Tried and True Methods To Create and Maintain... Suspense!

For our next writer roundtable, let's talk suspense. What are your tried and true methods for creating and maintain suspense in your work? Feel free to quote examples you've written.

Bobby Nash: If my POV character is the one experiencing it, I use short, choppy sentences, disjointed or incomplete thoughts, distractions that move from one to the other. It feels frantic in that character's thoughts. I try to have the reader feel the character's anxiety.

Corrina Lawson: Ticking clock.

John L. Taylor: I use descriptive cues in their environment. One I used in a yet unpublished manuscript was to have a seemingly unmenacing character began talking to the POV character while Greig's "In the Hall of the Mountain King" is being played on a piano in the background. His tale gets more and more morbid with the music until the POV character realizes she's talking to the Angel of Death who's threatening to kill her entire city at the crescendo. It doesn't have to be that blunt, but even like a mounting noise like scratching, or a smell the protagonist is gagging on. Mix these with their rising suspicion or internal monologue and I find it builds effective tension. Also, have an event that the reader is waiting to happen, then tease it coming. In the same horror story, we read in the prologue that the POV character has snow-white hair. In chapter one, I describe her hair as naturally raven black. The reader knows something supernatural and extremely traumatic is going to happen, something that changes the protagonist's entire core nature. So I drop hints every four chapters or so until the event happens in the climax. Remember though, the more tense wind up, the bigger the payoff must be. So don't overdo it. Sometimes the moment you're building to isn't a climactic event, just a part of the journey. Place tension appropriately within the POV character's arc.

John Linwood Grant: I quite like to reflect the ‘feel’ of what is coming, to build suspense, by including aspects not immediately relevant to the expected action. So the time by the clock, in the first example below, is symbolic of something coming, as is the restlessness of a dead fox in the second. It’s about planting the idea that things are about to change, without saying it openly.

“The moon is near its first quarter, a bright crescent barely clouded now. The silver wound of it illuminates Commercial Street and the ways beyond. Almshouses and chapels, slum tenements and public houses, some showing a faint light. Mile End in the distance; breweries and rookeries around. The hands of the Christ Church clock, not so far away, stand at almost four in the morning…” (Assassin’s Coin)

“A dead fox stirs, unable to rest, its white bones gleaming in the tough grass. The owls do not call.” (Horse Road)

Bill Craig: Create a sense of urgency, as if the hero is racing against a clock.

Brian K Morris: In my writing, I like to establish that the character is moving towards something mysterious, unknowable. It's even better when I remove their support systems and any reasons to retreat from the danger.

Marian Allen: I put my characters out of their element or out of their depth and make sure the readers know it. In my mystery/comedy Bar Sinister, the "detective" is a naive busybody poking around a murder as if it's a fun puzzle. In my historical (1968) mystery A Dead Guy at the Summer House, the main character is trying desperately NOT to be told what happened before he was hired as a handyman, and doesn't even know a murder has been committed -- but other people think he knows ALL about it. I like for my characters to be -- with the readers' knowledge -- to approach danger unawares, so the reader can sit on a bus and shout aloud, "Don't go in there!" Good times.

Ian Totten: Stillness in the air coupled with distant sounds (cars on a highway, a dog barking) and an overall sense of quiet where the scene is taking place. If I can’t sense the dread and suspense in my head, it needs to be reworked until I do.

Krystal Rollins: Broderic Martin sat behind his desk, in his luxury office that overlooked a beautiful waterfall fountain. His office window would open about a quarter of the way up, just enough to hear the water splash back into the concrete pool below. He loved to listen to the water drop in sequence, people everywhere were in a cheery mood and police sirens whaled in the distance. After the sun went down was his favorite time to sit back and relax in his leather chair; the light bulbs in the pool lit up in color. It was mesmerizing, almost like a woman in a colorful silk nighty walking up to him. Anything that he wanted, she would do. The night secretary would quietly lock up his office but didn’t dare disturb his peaceful thoughts before she left for the night. He used the classic excuse to his wife that a couple of his friends from different states flew in for an all-night poker game. But instead, he used the time alone, the time to clear his mind, time to meditate, time he needed just to wind down. To see the colors of the rainbow under the water come to life, sometimes he broke down and cried. A cleansing. It was a life that most would love to have; a casino hotel that made him millions per year. A beautiful wife that looked at him all day through an eight by ten glass who wanted him home more with her and the children. He had employees by his side that would do anything he asked them to and top-notch security when he needed it. Broderic controlled a part of Las Vegas, taken over from his dad who did everything by the book. It was a different time, a dog-eat-dog world. His father made lots of friends, all Broderic did was make enemies and that’s why in his mind, everybody wanted to be around him. Ever since college, he always wanted to have fun all the time; dinner parties, expensive cars, children in private school and all the women his could desire.

Earl Carlson: Hideous and horrid, she stands over me, savoring her triumph, threatening me with finger wiggles, and salivating at the prospect of gluttonizing on my unsullied flesh. The blood of her last meal, still fresh and flowing, drips from her jowls, and her fangs gleam a ghastly white amidst the gore. I cannot help myself. I close my eyes in a vain attempt to shut her out – to make her go away. Please, Devla, make her go away. And I scream. All my terror, all my hopelessness, all my anguish coalesces as a flaming liquid in my belly, and emanates from my every orifice, my every pore, in one final, one last-ever, forever scream.

Gordon Dymowski: Bring your audience to attention, give them a clue as to what may happen....and leave them there.

Suspense is all about letting the audience come to their own conclusion before you add something that makes them want to know more. Only resolve the tension when there's no other alternative.

Hiraeth Publish: The best way is to create and develop a character who connects with the reader, and put that person in credible, yet outre jeopardy.

Jason Bullock: I like to take the reader through the scene at the beginning with a volley of description in and around all the senses a character could experience it in. The following paragraphs lead up to the climax of the scene like a roller coaster edging to the crescendo waiting for the moment of conflict to strike the Bailey so to speak.

Sean Taylor: There are several techniques I like to go to as my stand-by methods. The first is to vary the sentence length. Short sentences increase reading speed, which can also increase tension. Then hit 'em with a long, compound sentence for a sort of full stop, like hitting the pavement from a great height. 

Another is to use a repetitive phrase that draws readers back to the central idea they're supposed to be in suspense about. Nothing cheesy, but subtle enough to keep that ticking clock or pending appointment they just can't miss fresh in their minds. 

The sounds of letters and words themselves also contribute to suspense. Easy to skip letters like "s" and "z" and "m" give a reader a sense of peacefulness, all is well, you can just skip over this quickly and go with the flow. Hard sounds like "k" and "p" and "d" mess up a reader's pattern, almost guttural stops, potholes in the reading that keep a reader wanting to move faster in the text than they're able usually. 

But the best way, I've found is to keep asking myself as a writer, "What's the worst thing that could happen at this moment?" and then having the guts to put my characters in those awful situations until the story needs to start digging its way out of the hole.

