There are three specific genres I am passionate about when reading; science-fiction, horror and fantasy. Each of these genres has been very influential in my life and has had a hand in molding my personality and who I am yet when I look back — I don’t recall very many female authors in this genre. The most influential writers of the current times that have made a huge impact on me are Douglas Adams, Clive Barker, Neil Gaiman and Stepehn King. I can only think of one female author who made an impact and that was Kathe Koja and her book Bad Brains. I believe I have read that particular book at least 20 times. However, I have no other female authors in these genres on my bookshelves. Why? Is it because women tend to write in other genres or is it because woman are not as accepted? I don’t know that answer. I’m not one to jump on the “woman are not treated equally” band wagon. In fact, I tend to steer as clear away from that mantra as possible yet I’m perplexed by this phenomenon. Especially since these threee genres are the ones I tend to write stories under.
Speaking of writing. I formulated a new idea while clearing an excel spreadsheet over the last few days. It centers around an entity seeping through the dimensional walls and infecting a playground full of children. Initially thought to be a disease – they are treated at a local hospital only to discover it is something much more sinister and turning the chidren from peaceful happy-go-lucky youths into something much darker and dangerous. I’m fleshing out the storyline. Hopefully I’ll get to work on this soon. I seem to be stuck in a no-go situation with Jason Leeks momentarily so maybe stepping into another world for a bit will stop me from obsessing and the story will start to flow naturally again or at the very least I can relax from trying to move that forward for a bit.
Anywho – thoughts on this whole, woman not being in the top of the three genres I listed (horror, science-fiction or fantasy)? I’d love to hear from others on their opinions of this. I have no definitive opinion; just curiousity.
I was driving home today. Completely lost and jamming out to “Jack off Jill”, an old 90s hard rock band that came and went before I ever even knew they existed. When out of nowhere, like usual, my brain turned on and started dumping crap all over me. So, I got home, mulled it over and finally decided I had to get it out or it was going to keep shitting all over me and bitching at me. So, here is the start of something to come…. not sure when it will finish or how long it will take but I LOVE where it starts. I’m still wrapping up the, what was, SUPPOSED, to be the short story Boxes but I think is closer to a novella maybe…. anyway. Here you go. My brain dumping.
Peter huddled in the corner of the basement sitting on his haunches, shit-stained underwear hanging loosely from his hip bones and caressing the dirt below his feet. He was digging for grubs again. They were the only thing he could find to eat in the cold dark room he had been locked inside for years. He couldn’t remember anything besides these four walls and single bulb that hung mockingly from the middle of the room. Always just out of reach and keeping him in the dark. He had memorized the location of the single filth riddled mattress that was his home. He scratched the dirt with his fingers and got past the dry top layer, underneath was moist earth which usually would produce a few fat crawly bites pretty quickly. He dug furiously in his hunger, he had no sense of time other than the hunger pains that came and went while he sat in his prison waiting for his captor to return and continue his methodical means of self satisfaction in the torture of his young body and mind. It had been so very long that Peter no longer knew anything beyond the pain and starvation that enveloped his existence.
As he dug deeper and deeper looking for the sustenance he needed for just a few hours of more time he hit what was gold for him. A nice long, fat earth worm wriggled in his fingers as he pulled them through the muck below his feet. He gingerly pulled it free from its home his mouth watering and tongue clucking in his mouth. A tick that he picked up some years ago that he wasn’t even aware of; it had started when he discovered that any noise he made would bring forth extra efforts of pain from the man. He dangled the luscious morsel of goodness before his eyes and flicked his tongue out in the way a frog attacks a fly. The worm went in and down his maw. No chewing needed for this snack, which was good because they tended to taste terrible but once it hit his belly it calmed the storm with no gagging. While he was swallowing the bit of food whole his other hand had been digging continuously and was suddenly stopped by a hard object in the ground that sent a slight shock through his fingers and up his arm.
