Tuesday, June 11, 2002
Last night I dozed off while watching John Carpenter's The Thing (a favorite film, but I've watched it so many times it's taken on the properties of a narcotic) and entirely forgot to do the journal. Which is a shame, as I actually had something to say. So, I shall say it now instead. Unexpectedly, I finished Chapter Eight yesterday, one day ahead of schedule. It just happened. I wrote 1,102 wds. and somehow came to the end a bit before I'd expected. This is never a bad thing.
Today, I'll spend some time polishing and tweaking, and by tonight I should have it in shape. I'll most likely begin Chapter Nine (!) day after tomorrow.
Anyway, jumping back to my entry for June 10th, and the unsaid stuff about troublesome children and wobbly shopping carts. I have, in the past, gone to some cosiderable lengths to rein in the goriness of my novels (and most of my short stories). I'm not inherently opposed to gore, but I do think that, as Ann Radcliffe might have advised, it's something an author should always use sparingly, if at all. It's a sort of literary cayenne pepper, quickly dulling the "tastebuds" (sensibilities) of the reader. It's extraordinarly rare that an author or filmmaker can truly indulge in gore and not wind up losing me. There are exceptions, especially in film. The Thing, which I mentioned above, for example, in when large amounts of slime, blood, organs, and mutilated body parts are presented, but somehow the film itself is intriguing enough that Carpenter never loses me. Contrast that with, say, Seven, an absolutely brilliant film that I've only been able to watch twice. The first time was difficult. During the second viewing, I became quite nauseous and have never tried to watch it again. It's a film that would have benefitted tremendously from suggestion, rather than presenting the murders in loving, graphic detail. Many people, especially horror buffs (those who might be more comfortable with the Matthew Lewis school of Gothic horror, provided they've heard of Lewis) would, of course, disagree.
After one of my first readers read the prologue of Low Red Moon, which is quite gory, she said to me, "Are you trying to do the Seven thing?" I quickly responded that no, I wasn't, but that unlike Silk and Threshold, where gore is minimal, there'd be a bit more of it this time out. Turns out I was correct, and perhaps to a degree I find regrettable. The end product will hopefully prove me wrong, but I had some difficulties with a scene in Chapter Eight. It came out gorier than I'd expected, and I kept thinking (as I so often do), this would have worked so much better had it only been film instead of prose. I could have done so much more with fleeting glimpses and suggestion, rather than having to spell out in relative detail what unpleasantries have been encountered.
As the novel moves towards its conclusion, and I know things will only be getting grimmer, I'm going to make an extra effort to merely suggest. The old days, when I cared for the passing fad of "splatterpunk," are long gone, and I care even less for its bastard child, "extreme horror." The basic concept of this novel necessitates a degree of bloodiness, but I'm determined I will walk the tightrope well and (mixing metaphors willy-nilly) not leave my readers with their mouths full of cayenne pepper. It is the mystery, the outer darkness pressing in upon our world, the fear and awe and light in the souls of the characters, their individual and collective capacity for redemption, that is the heart of Low Red Moon, not a few stomach-churning moments. Now, I have to find myself equal to the task of making that so.
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