Is Your Setting Just a Place or a Character?

As writers, we all have our favorite setting in which to tell stories, and we also have our favorite passages that establish those setting. As a reader I've seen the masters at work, from the arid tone and sparseness of Capote's In Cold Blood...

"The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call 'out there.'"

...to the rambling, darkly poetic tour of Manderly in DuMarrier's Rebecca...

"Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me. There was a padlock and a chain upon the gate."

But let's make it personal. How do YOU establish setting in your fiction?

On a range of "the setting is another character" to "a few words about the weather and the name of the town is more than enough," how important is setting to your stories?

Gordon Dymowski: For me, the setting is one of the key elements of making a story work. Even if I'm just writing a modern-day tale, providing an appropriate atmosphere is critical. I'm strictly in the "setting-as-character" camp since it provides a backdrop for the flesh-and-blood characters. Providing that atmosphere enhances both my writing and the reader's experience.

Elizabeth Donald: When I first began writing fiction, my stories were like the Star Trek original series episode “The Empath.” You’ll remember that one - they ran out of money for sets and the whole thing takes place on an empty sound stage with a square block for the characters to occasionally sit. It’s actually a pretty good episode, but I was always struck by how it seemed to be taking place in nowhere.

That’s what my writing was like. People did things, said things, died horribly, but it might as well have been in that nowhere space for all the description I put into place and setting. As I grew and developed my craft, I realized that setting can absolutely be a character, and knowing a place can really inform your story. I’ve infested Memphis with vampires and rusalka and a number of other critters, because I lived there for several years and I know the city will. I’ve often used settings like Illinois river towns, because it is territory I know, having lived and reported in Illinois river towns for more than 25 years. 

In the micro sense, where you place a story can greatly influence the reader’s opinion. For example, a recent story I submitted to my MFA workshop was set in a cheap, kind of slimy motel. My colleagues said that having this moment take place in that kind of setting led them to expect it would be a tawdry moment, something illicit - cheating, drug-fueled, perhaps people on the edge of homelessness - none of which I intended form the story. Setting matters to the characters, influences the readers, and thus it needs to matter to the writer.

Vonnie Winslow Crist: For me, setting is almost another character. I choose a setting for my fiction that has an impact on the story. Sensory language is the most important tool in my toolbox for creating a strong sense of location. That said, the sensory details need to carefully selected for maximum impact. No one wants to read pages of sensory observations. Sometimes, one well-chosen detail can define the location, set the mood, and start the action in motion.

Anna Grace Carpenter: I am very fond of setting as character, but fluctuate as setting as a reflection of the central characters, and setting as a contrast to my central characters. (For example, The Gear'd Heart is all rainy and dark and cold as the characters fight otherworldly, serial killers. But the current work-in-progress is a desert setting but with characters who are desperate to live.

Selah Janel: It depends on the story, but setting matters in a lot of my work. I gravitate towards forests and small towns, and both can be portrayed to convey tone and characters. In one form, they can be romantic and comforting, in another they can be suffocating and foreboding. For me, setting can be an extension of my characters or a character in itself, yet another antagonist working against the characters like in Candles or Mooner, or something that’s more supportive like a quiet best friend in a story like Holly or Ivy. Even in my short stories, I use setting to echo the tone and feel quite a bit.

HC Playa: Setting sets tone. It is both little more than background and yet absolutely integral to the story. In genre fiction it can outline the realities and rules of the world, whether there's magic or aliens or we are reading by candlelight.

I sketch it out through my character's eyes and senses, dropping things in as they go. IF I am using a real place I may put in less description, but still want to paint an image in the reader's mind because not everyone has been to the same places.

Herika Raymer: As setting is when and where the story takes place, I agree with HC that it sets tone. Usually setting through a character's eyes helps, but there is the added measure of setting through a character who had not been in your setting before. That way, not only the character but also the reader are exploring a new area. It allows the reader to (hopefully) connect with characters as well as get the background and events of the Setting to help understand what is happening.

Bill Craig: In my Marlow books, Key West is every bit a character as well as setting.

Bobby Nash: The vast majority of the time, setting is very important to me and my work, especially in a series where the setting is visited and revisited often. Sommersville is a fictional city and county I created that has become an important location in multiple books fronted by different characters. I think it’s a very important character in the stories. I want the reader to have a feel for the settings.

Murky Master: So it depends. In the last two short stories I wrote, they were short so going verbose on the setting wasn't an option. In my novel, it's set in San Antonio and I didn't really think much about establishing setting in that one. But, when I write my fantasy stories, I like to think of it this way.

Ian Totten: Setting is extremely important to me. When I write I see everything in my mind and try to convey that to the readers. Generally speaking, my settings either serve to create a sense of dread (such as the place where a killer is going to strike), a false sense of safety, or an actual area where the characters don’t need to have their guards up.

What is your most effective tool in your writer's toolbox for creating a strong sense of setting in your work?

Bobby Nash: The setting you create has to feel real, not just to the reader, but to me as the writer. I need to be able to imagine walking down the streets of that location, recognize the smells, the colors, the things that make that place unique. If I believe it’s real, that translates into the story.

Herika Raymer: Using the senses, but trying not to be too descriptive. I do not want to be a writer who uses two pages to explain what one thing looks like or tastes like. However, a reader experiencing their surroundings through the senses of the character can definitely be instrumental to setting the scene.

John L. Taylor: Depending on the story. If the setting is fairly fantastic, I'll go more detailed and emphasize the contrast between it and the known. If more down-to-earth, I'll write it as a metaphor for the POV character's mood/personality. 

Selah Janel: I really like to lean into details, and if I don’t have the space for that, I try to use setting just enough to induce a mood in the characters, and by extension my readers. Little things matter, though, and knowing a place or type of place well can give you so much to work with in terms of story.

Bill Craig: The places where I set a lot of the action are real places where I have been. I try to make descriptions of places as vivid as I can in order to make readers feel as if they are visiting the island. For Key West, the sights and sounds are well known by many people, so it is easy to incorporate them, from wild chickens running all over town to iguanas coming out of the trees to swim in hotel swimming pools. Island music is everywhere as there is some sort of musician playing nearly 24 hours a day, giving a flavor from salsa to calypso, to Jimmy Buffet. 

Gordon Dymowski: Details, details, details. It's amazing how some writers will point to obvious landmarks (like the Empire State Building) as if to say "We're in New York". Writing places that are out-of-the-way or suggesting a deeper history can do a lot for setting place, tone, and mood.

For example, when I write about Chicago, most of my action tends to take place on the city's south side. Part of it is that there's a historic tension between the North Side and South Side (due to both class and racial factors that are too lengthy to go into here), but part of it is...I know Sears Tower exists (and nobody calls it Willis Tower, just like nobody calls where the White Sox play Guaranteed Rate Park -- it's Sox Park or, if you're older, Comiskey Park). Anything that suggests that the setting has a history improves your ability to tell a story.

