The Use of Fear as a Prime Mover (No Guts, No Gory!)

A healthy amount of fear is good. It's when that ominous feeling of something going bump in the night goes from the nervous chuckle brought on by the imaginary to the sinking realization that the bump was made intentionally. It's when that healthy dose crosses the line into toxic territory. That's what I want to write about.

So, why write horror? In fact, why focus on things under the bed, hiding in the closet and sitting in the backseat of the car? The same reason amusement parks tout the ritual of perceived--and survived--death on a rollercoaster. You would think that, with all that g-force in the loops, the mind-boggling sense of falling uncontrollably and yelling to the point of decapitation (i.e., screaming your head off) would deter other patrons from boarding the ride. Nope. Instead, people line up and wait in the summer heat their chance to trick out their Limbic systems and say they survived.

One of my favorite movies came up in recent conversation. When George A. Romero unleashed Night of the Living Dead, he tapped into something. Until then, zombies were pitiful creatures who mindlessly followed the bidding of their masters. The Romero zombie wasn't so much mindless as it was single-minded of focus. And that focus was to feed on the living. A primal fear is that of being eaten; even worse, the concept of being eaten alive...and turned into one of them who, in turn, eat. The master wasn't some cheesy bad magician pulling the strings; the master was the compelling urge to consume flesh. Even more disturbing, by all logic a zombie, who is already dead, should have no need to feast. Supposedly, that urge is a leftover from what it did while alive: consume with little regard. Suddenly, the predators become the prey and are inducted into a crazy cult of those of like mind--or like-mindlessness.

The incredible thing is that the director did it on a shoestring budget with unknown actors and without much gore. Yeah, there was the scene when the couple perishes in the truck explosion and for the next couple of minutes, the undead are fighting over their viscera (no guts, no gory!). It's disturbing to say the least but a punctuated payoff of having sat in your seat for that long.

I don't think that a horror movie has to be full of splatter to be scary. Living Dead was a masterstroke of minimalism, served up in black and white. Of course, to top this, Romero returned years later with Tom Savini by his side to serve up eviscerations in living (dead) color. I have nothing against the sequels (to include the remake of Dawn of the Dead, featuring RUNNING zombies, which cause much debate over whether they should lumber or go about speedily) but the original is a masterpiece for a reason.

I grew up in a neighborhood where zombies were heroin addicts in the hallway and where a dead body could remain on the stairs for days before being retrieved. The monsters were real and life was rendered in full color with stereo sound. It gets no scarier.

The monsters in my books are usually creatures that can't help what they do. Be they zombies or gigantic cockroaches, they're only following the script written in their DNA. A human being has a will. When that will runs contrary to another's, monstrous acts may result. I like using the creatures as a catalyst for bringing out the horrific nature of people.

The MANdate

I was just talking to a coworker who has been absent from the job for the last 4 weeks. Turns out, his father announced to the family that he was leaving his wife of over 27 years for a woman he'd met on a social networking site just 3 months before. The father said he'd been wanting to leave for the last 10 years and that this had absolutely nothing to do with anyone but him.

My coworker was hospitalized due to a heart infection soon after and had to take time off because of the stress.

Yet, the father claims his decision had nothing to do with anyone else but himself. He's both right and wrong about that.

1. His decision WAS all about him...acting selfishly.

2. Amazingly (but not surprisingly), his announcement and subsequent actions had varying effects on his son, his daughter and soon-to-be ex-wife. Yet it had nothing to do with anyone else.

The mandate of being a husband and father is often a thankless job, but, much like many of us who served in the military, we didn't do what we did just for ribbons and medals. The prize is wrapped up in the work of protecting and providing and guiding. Not many accolades to be gained or pats on the back to be had. However, to quote a Rolling Stones lyric and an old Job Corps commercial:

- “You can’t always get what you want / but if you try sometimes, you just might find / you get what you need.”

- “It’s the toughest job you’ll ever love.”

Men, I want you to realize that there’s no greater weapon than a man in his proper place. And we’re held not only to what we say with our mouths but to what we actually DO…especially when no one is watching. The lives and quality of life for our families hinge on our actions and inactions. What a heavy MAN-date that is! Are you man enough for the challenge?

Providence or Coincidence?

When I was a kid attending elementary school in Chicago, one of my teachers invited a writer to come talk to us. He didn't meet us in the makeshift auditorium (better known as the school gymnasium, which would be filled with chairs for big events) but met with a small group of students in the breezeway by the library. It may have been open to the kids who were interested in meeting a published author and I found myself there, hanging on his every word. He had a strange name which I'd never heard before or since then, until today.

I'm currently listening to Roger Ebert's memoir, 'Life Itself.' In talking about the people he knew, he mentioned Harry Mark Petrakis and the light came on in my head. THAT was the author who'd come to talk to us all those years ago.

I'd been trying to put together stories since I was a tyke. I spent many years drawing pictures, which became comic books, in order to convey my talespinning. When Petrakis visited, it was if he was talking directly to ME. I didn't care about all the other kids who seemed they weren't interested. I knew then I wanted to WRITE for a living. Over time, I concentrated more on stories instead of pictures and eventually stopped drawing altogether (some say it's a shame).

Well, I just found Petrakis's website and email address. I'm going to give it some thought over the weekend, but I'm going to drop him a line of thanks. Oh, I'm sure he won't recall some little awkward kid with an afro who hung onto his every word as if he was meeting a superstar. To me, he was. I guess maybe now I should pick up some of his books...