was before he became BFFs with fellow Beat Generation writers Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac in NYC. Burroughs and Kerouac were too busy getting fucked up on morphine to bother reporting a murder they knew about, which landed them in a touch of legal trouble. Then Burroughs forged a narcotics prescription, which landed him in more legal trouble. He married Joan Vollmer and had a child with her. They fled to Mexico after police discovered letters about pot that he had written to Allen Ginsberg. South of the border, Burroughs studied Spanish and “Mexican picture writing” (aka How To Draw Chihuahuas In Sombreros 101) for a while before drunkenly shooting his wife dead in an ill-advised game of William Tell. For the record, all games of William Tell are ill-advised. He was charged with manslaughter, but thanks to a combination of bribery and lies, was able to get his sentence suspended. He drifted through South America, like a drug-addled Ponce de Leon, for a few months in search of a drug that supposedly gave its users telepathy.

Turning point: Sadly, it took shooting his wife in the head to get Burroughs focused on writing. He said, “I am forced to the appalling conclusion that I would never have become a writer but for Joan’s death, and to a realization of the extent to which this event has motivated and formulated my writing.” He began writingQueer while he awaited trial and, once off the hook, moved to Morocco and started writing like mad. He was 39 when he published his first book, Junky, and 45 when Naked Lunch saw its controversial release into the world.

Buy Naked Lunch: The Restored Text from Amazon.com

Frank McCourt (1930–2009)

“Keep scribbling! Something will happen.” — Frank McCourt

Before writing: When the author of Angela’s Ashes was kicked out of school at the age of 13, he turned to theft and odd jobs to help support his single-parent family in the Irish slums. We’re guessing nobody saw that kid swiping bread from the local shop as the future Pulitzer Prize winner he was to become. He headed back to the States, where he had been born, when he was 19 and got a job at a New York hotel until he was drafted for the Korean War. McCourt was shipped over to Bavaria to train dogs. Despite his lack of formal education, McCourt was able to use his G.I. Bill and love of words to get into New York University. He was, presumably, one seriously smooth talker to make that happen. He earned a bachelor’s and eventually a master’s degree then spent most of his life as a teacher.

Turning point: McCourt did not start writing until he’d retired from teaching and did not have his first book, Angela’s Ashes, published until 1996. He was 66 years old. Were it not for his second wife—Ellen Frey, who told him he should write down his stories rather than just sharing them down at the pub—McCourt might never have put pen to paper at all. Just in case you never meet your Ellen Frey, let me be the one to say this: Those stories you’re telling everybody? Write them down. My job here is done. He went on to win the Pulitzer, National Book Critics Circle Award, and L.A. Times Book Award. Angela’s Ashes was made into a movie and the author wrote two more memoirs.

Buy Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir from Amazon.com

Charles Bukowski (1920–1994)

“My ambition is handicapped by laziness.” — Charles Bukowski in Factotum

Before writing: You could assume by reading prolific poet, novelist, and short-story writer Charles Bukowski’s work that he didn’t have a picture perfect Brady Bunch upbringing. And you’d be right. Born in Germany and raised in the U.S., Bukowski was regularly beaten by his father, mocked by boys for his accent and clothes, and rejected by girls because of his severe acne. The combination was sure to lead to either a prom involving pig’s blood and fire, or a ten-year bender. It was the latter. He moved to New York to become a writer and had two stories published in his mid-twenties then hit on a streak of rejections that left him disillusioned with the whole process. Cue ten-year drinking binge. He worked at a pickle factory for a while, married a woman he’d never met, and nearly died from a bleeding ulcer. He eventually settled into a routine and worked at a post office for more than a decade.

Turning point: While working at the post office, Bukowski was able to get some poetry and shorter works published. When small indie publisher Black Sparrow Press offered him a deal in 1969, he quit his day job to devote himself to writing at age 49, saying, “I have one of two choices-—stay in the post office and go crazy … or stay out here and play at writer and starve. I have decided to starve.” He did not, in fact, starve. He had finished his first novel, Post Office, within four weeks of leaving the post office and just kept going from there, eventually publishing thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories, and six novels.

I don’t necessarily do or agree with all of these tips, but it’s an interesting read… -Ania

Reblogged via LitReactor | Post by Phil Jourdan

I spent ages looking for tips on building writing habits, and was disappointed. There’s a lot of bland advice out there: write every day, don’t edit while you write, have a goal… None of that is very helpful if you’re trying to understand how you should actually put this stuff into practice.