Elizabeth Donald: Live your life. I know that’s not the craft response, and certainly addressing metaphor and descriptive passages and details are all very important, but the reader can tell if you’re making up a setting from what you’ve seen in a movie or TV show rather than real-life experience. I learned to shoot guns because I was writing a lot of shoot-em-ups and it was blindingly apparent I’d never shot a gun in my life. I wrote an early novel in New York City that was fairly terrible, as I had never been to New York and I didn’t realize a lot of aspects you only realize once you’ve walked around on its streets. 

If you want to create a place, first visit it or something similar. Pay attention. Take notes. Engage all five senses and experience a place if you want to recreate it in fiction. And then send in the zombies. It livens everything up. 

Davide Mana: I started writing my "Buscafusco" stories, about an unlicensed PI working in the wine hills of southern Piedmont where I live, as a collaboration with the local Chamber of Commerce and Tourism. The idea was to use my stories to promote tourism in the area. The place had therefore to be really another character in the stories, and I used a mix of historical details and contemporary color to give the readers as strong an impression as possible. I had to be as close as possible to the authentic places I described and tried to use as much true detail as possible in setting up action scenes and plot elements. I used real people whenever possible.

The result was highly satisfying for me as a writer and (based on feedback) for the readers and paid back the extra research and effort needed.

Ef Deal: I like to focus on texture and sensory details like scent and taste. I also will describe a general layout as it affects the plot or action. For example, an opening of a second chapter describes the history of the chateau only to highlight the engineering genius of my heroine in bringing it up to date (1843), since those changes will play a part in the action later in the book.

Anna Grace Carpenter: I focus on those visceral details. The chill and misery of a rainy setting, the exhaustion and thirst of a desert setting. If the characters have injuries I focus on how the environment affects those wounds.

HC Playa: Invoking the senses. I do admit that this is something I feel is a work-in-progress skill. I joke that a reader might accurately guess without knowing me that my sense of smell is not very good. My characters tend not to smell much unless it's really strong and generally ick 😂. Yay allergies.

How important are sensory details when establishing setting? Internal monologue to establish "connection"? Omniscient telling for all the facts?

Robert Waters: Internal dialogue is important to me. But it's something you have to balance and not have it dominate the story. I've seen stories with whole paragraphs of internal dialogue, to the point of annoyance. IMO, not a good way to go. What I often do is have the character thinking / brooding / contemplating over something as part of the main narrative, and then, he/she will say a few words to him or herself to cap off the thought. That to me is a better way to handle internal dialogue. 

Selah Janel: It depends on word count and what’s going on in the story. I love sensory details, because they help build a world and immerse readers, as well as giving characters so much to work with externally and internally. Sometimes, though, showing their own thoughts about a place is enough with less emphasis on external description. It really depends on what the goal is for the scene.

Bobby Nash: It all goes to set the stage. I like to have the narrator let us know not only details about the place but how they connect to the POV character in that chapter. I can drop details about Sommersville, and they work, but when I tie those details to Tom Myers’ life, they take on greater meaning.

Bill Craig: Sensory details are hooks to put the reader into the story and setting. 

Anna Grace Carpenter: I only write 1st or close 3rd person. So the voice is always immediate and tied to the centralized character. (Even in third, everything is very close to the character who is the focus of the chapter. So those details are personal.)

Elizabeth Donald: I struggle with interiority in my writing, and it’s something I’ve been focusing on in my craft. Internal monologue comes more from character than setting, in my humble opinion, but both of these help develop a rich narrative that draws your reader into that total immersion for which we strive when we’re writing. Those sensory details go much further in terms of setting, as far as I’m concerned: when you’re standing in an open-air market in San Antonio, hearing mariachi music, smelling the street corn and tamales, watching the brightly-colored flags flutter against the blue sky, feeling an overly-warm breeze on your face… that puts you in a place, at a time, and you have established a place. 

HC Playa: I avoid omniscient telling in my writing. As a reader, nothing makes me skip ahead quicker than a setting info dump from an invisible omniscient narrator. If I skip it and don't enjoy it, I don't write it. While I do occasionally use internal dialogue, I rely mostly on the character's POV to relate setting. It gives the reader a more immersive experience.

Gordon Dymowski: Sometimes the way to "dot the I" when crafting a setting is ensuring that every sense is involved. For example, my high school years were spent commuting through Chicago's Maxell Street market. I could discuss how I took the Number 8 Halsted bus, but the reader would be more intrigued by describing the storefronts along the street (with metal covers for the windows), the vendors hawking wares on the sidewalk (including hubcaps), and the strong odor of grilled onions and Polish sausage wafting through the air.

I've just painted a picture for you of that experience. The Market has since moved (and the street is now covered by amenities for college students), but that sense memory still lingers.

As far as internal monologue/omniscient narrator, it depends on the type of story. Leaving out details can be critical in setting the scene (just read Poe's short stories), and having the "innocent bystander" narrate can drive insight into actions and behaviors (paging Dr. Watson). All of these are tools that any writer can and should use.

Vonnie Winslow Crist: Used judicially, internal monologue can let the reader see into a character and their motivations, goals, etc. Again, a little goes a long way. Too much internal monologue slows the pace of the story. I'm not a fan of omniscient telling -- it usually feels like "telling" and not like a story unfolding. The setting doesn't work in my fiction when I "force" a story to be set in a place. When I allow the narrative to settle comfortably in a location rather than force it to fit into an environment, it's easier to write and the resulting tale works better for readers (and editors). 

I'm a fan of George Martin's term "gardener" for a writer. One organically selects details, adjusts the narrative, and makes decisions about location, internal monologues, pov, etc. much like one gardens -- well, much like I garden. For me, it's less about straight rows and perfect flowers, and more about the beauty that comes from discovery and adapting to the unexpected.

Herika Raymer: Sensory details are important because we all (unless otherwise incapacitated) experience our reality through our senses, makes sense we would want a bit of sensory in the stories we real.

Internal monologue can help establish "connection" with a character because it helps the reader either comprehend, understand, or even approve/disapprove of a character's motives and actions.

Omniscient telling for all the facts can be fun, but it depends on the presentation. For instance, I am watching an anime right now based of a manga series. Though a different presentation, the author's way of presenting omniscient facts is to have a narrator make hilarious remarks on what is happening. It adds spice to an otherwise pretty cut and paste story. This may not be feasible in a traditional written format, but I have read some authors who have ways to bring in omniscience without it being too much of a data dump and thus taking away from the lure of the written word.

What have you read or written that absolutely didn't work in regard to making the setting feel real or important to the work? Why didn't it work?

Bill Craig: Longmire did a great job in character and setting. The only book I have read that failed in this respect is a book about a pulp character by a "Name" mystery writer. Sadly, it was so poorly written that I could not finish it and returned it. It ignored the history of the character and turned him into a secondary character rather than being the titular hero.

