So why do I write horror and fantasy? Why do I spend my time in worlds and with people who don’t – and shouldn’t in some cases – exist? Why do I enjoy looking at the darkness around us and inside us?
Short answer: I have no idea.
Long answer: Yep. Still no idea.
As facetious as it might sound, I honestly don’t have much of an idea. I write what interests me or frightens me, and what I hope will interest and frighten others. I could try writing a story that didn’t end up exploring the world of horrible slimy things, but it wouldn’t be honest and that’s the most important part of fiction for me. Honesty. I’ll tell my stories as honestly as I can whether that honesty makes them ugly or beautiful. And to spin off that idea, I don’t believe writing horror means the story can’t feature the decent side of human nature. In fact, I think it’s easier to see that decency when it’s put against horror. Bravery, self-sacrifice and hope in the face of despair: we can see these most clearly when they’re exposed to life and death struggles or a threat to loved ones or simply in the face of something covered in slime and blood and snot and shit – something that wants to eat your brain and swallow your soul.
So other writers can write their stories about the things that interest them. I’ll write about the darkness around us and how, sometimes, there are lights in that darkness.