Showing posts with label urban fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label urban fantasy. Show all posts

Friday, March 12, 2021

The Ending of the Tale

 Copyright 2021 by Michael Williams


In this post, Michael Williams concludes his remarks about writing a well-plotted story along the lines laid out by Aristotle. Thank you, Michael, for your contributions to Chillers and Thrillers!


In his Poetics, Aristotle points out that the end of a story should be both logical—in other words, the cause-and-effect relationships that have existed among the incidents of the plot throughout the drama (or narrative) should be maintained—and emotionally satisfying. The end of the story, in other words, should “make sense,” both intellectually and emotionally. Otherwise, the audience (or readers) are apt to be disappointed. He used the example of the deus ex machina, or “god of the machine,” a device employed, in his opinion by inferior playwrights, for ending a play for no other reason than that the playwright wanted the story to end. An actor portraying a deity was suspended upon a rope, which was lowered by a stagehand situated out of sight, above the stage, to descend onto the boards and, by dint of divine fiat, bring the drama to its conclusion. Often, the conclusion had little or nothing to do with the performance prior to the descent of the god of the machine. The expression deus ex machina has come to mean, therefore, a “tacked-on ending.”

 


Unfortunately, in genre fiction, some authors, including Stephen King, have sometimes tacked on just such arbitrary and unsatisfying conclusions to their novels, an offense that is especially annoying in volumes of the length that King writes. The violation is all the more offensive when, on a previous page, the author has already provided several other, more plausible possible causes of the novel's many apparently otherworldly incidents, as King does in Under the Dome (a 1,074-page tome).

 


Bentley Little, once praised by King as the horror poet laureate,” is notoriously lax about ending his novels well. When it comes to endings, he puts little or no effort into writing a conclusion that makes sense of the mysteries of his plot and in no way satisfies his readers, especially when his books are really rehashes of the same formula. How many times can readers stand another slight variation on a worn theme, especially when there is no meaningful (and, often, no intelligible) resolution to his books' conflicts, no meaningful motivations for their characters' actions, and no discernible theme?

To read such books is to understand not only the wisdom of Aristotle's demand for an intellectually and emotionally satisfying ending, but also to see what the lack of such an ending does to a book as a whole. Playwrights and novelists ignore Aristotle's advice at their own peril.

 


If the beginning of a book shows characters undergoing a quest, the end must show them fail or succeed in discovering the object or, perhaps the truth, they have sought (Dorothy discovers that happiness is in her own backyard).

 




If a novel sets forth a mystery to be solved, the end must solve the mystery—and the solution has to fit the facts and account for any apparent contradictions and red herrings (Paula Darnell's Amanda Trent always explains to the readers of her A Fine Art Mystery series not only who committed the novels' murders but also how and why the dastardly deeds were done).

If a tale showcases a series of bizarre incidents, these incidents must be explained through logic; through scientific knowledge, theory, principles, or verifiable empirical means; or through other pertinent and convincing evidence (after presenting us with an invisible creature in “The Damned Thing,” Ambrose Bierce is good enough to explain to us why the creature is invisible).

 


If beginning a story in media res avoids providing a context for incidents, the end of the story must establish this context (we may not know why characters are being attacked by supernatural creatures during the beginning of AWhole World Full of Hurt, but we learn the reason [and a whole lot more] by the novel's end).

Only when these tasks have been accomplished will readers be satisfied that they have read the full, complete story.

 


Michael Williams's Twisted Tales series, consisting, at present, of Tales with a Twist, Tales with a Twist II, and Tales with a Twist III, is available on Amazon. Not only are they entertaining, but they're also textbooks on how to write fantastic flash fiction!

 


Tuesday, March 9, 2021

In the Beginning

 Copyright 2021 by Michael Williams

 



Since 1976, Stephen King has been killing trees left and right. In both its paperback and hardcover incarnations, King's Desperation (1996) is 704 pages long; 'Salem's Lot (1975) is 672 pages (paperback) or 464 pages (hardcover); the length of his IT (1986) isn't measured by page count, but by the pound (2.1, paperback; 3.49, hardcover).

Buy 'em by the pound!

 


How does an author write such massive tomes, one after another, seemingly tirelessly, for 45 years? That was my original question, which mutated into, How does an author even begin such a massive volume? From there, my query branched, as thoughts—at least, my own—often do, becoming, What are some of the conventional ways by which authors start books?