Elizabeth Donald: I will be generous and pick on TV, because they make a lot of money and won’t care. I always had myself a huge giggle at Smallville, as the teens of Smallville High would go swimming in the lovely alpine lakes shrouded with evergreens in… Kansas. Seriously, folks, at least try to hide that you’re shooting in Vancouver. Shows like Supernatural were equally ridiculous about this - claiming to be in St. Louis and an establishing shot of the Arch really doesn’t qualify as establishing a setting. At least when Doctor Who lands on Earth, he’s honest enough to admit he mostly toodles around London because budget. 

How can we apply this to the written word? Know the territory. If you can’t physically visit a place, use your Google-fu and explore. Try to find someone who lives there or has visited there and interview them. I did this when I set a Blackfire adventure in the Philippines, and before I even ventured close to that one, I interviewed a friend of a friend who grew up there. I see it as no different than interviewing experts in advance of writing something technically different, like asking an arson investigator how you can most efficiently kill someone with fire and get away with it. (Just be sure they know you’re a writer; it’s far less likely to result in a search warrant for your apartment.)

Murky Master: Setting is only the combined sensory input going into a character's mind. The details that are important to the character are important to the story, so they will rise to the top.

A missionary about to face Elder gods in the Vietnamese jungle would see the following

"The dark of the night gave every biting insect an echo. The vines strangled like tentacles, their origins in the pitch black of the tree forks, like they were dropping out of the unknowable night..."

But, an adventuring doctor rushing to get medicine through that same jungle would see this

"Every branch, every vine clawed and tugged at Dr. Nguyen, grasped and clawed at his sweat-soaked pant legs. Even the air dragged on him as he swam through the humidity, every leaping stride through wet, leaves feeling like a backhand. Like the one that mother would deal him if that girl drowned in her own pneumatic lungs).

Bobby Nash: Sure. Probably. I can’t think of an example off the top of my head and wouldn’t want to throw another writer under the bus. As a writer, if the author isn’t giving me those details, my brain fills them in, which could hurt the scene the author is trying to convey. If I don’t connect to the location, it becomes a generic location in my imagination.

Anna Grace Carpenter: I can't say I have written anything that was disconnected from setting. I write a lot of suspension of disbelief stuff, but setting is rarely a part of that. But, I did stop reading "The Lies of Locke Lamora" after a particular scene that was particularly brutal but also ignored some general physics.

Herika Raymer: The most glaring example that comes to mind was reading a sample chapter in Amazon from a highly recommended book (though not so much later on once more facts were discovered about the author). Her description of the scene was fair, setting the tone of tension and the fear of being chased. However, when it came time for the main character to act -- that is when it did not work. She had her character running on a broken ankle. Yes, broken. Readers can suspend belief for some things, but unless the author establishes right away that the main character is in some way supernatural, I have yet to meet someone who could run on a broken ankle with no problem. It was not the only problem with the story, but it was the first of many.

HC Playa: I can't think of any specific examples off the top of my head, but plenty of romance-type stories and contemporary fiction really have no connection to the setting. You could pick up the entire story, plop it in another city and it wouldn't matter.

Davide Mana: There is a notorious thriller novel, published a few years back by an Italian writer, and set in London. It was so successful Amazon did an English translation - that was pretty popular with the American public and got the British readers rabid (we talk a few dozens one-star reviews).

The author did not do any research, and what she produced was a story in which the London police carried guns, in which Scotland Yard is closed for business on weekends (!!), and the big set piece is a car chase and shootout on the streets of London (but the geography is all wrong). The plot was OK, but all the setting details that should have propped it up were wrong, and a lot of people noticed. It was an absolute failure on the worldbuilding side, caused by an obvious lack of research.

So, the bottom line: using actual places as setting can be a disaster if you don't do the minimum of research needed to establish an authentic sense of place. Sometimes Google Maps is enough.

Also, sometimes researching the worldbuilding changes the direction of your story: while writing my first novel (historical adventure), I spent a weekend working with my brother (who studied Chinese), browsing Chinese-language websites in search of the actual location of the Italian consulate in Shanghai in 1936. I could have played it fast and loose, but the time spent on research revealed the consulate was across the street from the British police barracks - which changed the whole dynamic of the action in the first third of my story. I had to do a lot of rewrite, but it was well worth the effort.

Gordon Dymowski: As part of my review duties for I Hear of Sherlock, I read one pastiche which read more like a cliche screenplay than an actual Holmes work. (I'm not going to name it here). By the end, it was more concerned with being clever than setting a great mood or driving strong characters. Let's end on a positive note: some great examples of authors who use setting well are Robert B. Parker's early Spenser novels, Sara Paretsky's VI Warshawski novels, and Jim Thompson's novels (which, yes, are unsettling but that's half the reason why I enjoy them).

John L. Taylor: Best example, again from an in-progress book of mine is introducing main characters who can travel in dreams by cornering their target in a dream of an abandoned decaying mansion meeting them at a chessboard with a game in progress. Both characters are damaged people, past their prime, but still intelligent and elegant in their ways, and ruthless hunters of their quarry. The visuals are symbolic of that.

Flat and Round: The Character Conundrum

I learned some terms this week that I hadn't learned during my time as a lit major in college. 

Flat Characters: Those who are typically not given any depth in character development, reduced to foils and/or stereotypes as a sort of shorthand for moving the plot along.

Round Characters: Those whose stories, lives, and character are developed in depth so as to make them feel more real in the eyes of readers, typically reserved for main antagonists and protagonists. 

So, as any good student, I think we should talk about it. I gathered the gang together and posed the questions around the table.

What benefits have you seen in your work for using flat characters?

Gordon Dymowski: One of the benefits of "flat characters" is that they can serve as placeholders, "red herrings" or other devices to move the story forward. Although I try to give as much background to any character (even peripheral ones), using "flat" characters provides immediate shortcuts and can help reflect the main characters' actions.

Chris Norton: Flat characters can be fun to write, sometimes you need some keystone cops action; also you just don't always have the time/space in a novel, and especially in a novella or short story, to fill out every character, unless it's a serial or has a limited number of characters.

I always feel pulled out of a story when an author takes the time to tell us all about a person whose only action is something like ringing up someone's groceries.

The benefits of rounded characters are obvious: empathy with the characters, pulling in the readers, etc.

Bobby Nash: I’ve never heard the term before your question, but I have in the past had henchmen who were basically there to e beat up or shot at while the hero worked his or her way up to the villain. These guys are just there to get their ass kicked so I didn’t really flesh them out.

Adrian G. Delgado: Flat characters are great as archetypes. Technically, even a god, especially one tied to a specific pantheon, can be flat as a pancake. "I'm a god of war and I make war. What else is there to know?" The Alchemist in Cohelo's "The Alchemist" is somewhat the same way, in so much that he is there to be used by the author to tell the shepherd's story. Come to think of it, characters can go flat and round out many times. Take Planet Hulk for example. The rest of the Marvel Heroes get reduced to Safety First goody-goods who send bad old hulk to a planet in the first few panels. Crack open any other comic though, suddenly Banner himself is a flat strongman.