Fortunately, there are plenty of interesting books on habit-formation out there, and a few good studies done on how creative writing actually works at the psychological level. I went through a bunch of those books to see what they suggested. I’ll link some below.

I have tested everything I mention in this article, and the combination of these things has tripled my daily writing. I hope it helps you, too.

1. Find out where you are.

How much do you know about your writing habits? It’s important that you figure out what you already know.

Here are some obvious questions to start with:

• How long does your typical writing session tend to last?
• How frequently do you sit down to write?
• On average, how many words do you write per session?
• At what time of the day do you do your writing?

Now for some less obvious questions:

• Do you tend to write less than two hours after a meal?
• How much caffeine do you drink on an average day?
• How much exercise do you get?
• How much sleep do you get?

Find out as much as you can just by thinking back. If you’ve got a good memory, you could look at a long manuscript and try to figure out where you started and stopped writing at every step of the way. Was Chapter 3 written over a week? How many words per day, on average, did you write over that week?

2. Identify your writing sweet spots.

I am a very fast dialogue writer. My first literary ambition was to be a playwright, and as a high school student I wrote a lot of dialogue every day. When I’m working on a dialogue-heavy scene nowadays, I can count on it taking about half the time of a description-heavy scene.

It’s very helpful to determine what you find the easiest to write, and how much easier it really is. You may find that in the same project, like a novel, you can knock out 5,000 words over a couple of days because you’ve mastered action scenes and you happen to be writing one, and then spend two weeks slogging through the next 5,000 words, which are less exciting and easy for you.

My first-person narratives are a hell of a lot easier for me to write than my third-person narratives. I find it so hard to narrate anything in the third person, in fact, that I can think of a nice handful of third-person projects in the last couple of years that were going nowhere until I started them over in the first person. Something clicks for me in first person, and I know that once I get the voice going, everything’s fine.

This step should be more than just interesting. If you do it properly, and regularly analyze your strengths, you will also grow aware of your weaknesses. You’ll manage your time better, too. When I only have 45 minutes to do my writing, I focus on dialogue, because I’m likely to get as many words written in 45 minutes of dialogue-work as I will over an hour and a half of description, narration, or intricate plotting.

3. Commit to taking notes, like a frickin’ scientist.

Don’t ignore this step. Trust me. Don’t ignore it. You will only really grasp this when you’ve been doing it for a while.

Always write down the time of day at which you started writing, and the time you finished. Then note the word count. This is the bare minimum.

I encourage you to mention how much time has elapsed between your last meal and the time you started writing. If it’s 2 in the afternoon and you had a big lunch at 12:30, write that down. I was truly amazed, almost childishly so, when I understood how strongly affected I am by writing on a full stomach. Digestion destroys literature. Starving artists may have an advantage over the rest of us.

Also, note how much coffee you’ve had by the time you’re sitting at your desk writing, and how much coffee you end up drinking during the writing session itself. I’m pretty sensitive to caffeine so I mention the strength of the coffee I drink and the amount of actual coffee I used in preparing the drink. I’ve found that by reducing my caffeine intake and only having my first cup during my writing, I write better. I’m less agitated, which means I’m less distracted, which means I am more focused.

If you’ve been to the gym or someone’s been chasing you around all morning with a machete, write this down too, so you can evaluate the effect of exercise on your writing. I have discovered that doing hard cardio in the mornings (before everyone around me is up, at 6:30) makes writing a lot easier. How much easier? About 500 words easier, apparently. My average word count on days I haven’t worked out is, yes, roughly 500 words lower than on my workout days. By contrast, strength training has no effect on my word count.

4. Unplug the internet, switch off your phone, and publicly ask people not to contact you.

If you haven’t tried at least 3 writing sessions in a row without any access to the internet, it really doesn’t matter what you say to justify being online — research seems to be a favorite excuse. You’re probably kidding yourself about how little the internet affects your writing routine. Research when you’re not writing. (The symbolic act of walking to the router and pulling out the power cord, by the way, is surprisingly powerful.)

And unless you really need to be contactable, because you’re expecting a call from the hospital, just switch off your stupid damned phone. There, the universe said it through me. If you ignore this and it works out, give me a call and let me know. Leave a message if the phone’s off.

