When I was wee lad (well, thirty-something), I had this idea I would be the next great horror writer. I did all things horror: wrote short stories, worked on novels, edited a horror magazine, read works by other horror authors, attempted to buy my way into horror conventions, collected horror action figures (they’re not dolls!), etc. I was pretty good at getting involved in the horror scene. I even accepted the massive egos of some well-known horror writers out there.
However, while doing all the above, I found something in my writing: it’s not all horror. Now, this revelation might not be cause for alarm. After all, if a piece of work is fantasy or speculative fiction, there’s no reason to go crying about things to your mom, is there? You can still write.
I didn’t think this way, of course. I didn’t go crying to my mom (of…
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