Rus Wornom: I LOVE THESE TERMS. My flat characters help the main characters either develop as real people, or they move the action along...or they develop the character of the setting, which can be just as important as a character. For instance, I use flat characters in Ghostflowers to make a party in the woods seem real. They interact with the main characters as they progress to a certain point, not only in the woods but in the story.

John L. Taylor: In my writing, I get good use out of flat characters. As a horror writer, the important thing is to make the reader care about the character's fate. That doesn't mean extensive backstories or long conversations between them, just that the reader bonds with them and it isn't obvious who's going to die/suffer. 

Sean Taylor: Flats for me make perfect foils. I like to tease their backstories but then never deliver, so that they feel more important than they are actually. That way, particularly in a mystery story, they can serve as a kind of next-level red herring. They also make great hench-people for villains for pulp heroes, and hangers-on for the A-level cast in just about any genre. 

What line divides the need to make a character flat or round in your stories? 

Kellie Austin: I honestly don't think of characters in those projections. Flat or round-based characters start out for me as all being "Round". I'm very detailed oriented when I write and am constantly world-building. When I'm done with my book or story, I always go back and omit much information regarding some of the characters used, whether they are primary or supporting. Then I place the once rounded characters into the "flat" position until I can re-insert the back story in future stories. Some characters stay in the rounded section as they are the main hero(s). I find creating a character to move the plot along is worthwhile, and I can always use them again later when I need them. If I write a short story, then my characters are most usually always to be flat based as I have problems writing under restraint of words. So, I usually write more action, knowing that as my stories continue, I can begin transforming them into fully rounded characters to accompany the story I began with.

Adrian G. Delgado: If I have no reason to believe that either the reader or the MC or the character holding the point of view needs to see all the nuance of a character's life, they stay flat. If, however, this humanity needs to be discovered in the course of the story, I'll pump the air pump to it.

Bobby Nash: I like to give my characters some kind of identity. Even the henchmen and the like I write these days, I try to at least give them a name or something so they aren’t just a henchman.

Austin S. Camacho: Mysteries often have large casts - drivers, servants, people you get one important bit of info from, etc. Flat characters are a short-hand for readers: "the cab driver is not important to the plot - not a suspect." the better developed a character is, the more the reader expects them to have an important role.

Bill Craig: I agree with Austin. As you know, I love writing ensemble casts, so I try to develop the flat characters as well, just to make them important to the main characters. In the way I build characters, even the less important ones, I want them to be someone that the readers can relate to.

Jonathan Sweet: Like some others have said, my flat characters are usually shortcuts. I figure that if a nameless henchman is going to be offed by the hero, why give him a back story? On the other hand, I do like to give backstories even to minor characters. For example, in Enter the Jackal, I have Ole Karlsson, a cemetery caretaker that finds the first victim of a killer. Adding details about his feelings about the job, the fact that he's hungover from the night before, that he has a dog -- they help round out the character and maybe make us care a little bit about him.

John L. Taylor: In that respect, ALL characters are somewhat flat, including the POV character, based on archetypes with one or two quirks who the reader can empathize with. That distance between the reader and characters helps elevate the horror because the element of the unknown extends to the characters. None is so developed that they couldn't be a secret part of the threat to the protagonist. We don't know them that well to rule them out. We can't guarantee they won't survive. It's the archetype that needs to be compelling, and the plot that subverts that expectation.

Gordon Dymowski: Part of what I do for "rounded" characters is giving them more of a background and provide some motivation as to the "why" of their actions. Many writers create extensive biographies for their main characters; I usually think more of informal "backstories" that stay in my head when I'm writing them. (It also provides authenticity for character actions - having someone who has a history of stealing look longingly at a diamond, for example, makes more sense than having someone who is just "background", so to speak).

Mark Barnard: I always feel that even giving a character with a brief appearance some quirk to set them off adds depth to a story. It may be like describing a brick wall in the background as red and ivied, but for me it's part of the whole.

Rus Wornom: There is no line between flat characters and round characters. Writers don't write while distinguishing characters in that fashion. We develop spear carriers as much as is needed for the story...and sometimes those minor spear carriers become more important than we initially believe.

Sean Taylor: Quite often, a flat will make the jump to a round in my work, as I need to develop a background character because suddenly the story feels like it needs that character. It's more a "vibe and feel" thing though, rather than any kind of rule, at least for me. 

Show us an example of your characters, both flat and round, that you consider successful and effective -- and why you wrote them that way. 

Bobby Nash: Abraham Snow is a rounded character. The unnamed guard Domino Lady knocks out when breaking into a bad guy’s stronghold is flat.

Chris Norton: Flat characters I've written, who first comes to mind are Uther Pendragon's knights in the 2nd season of Young Merlin. Comedy relief, so they could be dispatcjed without hurting the audience, and to make the heroes look better,

Rounded characters, I'd like to think that most of them are, but probably the American Pride Superheroes, 3rd Generation of Militant Mechanical Men, The Demon detectives, and the heroes of Young Merlin all slowly get fleshed out, while the title characters of Hell's Angel and Sword (The Armorer Duke) in Hell Horror are the most fleshed out, but they also started out very two dimensional when I was writing their bios for personal use (HA about 12pp, Sword about 8pp) but even then, just following their adventures (or the ones I'd plotted out before writing them) gave them depth and personality.

Stuart Hopen: Here's a passage from one of my books, Twilight Patrol #5, where one of my characters wrestles with the problem of whether to be flat or round, which in some sense all of do, in life: 

Wootin had been brought here by yet another summons from Cassiopeia, the Queen of Cassiopeia. He was getting used to this business. It was getting to be a routine, almost mundane, though her perennial protestations of urgency and impending doom never proved to be unfounded. And yet there was something different in the way she spoke to him this time. For once, she phrased her requirements as a request, rather than a command, and she prefaced her entreaty with concern that he might have competing priorities. There was a subdued undercurrent of feminine hysteria in her voice, a hint of weakness he’d never heard before, and an uncharacteristic acknowledgement that obedience on his part was not taken for granted. Maybe she really believed she was dying, as Congrieve had reported, dying, along with the rest of her old world order. Perhaps her new affectation was part of the way she was coming to terms with these developments.

“Consider the nature of our foes,” she said. “Consider what has happened before. This is so much the worse than the horrors we’ve already seen.”