Taking the Aristotelian approach, which is descriptive, rather than prescriptive, meaning that the philosopher didn't tell how something was to be done, offering rules and dictating procedures, but, instead actually attended plays and described what he saw playwrights actually do, I compiled a short list of techniques that writers of various genres have used successfully in beginning their own books in effective and engrossing ways. I am pleased to share my observations with you.




Gather characters. In epic-length (or even in not-so-epic-length stories), writers often have their characters undergo a quest of some sort, literal or figurative, which requires, of course, that the characters gather together to begin with. We see King use this technique in Desperation, as the demon-possessed Sheriff Collie Entragian arrests travelers bold enough to drive along U. S. Highway 50, “The Loneliest Road in America.” We see it in The Wizard of Oz (1939), when Dorothy Gale is joined by the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion, as she journey to the Emerald City of Oz in the screenplay, by Noel Langley, Florence Ryerson, and Edgar Allan Woolf, of L. Frank Baum's novel. This technique is also employed by many others, including Geoffrey Chaucer, whose Canterbury Tales (c. 1400) pilgrims entertain each other by telling tales as they journey to the shrine of St. Thomas Becket at the Canterbury Cathedral. Indeed, the gathering of characters is a time-honored (meaning really, really old) means of beginning a story in a manner that is likely to engage readers.
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    Convene a group. In the award-winning A Fine Art Mystery Series, Paula Darnell's protagonist Amanda Trent is a member of an artists' guild; in the 1998 movie Armageddon, Harry S. Stamper gathers a team (Chick, Rockhound, Max, Oscar, Bear, and Noonan) to help him stop an asteroid on a collision course with Earth; in the TV series Murder, She Wrote (1984-1996), Jessica Fletcher, who writes murder mysteries for a living and solves them as a sideline, lives in Cabot Cove, an idyllic coastal town in New England; in Gary Pullman's dark urban fantasy, A Whole World Full of Hurt (2016), the leader of a witches' coven gathers sacrificial victims, whose life-essences provide the spiritual energy she needs to conquer rival covens. The tactic of convening a group is frequently used in the 2014 TV police procedural series The Brokenwood Mysteries as well. The sereis is set in the New Zealand town of Brokenwood and involves murders among such groups as a traveling theatrical troupe (“To Die or Not to Die”), bicycle racers (“Tontine”), ghost train passengers (“Scared to Death”), steampunk festival participants (“The Power of Steam”), a hunting party (“Hunting the Stag”), Lord of the Rings tourists (“The Black Widower”), and a local historical village's staff (“Stone Cold Dead”).

     


    Show a series of bizarre events. Many novels and movies start by showing a series of bizarre events, which, because the explanation of them is withheld, appear mysterious, enhancing readers' or moviegoers' interest in them. The Taking (2010), by Dean Koontz, employs this technique, as do many of his other novels. An eerie scent lingers in the air. A strange rain falls; thick fog drifts through an isolated small town. Mysterious lights float among trees. Reports of bizarre weather are broadcast. As the residents of the community band together, they come under attack, but they don't know who—or what—their predators are. Pullman's urban fantasy also begins with a series of strange incidents: a college student is attacked when he collects for a subscriber on his little brother's paper route; a bride is assaulted from within,  during her wedding; a cemetery caretaker meets his end as he rests from his labors; gargoyles atop the Washington National Cathedral eerily come to life; a young woman vanishes while taking a bath. What is behind these bizarre incidents? Audiences will continue to watch as the film progresses; readers' curiosity will keep them turning the pages.

     


    Begin in media res. Writers also frequently start a story in media res, or in “the middle of things.” The audience or readers have no idea what led up to the current events in which the character (often the protagonist) finds him- or herself, which is one reason for their absorption in the story's initial action. In the process, the writer might involve the character in a problem; then, the audience or the readers have another reason to continue to watch or read; the suspense—and the moviegoers' or readers' curiosity—is doubled: they are curious about how the character got into his or her present situation and about how or whether he or she will get out of it, and the audience or readers are also curious as to whether the character's related problem will be solved and, if so, how or, if not, why not. Falling Down (1993) starts with the protagonist, William Foster, stuck in traffic; he is shown as frustrated, easily angered, at the breaking point. He solves his immediate problem by abandoning his car on the jammed freeway, but the greater question of whether he will solve his ability to cope in a society that he believes is “falling down” around him remains unresolved, so the suspense continues. By combining an in media res beginning with an enduring problem for the protagonist, storytellers hook their readers twice.

