I want to share how I got into writing, so I suppose I should just jump right in. I've always been told that you need to look before you leap. That way something horrible doesn't happen to you. Well....I'll tell ya. 25 years ago I didn't look before I leaped. I didn't fall into a mud puddle or a tangle of venomous snakes. No. I dropped into something much more sinister. When I thought my feet should hit the ground, there was nothing. No soft thud. No vibration running the length of my legs. No clash of teeth. There was nothing but air. That told me I was still falling.
Eventually I did land. My whole body landed. I had come to a hard rest in muck and mire. Shadows moved. The smell was worse than stopped up toilet (if that's possible). I looked up and realized just how far I had fallen. There was nothing but a pinhole of light. Had I fallen into some twisted version of Alice In Wonderland? Will I see things labeled with instructions for me to eat or drink? I couldn't be here. I didn't see a white rabbit. But exactly what was I doing to have made that uninvestigated hole, I couldn't tell ya.
I continued to explore the dank, disgusting maze. Partly because I was curious and partly because I was painfully aware of something behind me. The farther I went the faster I had to go. It was pushing me with it's rotted breath. And the heat. It felt like a volcano breathing on me. I didn't want the thing to catch me. I didn't want to see it even. I could hear it's nails grating on the stone under the mire. I didn't know if the thing would rend my limbs from my body if it caught me or if it would suck out my eyeballs and then my soul through the empty sockets.
I don't know how log I was running for. It had to be a while. I was becoming the stench, the muck. I was becoming the "hole". My legs gave out at some point and I fell. The thing is, I wasn't disgusted. I welcomed the fall. I embraced it. Then, the thing that was following me pounced. It tore at my flesh with it's claws. Exhaled it's rotted breath in my face. Something dripped on me too. It was thick and even more putrid than the air that was expelled from the thing's lungs. The mucus burned and I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. I realized, shortly after the demon dripped it's soul on me, that I was becoming the thing. It was becoming me.
After shaking the fog from my brain I looked down and realized the "hole" I had stepped in was the wonderful world of writing. And the "thing" that was following me was my creativity. Once I had embraced it (after the first thing I had written, good or not), things flowed more freely. What I put on paper (and now on my trusty (sometimes rusty) laptop) is liberating. Whether it be poetry, short stories or full length novellas. This was a passion that would always follow me with it's putrid stinking breath. Urging me to writing from the heart and write the truth.
This most likely will not win me any popularity contests, but it's who I am and no one can change that.
So yea...I write the darkness and the shadows. I do write fantasy and "super-hero" type things, but horror and shadows is my preference.
Welcome to my world I can my brain. Dare to step inside? <-----insert evil laugh there....