Wootin wondered what could shake the unshakable Queen. His curiosity had been piqued. He marveled at her masterful self-negating offer of a choice, and yet it gave him pause. He had the nagging sense that he’d been somehow tricked, and pressed into the service of some folkloric pattern. He questioned what enchantment or post hypnotic suggestion had so unmanned his free-will and condemned him to the role of a mere character, ruled by the laws of fairytales. He felt that way more often than he cared to admit, as if he were an unreal person in an unreal setting. There were other occasions, albeit far more rare, when he felt the opposite way, wholly alive and authentic. These rare occasions might happen during moments of intense concentration—in the midst of composing poetry or mortal aerial combat—and he would lose his individuality altogether, merging himself into a vast design of being that manifested itself through himself, somehow miraculously producing results that were far superior to that which he’d otherwise be capable. Wootin wondered whether these phenomena, though seemingly distinct and contrary in nature, might be inseparable aspects of one another. There was little doubt in his mind that his friend Hollister Congrieve played a role in these patterns and conventions. He knew Congrieve had already been conscripted into this new mission." I try to take a holistic approach to my writing, that character development, plot, theme, and philosophy, or world view are not separate elements, but all flow from one another, and all have to be integrated and balanced.

Sean Taylor: One of my favorite flats is Broomstick from the Rick Ruby stories. He started out as little more than the guy behind the bar who had a shotgun at the ready if he was needed. But over the course of several stories, he can getting more and more real, until the point when I wanted to write a story honoring the late Derrick Ferguson, I needed Broomstick to be more round and real for his own funeral. His death made him more round, as people honored his life. 

Gordon Dymowski: Some "rounded" characters I've written include Joe Magarac in Pro Se's TALL PULP - taking a mythic/folklore character and giving him dimension was not easy. Much of it involved both researching Magarac's "mythos" and integrating my own family background (my great-grandparents came to this country from Eastern Europe in the early 20th century) into the character. What could have easily been a one-dimensional strongman turned into a more nuanced character. (I also took a similar approach to writing the main character in "A Town Called Malice" for THE MASKED RIDER VOL 3. The original Masked Rider pulps hinted that his "civilian identity" of Wayne Morgan was also a ruse; I simply had the character make slightly ambiguous and off-handed remarks that suggested a possible origin...but just left it there for the reader to conclude).

One example of a "flat character" would be the antagonist of "In the Frame" in Pro Se's HOLLYWOOD PULP. Without spoiling, it takes a well-worn cliche and gives a greater context for *why* that person would do what they did. (I must admit that I take pride in making both Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton pulp heroes in their own right in this story).

Adrian G. Delgado: For me, I have made flat victims, mooks, villains, you name it. I let my characters discover the roundness of their fellow man naturally: a pancake flat crime victim naturally gets pretty round as the detective learns more about her.

Fashion Sense (Writers on character clothing and fashion)

For this week's roundtable, let's talk fashion. No, not your own, but that of your characters.

How much do you use your narrative to draw attention to your characters' clothing choices?

Tom Hutchison: In comics, design is a huge key. In novels far less so. So it depends on what you’re talking about. Design for my comics is super important and we dwell on details and reasons for things to be part of the clothing/equipment/scene etc. there are reasons for everything and it comes through on the page and through the storytelling.

John L. Taylor: I write Dieselpunk fiction and horror in retro settings. Describing the clothing right does a lot when I don't have illustrations to convey a character. In the Dieselpunk example, My protagonist was a working-class hero, a pilot who did mercenary work to care for her orphaned siblings. Things like oil stains, torn patches, and worn flight caps help sell the idea of a hard-fighting rogue with money problems. Conversely, in horror, a character's clothing can both generate a sympathetic mental image or drop subtle hints about motivations. My personal favorite work of my own is a story called "What gasoline won't burn." It's a story set in 1950 in rural Missouri and narrated by a very naïve 8-year-old girl. I described her as looking like something off of a Little Debbie's or raisin box. I had to both sell the reader on the era it was set it (put this way, the plot wouldn't work in a world with cell phones), and the almost cartoonish innocence of the Narrator. People criticized me some over how naïve she was, but that was the source of the horror: her being too sheltered to see what was coming until was too late for her grandparents, while the reader has to follow in dreaded anticipation of the world going to hell around such a poor, sweet, undeserving soul. The other characters' clothing has subtle tells of what role they will play, but the whole effect had to create a sense of looming dread of the inevitable. Without these descriptions, this wouldn't be so effective.

Ernest Russell: Generally, I do this as needed as part of an overall description. If there is need for .ore detail, or it is intrinsic to the character, I add more detail.

Bobby Nash: I make sure the audience knows what the characters are wearing, even if just in generalities ala jeans and a t-shirt or they’re wearing a gray suit. Some characters get more, depending on who they are and if it fits their character’s needs.

John Linwood Grant: What people do with their clothes is sometimes more interesting than the exact nature of the garment/accessory, e.g. someone who goes to great lengths not to spoil their get-up, someone who plays with gloves or a hat as a sign of emotion, or wears clothes that their peers would not have expected.

Hilaire C Smith: I don't like to beat them over the head with a page of detailed description, mind, but clothes are very often a reflection of us as people OR the image we want to project to others. So, I used that with my characters. Sometimes I take that first impression and slowly mold it into something different and sometimes it is exactly who the character is.

Two male characters in my series: (1) long hair, a bit scruffy, but appropriately shaved and buzz cut when reporting for duty.... utilitarian clothes, often dark in color and often carrying weapons.

(2) Pretty male, clean-shaven, hair past shoulders, but immaculate...like GQ model, complete with silk shirts and soft leather pants.

These are very, very different styles, which is also reflected in their temperaments, their choices, etc.

Dale Glaser: For anything set in the vaguely-now, I only use clothing descriptions to reveal character, e.g. a grown man wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon character on it is my show-don't-tell version of getting across he is unserious and immature. 

Bill Craig: In my south Florida mysteries, Guayabera shirts and cargo pants or shorts are standard dress, because you see a lot of them down there. I've recently introduced Rick Marlow's cousin Greg who takes up the title mantle after Rick is nearly killed in an assassination attempt. His style is a bit different due to his background in Special forces and Covert ops in the military, but he also understands the need to blend in with his surroundings. Hardluck Hannigan however wears a bomber jacket, work pants and boots and cotton shirts.

Sean Taylor: It really varies from story to story, but in any case, I do like to at least establish a cursory look at what my characters are wearing. It can say a lot about their character in a sort of shorthand that cuts through so much of the telling that gets in the way of the story. 

Marian Allen: If a character's clothing choices make a difference to the story (one scene casual, one scene formal), I'll put that in. If a character wears a t-shirt, sometimes I'll say what's on it to add to the character. I gave a moderately detailed description of one character's outfit in a mystery because everything hinged on someone who didn't know her well being fooled when she changed outfits with somebody else.

How important are those details for you in establishing character for them?

Dale Glaser: I do lean into it more with stuff set in the recent past, again aiming for show-don't-tell, describing parachute pants and Le Tigre shirts rather than saying "One day in April 1987..." because I lived through it and that's fun for me.  

Bobby Nash: Having written a story or twenty set in the 1920s and up, I try to make sure I have some inkling of the fashion and style of the era when I write. 

Hilaire C Smith: It's a useful tool to paint a picture for the reader. Certain styles can evoke mental images and impressions/assumptions that we want the reader to make, true or not 😏. It's an excellent way to show and not tell.