These are only a few of the many ways, of course, that novelists and screenwriters create and maintain suspense while establishing their stories' settings, characters, conflict, and tone. Maybe, in future posts, we can look at some of the techniques writers use to encourage audiences and readers to continue the story through its middle and how writers conclude their tales in an emotionally satisfying manner.



Note: Michael Williams is the author of the Twisted Tales series, which presently consists of three volume of suspenseful flash fiction, mostly in the fantasy genre, Tales with a Twist, Tales with a Twist II, and Tales with a Twist III.

Tuesday, October 29, 2019

Interview with Author Renee Scattergood!


https://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Stalker-Part-Episodes-Bundles-ebook/dp/B00VI2ZCY8
 
Today, Renee Scattergood, author of the dark fantasy series Shadow Stalker, has graciously agreed to be interviewed by Chillers and Thrillers.

As the author of the urban fantasy A Whole World Full of Hurt, I am glad to welcome Renee and to hear her views on the fantasy genre in general and the dark fantasy subgenre in particular.

Renee's books, which have received outstanding reviews, are available on Amazon.

C & T: Welcome, Renee! Chillers and Thrillers is glad to have you as our guest speaker.

R S: Thank you for inviting me! I’m really excited.

C & T: How would you define “dark fantasy”?

R S: I would define it as any fantasy that has dark (as in psychologically dark and twisted) or horror themes.

C & T: I know that George Lucas inspired you to become a fantasy author. In writing the screenplays for his original trilogy, Lucas said that he followed the pattern of storytelling laid out by Joseph Campbell in Campbell's book The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Has Campbell's understanding of the structure of such stories influenced your own work?

R S: Somewhat. I often follow certain aspects of the heroes’ journey, but only in such a way that it drives the plot of my own story, and each story is different.

C & T: In writing The Flame of the Sea, my action-adventure Viking novel, I modeled the plot structure on the paradigm of Vladimir Prop's Morphology of the Folktale. Most of my other fiction is modeled on Gustav Freytag's pyramid, which is adapted from his Die Technik des Dramas (The Technique of Drama), which he based on his analyses of ancient Greek and Shakespearean drama. Have you found these—or other—approaches to structuring stories helpful to you in the writing of your novels?

R S: Honestly, no. I tend to go by feel more than anything. Not sure if that makes sense. I guess you can say I’m more of an instinctive writer and, rather than follow a structure or formula, I tend to go by feel. In the end, there is a structure to it, but I don’t plan it that way.

C & T: What authors, of fantasy or other types of fiction, have inspired or influenced you as a writer?

R S: I’m a big fan of Terry Goodkind. His work has really inspired me and whenever I’m in a lull, I can read one of his books and it always puts me in a writing mood. Lindsay Buroker is another author that has inspired me, and while I love her work, she has inspired me in a different way. She’s self-published, like me, and has made a good living with her work. She shares all her failures and successes, and it helps me with my own work.

C & T: It's always refreshing to me to see a fantasy series presented from the point of view of a female protagonist, as is your own series. How do you think a female protagonist shapes your narrative? Does such a protagonist provide attitudes, behaviors, beliefs, desires, emotional responses, ideas, judgments, or values that differ from those of the genre's male protagonists? How would your teenage protagonist, Auren, differ in these ways from, say, young Lucas Skywalker? What does a female protagonist “bring” to fantasy that a male protagonist may not?

R S: To be honest, when I originally wrote Shadow Stalker, my protagonist was a male. It was also a much different story. I guess in many aspects it was a lot like Star Wars. A friend of mine, who is a published author, gave me some feedback and suggested I rewrite it with a female protagonist.

I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me. I suppose, growing up, all the heroes of the stories I read were guys, so in my mind that’s the way it was supposed to be.

I was amazed at how much the story changed when I made the protagonist a female. For one thing, her life goals are different. My male protagonist was looking for adventure, whereas my female protagonist wanted to go to college with her friends and have a normal life. She enjoys adventure but doesn’t want her whole life focused on that adventure.

Everyone expects the male to be the hero, but it’s a surprise when it’s a female. The men around her want to protect her, but she doesn’t want to be protected. She wants to show them she can be just as strong.

Mostly, a female protagonist inspires the young women who read about them. They may not be superhuman or heroes in the same way, but it inspires them to be more than what society expects them to be.

T & C: Many of the reviews of your series cite your characters as one of the elements readers enjoy. What makes your characters intriguing to readers? What tips do you have for writers concerning how to create interesting characters?