I am cleaning out my computer as I have been given a new laptop and the conversion of info from one to another needs to be seamless. I need to be able to use this opportunity to purge some of the massive amounts of “stuff” instead of just moving it to a new home. In doing so I came across the beginning of a horror story/novel that I had in my mind at some time, who knows how long ago. I’m thinking of continuing the work on this particular story. In any case, the below is what I found and I would LOVE some feedback. Feedback was my intention with this website all along so anything is fine. I take all criticism, good or bad, for what it is and hope that it can make what I do better.
Here it goes:
In a clap of thunder that shook the grounds of Southeast Texas, the world changed dramatically.
Daniel arose from his favorite easy chair in the beloved living room of his suburban Houston home. His body shook with each drop of rain that struck the pavement and sluiced down sidewalks. The lightening flashed like an atomic bomb and in the same instant Daniel ceased to be anymore. What now stood on his dark green berber carpet sucked in the smell of fresh meat along with the acrid scent of oxygen and carbon dioxide. It snapped Daniel’s head back and then sharply up, popping all the vertebrae inside Daniel all at once. It was preparing for the sweet, decadent feast of flesh this new place had to offer. It walked down a hall and out the front door. The wetness slammed into Daniel’s body and it smiled with his mouth. It/Daniel walked to the middle of the street and thrust it’s arms into the air. It howled into the night and slammed it’s arms back down to it’s side. The moment its arms touched its body the entire neighborhood was torn into oblivion. Houses were now laying in small splinters where whole homes were just standing. The cars where tiny mangled messes while the concrete of roads and sidewalks were now large chunks of rock. It’s body was drenched in rain water mixed with blood as it stood in the middle of the street savoring its treat.
“I AM DANIEL” It proclaimed, making Daniel his in name and body.
Angie sat in her bare room that was home and listened to the rain storm pouring buckets down around her. Literally around her; she was looking for the only bucket she had to catch the water from her ceiling when the room was lit with a brilliant and eerie flash of lightening. The deafening thunder that followed chilled her to the bone and made her jump in terror. She had never been in a rainstorm so loud and violent. She expected to find herself in the midst of a hurricane but this storm had come from the west not the coast. The meteorologist had said it was the most puzzling storm system he had ever seen warning the city that it would be a horrible down pour and to expect flooding on the magnitude of the 2001 Allison storm.
Angie Winston had been through many storms before, in fact, she was in town when Allison came through the city. She was stranded and almost drowned in a low lying intersection. She had climbed on top of her car and prayed that it didn’t rise past the roof of her Jeep. Angie had lived here in Houston her entire life, what little bit you could call a life. Her Mom died right after she was born and her Dad had never been around. She was raised by her already ancient Grandmother who always had good intentions but was too easy to fool. This gave Angie the ability to do what she wanted and get away with more than she should have ever thought of doing with herself. She was 12 the first time she got drunk and it was in a bar close to downtown where most of the shady people could be found on any given night. This was just the beginning in a sordid twist of life experiences. Angie never finished school and had never really cared to anyway. She had all she needed at 23; a job dancing at a semi-decent bar while running packages to clients as well, a place to put her head (albeit rather wet but still hers) and wheels to get her around the city. Houston may have lots to offer but if you don’t have a car then you don’t have the opportunities to make the kind of money Angie could in one day.
Right now she was cursing the day she decided to rent such a piece of sweltering shit house. It had seemed like such a great idea at the time. Gabe had told her about the place because it was so close to downtown and her bar but he left out the part about it being so close to the Wards. It was run down and there was always some sort of a siren blaring past during the most inconvenient times but it was cheap and didn’t raise any flags that might cause questions about her finances. She finally found her bucket next to the toilet in the bathroom. The previous night had definitely been another lesson in what not to drink. Angie grabbed the bucket and trudged back out to the one room of the house and stuck it under the torrent of water now coming through a rather large hole in her ceiling.
“Well, fuck.” Angie sighed.