If you know me or you’ve been here for a while, you know that one of my literary idols is Hubert Selby jr.
His work and general existence have been such a huge influence on me, I can’t really stand it.
As I do at least yearly I reread The Room recently and have been thinking about my mode of horror writing.
That book is some of the darkest, most brutal shit I have ever read.
As it pertains to my horror writing the thing about Selby’s work I love so much is that it is so beautiful and so terrifying.
In the context of what I want to do with my work is that. I want to get to that place where I am writing terrible terrible things, horror or otherwise but with such elevated language it makes it beautiful.
I think I’ve hit it on occasion. It’s so fucking hard to do.
I’m working on a horror story involving common American crows, a hood round the way type girl, a chosen one narrative and revenge. And, um, metamorphosis. I think it’s horror. Feels horrory. Maybe a little weird.
While I’m writing this I remember the original Crow stories by James O’Barr. I remember devouring the original and the subsequent anthologies. I remember I wrote a story about the crow coming to get the Green River Killer. I never showed a soul, but I spent a good amount of time fantasizing about getting to be one of those authors who got to dabble in that world.
I kind of wish that more lit was like comic books and graphic novels. I’d love to see more authors get to play in each others worlds. YES, I know this is the most simplistic naive view. I know. I don’t give a shit I STILL think it would be cool.
I want more stuff like Welcome to Bordertown, but without the HEY DID YOU KNOW ELVES ARE Whiteness.
I want it both as a writer and as a reader.
I have a migraine. I’m babbling.
I suppose my migraine is not helping me not just be full of feelings and writing some horrory things has me in my feelings too. I’m still feeling hesitant about trying to re-enter the markets. I’m still not super sure how well my ideas and execution of those ideas will fare.
I posted a little experimental ghost story I wrote a long time ago over on Catapult.
That is one of those flash things that pretty much as is without the fancy text formatting was rejected I think 13 times at last count. Almost all of them were super loving and full of praise, but again, it was a, we think this is beautiful but don’t know what to do with it.
Ah, my life y’all.
I can’t even handle my brain.
Now go read that, maybe on Sunday I’ll talk about zine making.
And next week I’ll give all the poop on where I’ll be at AWP, where I’m reading and how to track me down to buy a zine out of my purse.