R S: I start every story I write with the characters. The story develops around my characters, and I really get into their heads to show the readers what the character is thinking, feeling and experiencing.

I’ve likened it to how a method actor researches and gets into the heads of their characters. If you want your readers to really connect with your characters, then you have to get into their heads and bring them to life.

C&T: Reviews also suggest that your plots are gripping. Do you have any particular techniques for creating, maintaining, and heightening suspense?

R S: I think that comes from how I develop the characters as well. As I’m writing, I’m picturing the scene in my head, from the character’s point of view, as though it’s playing out like a movie. I write what I see and feel as though it’s happening to me.

C & T: One reviewer identifies “punishment, torture, and execution” as being features that make your fiction “dark fantasy.” Do you agree with this assessment? Are other elements of dark fantasy present in your work?

R S: Oh absolutely. It’s the main reason I labelled it dark fantasy because I know it’s a trigger for a lot of people, and other just don’t like that. But someone who is looking for “dark” stories expect that sort of thing.

Another reason is because of the twisted mentality of Drevin (the main bad guy at the start) and the Galvadi Empire (which was created by Drevin).

C & T: You have a lot of reviews for your Shadow Stalker series, Renee! What's your secret?

R S: I don’t have a secret, really! I’ve just followed what other successful authors have done. I connect with my readers on a personal level on social media and through my newsletter. I ask them for reviews when they read my work in my newsletter and at the end of the book. It’s really important to have a medium where you can interact with your readers, and don’t be afraid to ask them for help. If they love your work, they’ll want to help you.

C & T: Is there anything else you'd like to tell us?

R S: Just that I’ve really enjoyed this interview, and I hope your readers enjoy the free copy of Shadow Stalker. I hope they’ll give it a read and let me know what they think!

C & T: If you'd like to write an article to share on Chillers and Thrillers, we'd be glad to follow up your interview with your article, on the topic of your choice.

Thank you for taking time to speak with us today, Renee. We enjoyed your insights and look forward to reading many more of your novels. To learn more about Renee and her work, subscribe to her newsletter (and get one of her books, free) and check out these great resources (click the title to access the site):








Paranormal vs. Supernatural: What’s the Diff?

Copyright 2009 by Gary L. Pullman

Sometimes, in demonstrating how to brainstorm about an essay topic, selecting horror movies, I ask students to name the titles of as many such movies as spring to mind (seldom a difficult feat for them, as the genre remains quite popular among young adults). Then, I ask them to identify the monster, or threat--the antagonist, to use the proper terminology--that appears in each of the films they have named. Again, this is usually a quick and easy task. Finally, I ask them to group the films’ adversaries into one of three possible categories: natural, paranormal, or supernatural. This is where the fun begins.

It’s a simple enough matter, usually, to identify the threats which fall under the “natural” label, especially after I supply my students with the scientific definition of “nature”: everything that exists as either matter or energy (which are, of course, the same thing, in different forms--in other words, the universe itself. The supernatural is anything which falls outside, or is beyond, the universe: God, angels, demons, and the like, if they exist. Mad scientists, mutant cannibals (and just plain cannibals), serial killers, and such are examples of natural threats. So far, so simple.

What about borderline creatures, though? Are vampires, werewolves, and zombies, for example, natural or supernatural? And what about Freddy Krueger? In fact, what does the word “paranormal” mean, anyway? If the universe is nature and anything outside or beyond the universe is supernatural, where does the paranormal fit into the scheme of things?

According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “paranormal,” formed of the prefix “para,” meaning alongside, and “normal,” meaning “conforming to common standards, usual,” was coined in 1920. The American Heritage Dictionary defines “paranormal” to mean “beyond the range of normal experience or scientific explanation.” In other words, the paranormal is not supernatural--it is not outside or beyond the universe; it is natural, but, at the present, at least, inexplicable, which is to say that science cannot yet explain its nature. The same dictionary offers, as examples of paranormal phenomena, telepathy and “a medium’s paranormal powers.”

Wikipedia offers a few other examples of such phenomena or of paranormal sciences, including the percentages of the American population which, according to a Gallup poll, believes in each phenomenon, shown here in parentheses: psychic or spiritual healing (54), extrasensory perception (ESP) (50), ghosts (42), demons (41), extraterrestrials (33), clairvoyance and prophecy (32), communication with the dead (28), astrology (28), witchcraft (26), reincarnation (25), and channeling (15); 36 percent believe in telepathy.