5. Aim for a higher daily word count than you think you can manage, and adjust your writing routine to get there.

Say you have trouble getting more than 500 words done per writing session. That was the case with me for a long time. If 500 is what you tend to go for, and after that point you get tired or miserable, consider the reasons. Then tackle the things that get in the way of reaching 1000 words.

Be reasonable about this: 500 words in a half hour is pretty good. 500 words over 2 hours seems low. If you’re at the low end, what’s going on during your writing sessions? Are there distractions, and could you avoid them? (Is the phone off?) Do you write after meals? Do you drink too much coffee so that you end up distracted?

To give you an idea, I wasn’t able to do more than 500 or 600 words per session for ages. I decided to try doing 2000 words a day, if I could.

This meant increasing my target word count by about 1000 words each day. I would not leave my desk and return to the world of people until I’d done it: No leaving the house, no work emails, no friends, no girlfriend, nothing until I’d reached the target word count.

I found myself incapable of regularly writing more than 1400 words a day; but that means that I now average 1400 words per writing session. I never drink any coffee until I’ve already started the writing because the sensation of “waking up” fits nicely with the rising interest in what I’m writing after I’ve spent ten minutes or so getting back into it. I used to start writing after my coffee, when I was feeling alert, but by then my mind was too eager to notice other things.

So, I can’t quite manage 2000 words a day yet, but on the other hand, I’m writing at least 7000 words of fiction a week. I give myself two days off. This adds up and isn’t too stressful.

6. Have an idea of what you’re going to do in your writing session.

I got this rather simple idea from Rachel Aaron’s eBook on increasing your daily output, and it’s surprisingly useful. I’m not a big plotter, and I don’t like the idea of knowing exactly where I’m going with fiction, but there’s something weirdly productive about spending five minutes with a pen and notepad just scribbling fragmentary thoughts about what you’re going to be working on that day. I’m not talking about a real plan; I’m talking about spending five minutes, minimum — trust me, do not stop before the five minutes are over — loosely jotting down ideas about what will happen in the scene you’re about to write, specific details you should include… Try it.

7. Create little rituals to ease you into the writing zone.

It’s not hocus pocus. Here’s what I do: I unplug the wireless router, change into track pants, switch the kettle on for my coffee, stretch my legs, then — seriously — I take out one of those snoring strips and apply it to my nose. In that order, every time.

Why? Because I am an animal and I respond to environmental cues. Pavlov’s dogs salivated when they heard a bell, but the association was artificially created. You turn left in your car on the way home when you have to turn left out of habit, not because you have to think about it every time. You can create cues that help you feel like you’re entering a familiar process.

For me, the snoring strip is the most effective cue, although getting into the track pants is also significant. I only ever work out in shorts, so the track pants are specifically associated with writing. And the snoring strips during the middle of the day are, likewise, unmistakable in their purpose.

Going through these little rituals will get you used to the idea that you’re about to sit and write. It will distract you from your distractions and make you think about your project. It’s just preparation. It works.

Good luck!

Read the original post here.

Jacob Asks: Do you ever not feel like writing when you need to write? If so, how do you handle those situations?

Yes! Many author hopefuls think, “man, if I could only write all day…”, but that blessing has its pitfalls. Sometimes I wake up and all I want to do is watch Project Runway reruns in my pajamas, and when you work from home and have free reign over your work schedule, resisting temptation can be difficult… because who would know? I mean, other than the dog, but I can buy that guy off with snacks. Seriously though, when it comes to writing, if you want a snowballs chance of making it professionally, you need to be as skilled in self-motivation as you are in prose.

So, when I don’t feel like writing and there’s a deadline looming overhead, what do I do? I stand in front of the Keurig for the minute it takes to make a cup of tea, I whine a little (okay, maybe a lot), and then I drag myself and my steaming mug into whatever chair I’ll be occupying for the next handful of hours. I sit. I work. And I don’t give myself an option of doing otherwise.

A tip for those of us who have a hard time staying focused: get off the internet. And when I say get off, I mean disconnect yourself. If you have to check your Facebook page every hour, cut your laptop’s internet connection. If you reach for your cell phone every five minutes to check the news, the weather, and your email, turn it off. Better yet, turn it off and put it in the other room… in a drawer… full of snakes.