Ernest Russell: It depends on the story and the characters. I have one who, as part of his persona, wears loud colorful clothing. Descriptions of his suits happen at least once a chapter. Another character, a whaler, you never really see any clothing change.

Sean Taylor: Again, it varies. My sort of "everyperson" stories don't require a lot other than to establish a sense of "muggleness" (khakis, jeans, t-shirt, polo, etc.) But for oddballs and for stories set in a certain period, I usually go into much more detail because the further you are from the current mainstream (at least to me) the more a characters fashion choices help define them. For example a grown man in a Hong Kong Phooey t-shirt gives off a different character vibe than a man the same age in a pair or cargo shorts and bowling shirt. 

John Linwood Grant: I'm a serious minimalist. I might only mention a single aspect of a character’s clothing if any at all. An incongruous jacket, a specific type of hat or boots when relevant. As little as possible. I’m generally put off by character descriptions that read like a shopping and fabrics catalog, or a list of brand names. Mr. Edwin Dry has a bowler hat, and a starched collar; Mamma Lucy has a faded print dress. Captain Redvers Blake is either in uniform, or he isn’t. Usually, that’s it. I once said that my character Justin Margrave was wearing a red silk shirt and a cravat, which was pretty wild for me, and even that was relevant to a viewpoint.

How important is it for you particularly if you're working in period costume (whether 30s gumshoes or Elizabethan vampires)?

Hilaire C Smith: Period stories rely on a cleverly set stage designed to immerse a reader in a different time. Costume is part of that. Now, most readers won't be able to nit-pick small details, but if your 1930's private eye is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, unless he's out doing physical labor or something, it isn't going to feel right. It tosses the reader out of the story. An Elizabethan vampire isn't going to be wearing Vans...unless the story is modern and he's a complete mess of style choices...which would also tell the reader a lot about the character compared to a vampire that has seamlessly blended or another that continues to wear fashions decades or centuries out of date.

I never do lengthy descriptions of clothing, but I often include a description, especially as one character (or the reader) meets another character for the first time.

Marian Allen: Now, when I wrote a Georgian short story, I nearly pulled my hair out learning what different items were called and what one would wear for receiving guests and what for traveling. As with most writing questions, the short answer is: It depends.

John Linwood Grant: People in period costume in their period don't think they're in period costume. 😉 So I try to avoid some of that excess description which only springs from the writer/reader NOT being in the period. 

Dale Glaser: Oddly if it goes much further back I'll use other cultural signifiers like dialogue or people's jobs or whatnot to get across the idea that it's 1921 or 1849, and I'm fine with people assuming they know how people dressed back then and moving on.

Sean Taylor: For me, it's muy importante. I put hours of research on the magic Google device looking up fashions for the time period I'm writing. I want to know it all. What kind of watches did folks where? Were hats preferred or not? That sort of thing. I want to make sure I write the period as authentically as possible. 

Emily Leverett: Oh fashion is SO important in my Eisteddfod Chronicles. Clothes are definitely political and make very specific statements, so the protagonist is careful about how she dresses and chooses attire (like a spiky tiara with a political history) to make a point. After she takes 10 lashes and doesn't get the best medical treatment, she wears a backless dress at a political event to show that she isn't ashamed of what happened. My editor actually commented once that he hadn't thought about fashion being that big of a thing. But clothing and badges are super important to court life.

Bobby Nash: It’s important for some characters. If fashion is important to the character, then that helps establish the character. If not, then it gets mentioned less. The other side of that is having a character that is not fashion-conscious, but then you do a scene where they are in a suit and tie. The other characters are going to remark on it ala “he cleans up nice” or “Damn! You’re wearing a suit!” That’s the sort of thing I hear when I show up wearing nice clothes.

Ernest Russell: Very important. I want my stories to be plausible. How did children dress in the late 19th century? Small details can add an element of reality. Not going to get in the weeds describing the weave and weft of the cloth, but knowing a 1940s French dairy farmer commonly wore a corded vest and pants is a small detail that adds just the right touch of authenticity.

Just one question this week, folks. And it's for the horror writers.

Why Do You Write... Horror?

Nikki Nelson-Hicks:

I have a theory that writers write because they subconsciously want to save...or kill...someone over and over again. As for me, horror gives me a way to not only be an agent of Nemesis and give justice to people who are wronged but it also gives me the opportunity to see the crime from the other side when I dive into the antagonist's POV. While this makes me more empathetic, it doesn't do much for my anxiety.

Also, it's just a lot of fun. I love monsters and ghost stories.

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Nicole Givens Kurtz:

I write horror to engage in stories and emotions that are often viewed as negative when displayed in real life. Horror gives me permission to be angry, to be vengeful and to be afraid. When I write horror, I am free to run the gambit of emotions without fear of reproach. Writing horror for me is freedom to be truly creative.

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Selah Janel:

I think it’s natural to seek a catharsis that we might not get in real life, especially during times of stress and chaos. It doesn’t even have to have a happy ending - being able to immerse myself in a story where I control the outcome and can explore terrifying possibilities is a powerful position to be in. I’ve always been intrigued by the fear and intrigue that warred inside me any time I read or watched something in the horror genre. As a kid, it freaked me out, but as an adult there’s a certain freedom in being able to toy with plot elements that delve into the darker parts of the psyche. With so many sub genres, there’s a lot of fun to be had and a lot of topics to explore. Horror naturally puts a reader in a point of view situation, so there’s also the chance to explore empathy for people who aren’t in my situation. There’s a lot of freedom in the horror genre and sub genres, and a lot of power over terrible things in a controlled environment.

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Bill Craig:

For me, turning to the horror genre was a natural extension from writing mysteries. There are many ways to explore the supernatural and the various forms of race/species available in those things that go bump in the night.

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Sean Taylor:

I write horror for the same reasons I write super heroes. I write horror for the same reasons I write new pulp. It's all about finding the right story to put my characters through hell.

Horror has always been, at least for me, a way of pushing my characters. I believe that the best way to create a compelling story is to make your characters face the worst thing that can happen to them -- whether romantically, philosophically, emotionally, or physically. That's why for me the best horror has always had more at stake than mere death or dismemberment or gore. It operates on a deeper level at a higher kind of loss. Losing to the spirit, zombie, creature, etc. must always mean losing something of the character's self -- a chance to make things right with someone, the opportunity to finally become someone important, that one last break to talk to your parents before you die. If the only thing they have to lose is their lives, then ultimately (at least for horror stories) there's not enough at stake.