As can be seen from this list, which includes demons, ghosts, and witches along with psychics and extraterrestrials, there is a confusion as to which phenomena and which individuals belong to the paranormal and which belong to the supernatural categories. This confusion, I believe, results from the scientism of our age, which makes it fashionable for people who fancy themselves intelligent and educated to dismiss whatever cannot be explained scientifically or, if such phenomena cannot be entirely rejected, to classify them as as-yet inexplicable natural phenomena. That way, the existence of a supernatural realm need not be admitted or even entertained. Scientists tend to be materialists, believing that the real consists only of the twofold unity of matter and energy, not dualists who believe that there is both the material (matter and energy) and the spiritual, or supernatural. If so, everything that was once regarded as having been supernatural will be regarded (if it cannot be dismissed) as paranormal and, maybe, if and when it is explained by science, as natural. Indeed, Sigmund Freud sought to explain even God as but a natural--and in Freud’s opinion, an obsolete--phenomenon.

Meanwhile, among skeptics, there is an ongoing campaign to eliminate the paranormal by explaining them as products of ignorance, misunderstanding, or deceit. Ridicule is also a tactic that skeptics sometimes employ in this campaign. For example, The Skeptics’ Dictionary contends that the perception of some “events” as being of a paranormal nature may be attributed to “ignorance or magical thinking.” The dictionary is equally suspicious of each individual phenomenon or “paranormal science” as well. Concerning psychics’ alleged ability to discern future events, for example, The Skeptic’s Dictionary quotes Jay Leno (“How come you never see a headline like 'Psychic Wins Lottery'?”), following with a number of similar observations:

Psychics don't rely on psychics to warn them of impending disasters. Psychics don't predict their own deaths or diseases. They go to the dentist like the rest of us. They're as surprised and disturbed as the rest of us when they have to call a plumber or an electrician to fix some defect at home. Their planes are delayed without their being able to anticipate the delays. If they want to know something about Abraham Lincoln, they go to the library; they don't try to talk to Abe's spirit. In short, psychics live by the known laws of nature except when they are playing the psychic game with people.
In An Encyclopedia of Claims, Frauds, and Hoaxes of the Occult and Supernatural, James Randi, a magician who exercises a skeptical attitude toward all things alleged to be paranormal or supernatural, takes issue with the notion of such phenomena as well, often employing the same arguments and rhetorical strategies as The Skeptic’s Dictionary.

In short, the difference between the paranormal and the supernatural lies in whether one is a materialist, believing in only the existence of matter and energy, or a dualist, believing in the existence of both matter and energy and spirit. If one maintains a belief in the reality of the spiritual, he or she will classify such entities as angels, demons, ghosts, gods, vampires, and other threats of a spiritual nature as supernatural, rather than paranormal, phenomena. He or she may also include witches (because, although they are human, they are empowered by the devil, who is himself a supernatural entity) and other natural threats that are energized, so to speak, by a power that transcends nature and is, as such, outside or beyond the universe. Otherwise, one is likely to reject the supernatural as a category altogether, identifying every inexplicable phenomenon as paranormal, whether it is dark matter or a teenage werewolf. Indeed, some scientists dedicate at least part of their time to debunking allegedly paranormal phenomena, explaining what natural conditions or processes may explain them, as the author of The Serpent and the Rainbow explains the creation of zombies by voodoo priests.

Based upon my recent reading of Tzvetan Todorov's The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to the Fantastic, I add the following addendum to this essay.

According to Todorov:

The fantastic. . . lasts only as long as a certain hesitation [in deciding] whether or not what they [the reader and the protagonist] perceive derives from "reality" as it exists in the common opinion. . . . If he [the reader] decides that the laws of reality remain intact and permit an explanation of the phenomena described, we can say that the work belongs to the another genre [than the fantastic]: the uncanny. If, on the contrary, he decides that new laws of nature must be entertained to account for the phenomena, we enter the genre of the marvelous (The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre, 41).
Todorov further differentiates these two categories by characterizing the uncanny as “the supernatural explained” and the marvelous as “the supernatural accepted” (41-42).

Interestingly, the prejudice against even the possibility of the supernatural’s existence which is implicit in the designation of natural versus paranormal phenomena, which excludes any consideration of the supernatural, suggests that there are no marvelous phenomena; instead, there can be only the uncanny. Consequently, for those who subscribe to this view, the fantastic itself no longer exists in this scheme, for the fantastic depends, as Todorov points out, upon the tension of indecision concerning to which category an incident belongs, the natural or the supernatural. The paranormal is understood, by those who posit it, in lieu of the supernatural, as the natural as yet unexplained.