And if you absolute can’t focus where you are, change your environment. If home is too distracting, leave. Go to your favorite coffee shop and block out the world with your headphones. If that’s too distracting, go to the library or the park. Hell, write in your car if you have to. If you’re not naturally self-motivated, start going to the gym or running in the mornings–you’ll get fit and you’ll teach yourself self-discipline.

Carlos Asks: Does writing give you many stresses? If yes, how can you conquer your stress while writing your book, journal, etc?

If you find writing stressful, then you’re thinking too much about what other people are going to think of your work. That’s normal; I used to do it all the time. But it’s also destructive, and you need to teach yourself to forget about who’s going to think what and write what you need to write.

Years ago, I’d start writing a book thinking “this will sell.” It would be a good, marketable idea that appealed to a wide audience, and I’d allow that to be my motivation. Big mistake. Naturally, after I finished what I was writing, I threw myself into the querying process with fingers crossed, bracing myself for the rejections that would inevitably come. They came, and suddenly my safe little marketable idea was a big pile of uninspired nothing. When I learned that I could self-publish my work (which I did with SEED), I said “screw it” and wrote with reckless abandon. I didn’t give a damn who read my book or what they thought of it (okay, I did give a little damn, but I didn’t let it show), and miracle of miracles… look what happened.

If you’re stressed when you’re writing, you aren’t surrendering to your own creativity. I don’t really know what advice I can give you to alleviate that stress; mine pretty much melted away as I gained confidence in my craft and the clearer my voice became. But as I said, that stress is normal. I think it simply goes away the longer you dedicate yourself.

Keith Asks: Ania, could you describe your daily routine with writing? Habits? Quirks?

It seems like when I’m in the pre-planning stages, my daily routine is pretty sporadic. Sometimes I’ll spend five or six hours working on character backstories or plot arcs. Other days, I’ll be spent after two hours of sitting in front of my laptop, halfheartedly poking the keys. Outlining and character work is kind of exhausting. I use this as an excuse to take mid-day naps.

But my process is the complete opposite when I’m actually writing the manuscript. I set a daily word goal (typically 5k). I sit down around ten AM and work through to lunch. I’ll take about an hour to eat and relax, and then it’s back to work until I hit that word count. Sometimes five thousand words will take me three or four hours. Other days it’ll take me seven or eight. If I have to stop to prepare and eat dinner, I do, only to sit back down at nine or ten in the evening to hammer those last remaining bits out. It’s rigorous. If I had a boss like me, I’d quit.

Amber Asks: Do you use a cork board and index cards to plot, etc? Also, do you have any special methods for revisions?

If I had an index card for every plot point I’d ever, uh, plotted, I’d end up on one of those reality TV shows like Hoarders, except it would be called Writers, and family members would stage interventions, tearily explaining to their loved one that “I’m just worried that one day I’ll come over and you’ll be buried beneath a pile of outlines. You’ll be buried and YOU’LL BE DEAD!”

Ahem. Sorry.

No no, there are no cork boards or index cards here. All my plotting is done digitally. Just me and the trusty laptop and an occasional glance at the three act story structure to make sure I’m on track (though my stories hardly ever follow that structure, so why I keep looking at it, I’ll never know).

As far as revisions go, I feel like I’ve revised my way of revising as I’ve settled into my writerly shoes. Early on, I’d simply jump into revisions like a bad swimmer, deathly afraid of drowning in the middle of the process. Now, I’m able to disconnect from my work and look at it from a purely critical standpoint. I know that sounds weird–how does an author disconnect from their own work?–but you learn to do it over time. The more you write, the less of what you write feels like some epic miraculous wonder. After you write your first novel, you think “my god, this is a glorious masterpiece! I must show all the people!” After you write your sixth, it’s much less “this is incredible” and more like a notch in the bedpost. That sort of evolution really does allow you to disengage from your work as an author and look at it as a reader. At this point, I’m able to dissect my story in a pretty clinical way. I step back and ask myself what the story is about, who the characters are and why they’re important. I look at the work chapter by chapter and scene by scene, making sure that every action is advancing the plot or giving the reader some new insight. If it isn’t advancing or explaining anything, I cut it.

Before submitting my fourth novel to my editor, I ran through it one last time just to check for continuity, grammar, etc. I ended up cutting ten thousand words… and I didn’t cut a single scene. Those words were unnecessary filler, stuff that I cut by restructuring sentences and tightening action and dialogue. And not a tear was shed.