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Ralph Wheat:

I enjoy writing horror for the simple fact I like to scare myself and others. Creating characters is fun and intriguing. Breathing life into beings that came from my demented mind, a story from stray thoughts, interesting stories I happen to click to on tv, cable, or an article in the paper ( and yes, I still read those) and a germ of a idea germinated into a spark for a short story. As a matter of fact, an idea I was ruminating about lately, brightened to a fiery glow of creative fire as I riding in a car by a cemetery. Suddenly, I had the framework for a terrifying horror story. I wanted to do for my character, Malcolm Hellbourne, Occult Detective. I've written a few short stories with him. First time I introduced him to a select few, is when in my technology school for computer programming had a school paper. They wanted the students to submit a story and I did. The students and faculty loved it. That's when I knew I could write. Then when I worked at the World Trade Center, before its tragic end, I put a couple of his shorts together and sold them on the Commodities Exchange's Floor for $2. I made $50 bucks! Also, I found myself elated, full of pride and respected. Here were grown men and women reading my stories, some of them acting out some of Malcolm's hand gestures to perform spells doing them in real-life. Brought a smile to my face. And many, saying they enjoyed very much, wanted more stories. Later, I found out since I sold my work, I was a published author. I finally, brought all the stories of Malcolm in one series and hopefully soon to get it published. So horror stories are good for the heart rate and keep you up late at night.

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Robert Freese:

Why do I write horror? I write more than just horror, but with horror I feel a real connection. Horror movies were huge when I was a kid and I just gravitated toward them. Fangoria magazine opened a world of horror movies as well as horror novels. At the time, Stephen King was insanely popular, but I read guys like John Russo, Richard Laymon, Gary Brandner, Guy Smith, James Herbert. Horror is like the coolest club to belong to.  I am currently writing a new horror novel and I'm having a ball. I get to revisit a wonderful world where anything can happen. I don't want to explore man's heart of darkness or any of that jazz. I enjoy writing what I call "drive-in horror," horror stories that works like a Roger Corman drive-in horror movie. You can use a horror story to tell a bigger story, give the characters real depth. I also see it as a challenge to use words like magic tricks. Robert Bloch did that with his twist endings. How can you seem to show something to your reader and then flip it and give them a little jolt? I love that. When I write other stuff I tend to always write one character who is a fan of horror movies and novels, just so I can still play in that world a bit. I think at this point it's in my blood.

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Bobby Nash:

I like to do the spooky from time to time. It's fun writing scares.

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DK Perlmutter:

In my case, it's to follow the advice of my idol of G.K. Chesterton, who said the purpose of fairy tales was not to tell people that dragons exist, but that they could be killed.

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Daniel Emery Taylor: 

I tend to write a lot about outcasts - which I don't suppose is particularly unique - and the choices they make in light of their hardships. So, someone is bullied as a child - does that make them more likely to become a hero, because they know what it's like to be victimized and they want to save others from the same fate, or do they become a villain, because they want the world to suffer as they did? Really, it could go either way, depending on a variety of other factors. We each have choices to make in life and it is fascinating just how quickly our entire situation can change based solely on our reaction to it. Plus, there is the splendid duplicity of man - the fact that most humans are basically good but also carry within them the potential for the gravest forms of evil. I'm not saying we're just a bad day away from becoming homicidal maniacs ... but I think we would be shocked to discover what we would be able to do given the right set of unfortunate circumstances.

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James Quinn: 

I wouldn’t consider myself a horror writer to anyone’s imagination, but not because I don’t like horror I just don’t want to put into a genre-box that many writers like Stephen King have struggled with. Had I been asked a few years ago about the horror genre, I’d say I wasn’t all that into it but considering all the horror movies I’ve enjoyed watching and the Stephen King titles I’ve read, I realized that I liked the genre more than I’m aware of. Why is horror so fascinating to me? 

To clear the air, I want to be fully honest and say I am not what most would consider a professional writer. I’ve just last year begun writing my first novel, I’ve only had 6 poems published on literary websites and literary journals, and I am currently running a geek-centered blog site of my own construction. I am by no means a “professional” on the status of most well-known and established authors. However, I do still write, and I am on the road to becoming what I would to imagine a…. black Harlan Ellison. A genre-fiction writer of the ages!

With that bit of honest professionalism out of the way for context, I do write continuously and the projects I’ve written so far that have been published and just written have been horror related. My first love is always going to be science-fiction, a genre that imagines humanities future in whatever good or bad form that takes, and my second is superhero comics. Is it possible to even have a third love? Horror, although I don’t speak on it all the time has always creeped up in my work so far. The first short story that I ever tried to professionally publish was a horror story about a woman being haunted by the spirit of her dead daughter in hell. The first poem I had ever gotten published is called “Smoke-Town Zombies” and is about a shy black kid that slowly decays mentally and physically into a zombie. Even the first script I had written was based on that previously mentioned horror poem. In November of 2020, I had started working on my first novel which is going to be a horror story. Despite considering horror a third favorite genre, I’ve certainly found myself coming back to the genre time after time. 

Why do I write horror? Why do I write science fiction sometimes? Science fiction is a genre I look to envision a future for myself and the world around me. The future might be taken over by robots, or we might be enslaved by an alien race in the future, but there’s still a future, nonetheless. Superhero comics are power fantasies that inspire me to envision better and more helpful versions of myself. But what about horror? Horror, as I consume it, investigates our darker halves and evil intentions so that we’re aware of the awful things we’re capable. The best horror fiction is always an exploration of our fears and how those fears shape into monsters or shape us into monsters. Fear is a driving force in all our lives, and it leads me into the driving force behind my fear: my identity. 

As a queer African American, I live in a country/world that is always working against me; that’s not to say that I specifically am facing any hardships currently, but as a race in this country it’s hard to not conclude that black bodies are always targets for hate.  I live in Louisville, Kentucky and when I had started writing my horror novel last year (currently we’re in the editing and re-structuring phase) we had several major protests during the summer concerning the murder of Breonna Taylor by the Louisville Metro Police Department. Despite the angry chants, the protests, the looting downtown, the threats to destroy the city, despite the cries for justice against a woman that didn’t deserve to have her life taken away, Kentucky law opted to not arrest the cops that killed Breonna Taylor. To add insult to injury, Kentucky senate passed a bill that would make illegal for anyone to insult cops which was also met by protest. The state and the overall United States have made themselves clear about how they feel about black lives: they don’t care. By not arresting the cops that killed Breonna Taylor, Kentucky sent out the message that the police can come into any black person’s house, kill them, and not face any punishment for it. Not to mention the other countless black lives that have been lost the to the American Police force. America has always had black bodies in a state of fear, and even though I’m one of the few black people to be privileged enough so far to avoid these obstacles, but that’s not the reality for a lot of people that look like me or identify as I do.

The world is a horror story for black people, from our history down to the current events on the news through the African diaspora. Black bodies are always in a state of danger. When I write horror, I tend to write from this perspective. As a writer I believe fiction is the ultimate way for those to gain empathy and sympathy from people who are different from you; to gain a perspective one might not have previously had. It’s why I love writing and consuming fiction; it holds a mirror to us to reveal human truths. If I can make others understand the fear of black people through my horror stories, maybe others will understand why so many of us hate this country and want to dismantle it for a better one. Or at least I hope so.