And now, back to a fate worse than death: grading students’ papers.

My Cup of Blood

Anyone who becomes an aficionado of anything tends, eventually, to develop criteria for elements or features of the person, place, or thing of whom or which he or she has become enamored. Horror fiction--admittedly not everyone’s cuppa blood--is no different (okay, maybe it’s a little different): it, too, appeals to different fans, each for reasons of his or her own. Of course, in general, book reviews, the flyleaves of novels, and movie trailers suggest what many, maybe even most, readers of a particular type of fiction enjoy, but, right here, right now, I’m talking more specifically--one might say, even more eccentrically. In other words, I’m talking what I happen to like, without assuming (assuming makes an “ass” of “u” and “me”) that you also like the same. It’s entirely possible that you will; on the other hand, it’s entirely likely that you won’t.

Anyway, this is what I happen to like in horror fiction:

Small-town settings in which I get to know the townspeople, both the good, the bad, and the ugly. For this reason alone, I’m a sucker for most of Stephen King’s novels. Most of them, from 'Salem's Lot to Under the Dome, are set in small towns that are peopled by the good, the bad, and the ugly. Part of the appeal here, granted, is the sense of community that such settings entail.

Isolated settings, such as caves, desert wastelands, islands, mountaintops, space, swamps, where characters are cut off from civilization and culture and must survive and thrive or die on their own, without assistance, by their wits and other personal resources. Many are the examples of such novels and screenplays, but Alien, The Shining, The Descent, Desperation, and The Island of Dr. Moreau, are some of the ones that come readily to mind.

Total institutions as settings. Camps, hospitals, military installations, nursing homes, prisons, resorts, spaceships, and other worlds unto themselves are examples of such settings, and Sleepaway Camp, Coma, The Green Mile, and Aliens are some of the novels or films that take place in such settings.

Anecdotal scenes--in other words, short scenes that showcase a character--usually, an unusual, even eccentric, character. Both Dean Koontz and the dynamic duo, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, excel at this, so I keep reading their series (although Koontz’s canine companions frequently--indeed, almost always--annoy, as does his relentless optimism).

Atmosphere, mood, and tone. Here, King is king, but so is Bentley Little. In the use of description to terrorize and horrify, both are masters of the craft.

A bit of erotica (okay, okay, sex--are you satisfied?), often of the unusual variety. Sex sells, and, yes, sex whets my reader’s appetite. Bentley Little is the go-to guy for this spicy ingredient, although Koontz has done a bit of seasoning with this spice, too, in such novels as Lightning and Demon Seed (and, some say, Hung).

Believable characters. Stephen King, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, and Dan Simmons are great at creating characters that stick to readers’ ribs.

Innovation. Bram Stoker demonstrates it, especially in his short story “Dracula’s Guest,” as does H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, Shirley Jackson, and a host of other, mostly classical, horror novelists and short story writers. For an example, check out my post on Stoker’s story, which is a real stoker, to be sure. Stephen King shows innovation, too, in ‘Salem’s Lot, The Shining, It, and other novels. One might even argue that Dean Koontz’s something-for-everyone, cross-genre writing is innovative; he seems to have been one of the first, if not the first, to pen such tales.

Technique. Check out Frank Peretti’s use of maps and his allusions to the senses in Monster; my post on this very topic is worth a look, if I do say so myself, which, of course, I do. Opening chapters that accomplish a multitude of narrative purposes (not usually all at once, but successively) are attractive, too, and Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child are as good as anyone, and better than many, at this art.

A connective universe--a mythos, if you will, such as both H. P. Lovecraft and Stephen King, and, to a lesser extent, Dean Koontz, Bentley Little, and even Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child have created through the use of recurring settings, characters, themes, and other elements of fiction.

A lack of pretentiousness. Dean Koontz has it, as do Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, Bentley Little, and (to some extent, although he has become condescending and self-indulgent of late, Stephen King); unfortunately, both Dan Simmons and Robert McCammon have become too self-important in their later works, Simmons almost to the point of becoming unreadable. Come on, people, you’re writing about monsters--you should be humble.

Longevity. Writers who have been around for a while usually get better, Stephen King, Dan Simmons, and Robert McCammon excepted.

Pacing. Neither too fast nor too slow. Dean Koontz is good, maybe the best, here, of contemporary horror writers.


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