Andrew Asks: Do you work from an outline? Do you plan the “scares” or do they just sort of happen?

I used to be a “pantser”, but no more. My last manuscript was a disaster. I had so many problems with it. First, I wanted to do way too much with it, and the story got so muddled I ended up confusing myself–a bad sign if there ever was one. So I had to stop and revise my story idea, and basically had to go back and rewrite half-way through the first draft. And then I got lost again along the way, which, you can imagine, was pretty depressing and infuriating all at once. I was so exhausted by the end of the whole thing that I ended up sending the manuscript to my editor anyway, knowing fully well that he’d come back with a “what the hell is this?” response. But at that point I really needed some outside input. I was so stuck inside this story that I couldn’t find my way out, and I needed advice… any advice, even if it was a firm “this sucks and here’s why.”  After I talked it over with him, I suddenly saw the story clearly. I went back, and I plotted the whole thing out like I’d never plotted anything before. Scene by friggin’ scene. And suddenly a crappy, confused manuscript turned into quite the opposite.

After that (terrible, horrible, godawful, nightmarish) experience, I resolved to never ever write without not only an outline, but a scene-by-scene outline. It’s a daunting task and it takes a  hell of a long time, but I’d much rather stress out about an outline than stress out about a manuscript that simply isn’t working sixty-five thousand words in. Seriously, I’m still traumatized.

As far as planning scares, I don’t feel like I really write that kind of stuff. A planned scare to me is like a jump scare in a movie. My favorite type of scare is one that makes you more and more uncomfortable as time goes on–the further you read, the more creeped out you get.

Tim Asks: What would be a good way to get started (in the industry)? I though about posting some stories to free websites like Scribd and Fictionpress and then just kind of promoting the heck out them on Twitter and Facebook. What do you think?

You know what I champion? Self-publishing. (Who would have thought, huh?) If you have material and you’re confident that it’s polished enough to solicit to agents and/or publishers, then publish it yourself. Why post on free websites when you can put it up on Amazon and make a few pennies in the process? Stick it up there for $.99, then promote the hell out of it. See, the trick is that when you publish something for profit, even if it’s for a measly $.33 on the dollar, it forces you to respect your audience. It’s easy to shrug stuff off if you put your work up for free, because heeey… take it easy, guys! It’s free. What do you want, quality? Except yes! That is what you want. Without quality, you can try to get your foot in the door until that foot is sticking out of your coffin and they’re lowering you six feet into the ground, and you’ll still get rejections taped to your tombstone. (Imagine it: rejection even in death.) Light a fire under yourself, hold yourself to a higher standard. Self-publish your work and dare to call yourself a published author–there’s pressure there, and that’s a very good thing.

Trina Asks: My 13 year old wants to be a writer. What can we do now to help him with that?

The only thing you can do is what I’m sure you’re already doing. Be supportive, tell your kid that if they want to be a writer, that’s absolutely doable. But also be realistic. The writing industry is harsh, and Momma’s praises will only go so far. Push your kid to read a wide variety of books–if your son loves sci-fi and fantasy, push him to read outside of his comfort zone once in a while. Encourage him to join a critique group online, where he’ll be able to get far more honest advice on his writing than you can give (sorry Mom, that’s just the truth). Check to see if there are writing workshops in your area that he can attend during the summer, invest in craft books and industry magazines that will encourage him to evaluate his own creative process.

But here’s a dose of harsh reality: if your kiddo wants to be a writer, beyond your encouragement, you can’t do much. Writing is a lifestyle almost more than it is a career. You have to love to do it because it’s hard, and sometimes it’s cruel, and every so often it leaves you wondering what the hell you were thinking when you decided this writing thing was a good idea. Being any kind of an artist is a very personal decision. If your son ends up writing for the rest of his life, fantastic… but maybe he won’t, and that’s okay too, because this lifestyle isn’t for everyone.

My parents weren’t supportive of my choice to be a writer. I actually moved out of the house because of their outrage when I switched my major from psychology to English. But as you can see, that didn’t stop me. Sometimes it seems that we artistic types end up following the right side of our brains regardless of the circumstances. Be confident in knowing that supporting your child’s desire to be creative is enough. The rest is up to him.