Horror With Heart
I never go into a story with a theme in mind. Lessons seem to rise out of the ashes when I’m done with it, though. I go into every tale with the hopes that maybe I’ll garner a reaction from people. I try for scary, succeeding a lot of the time, but by the end, the contents evolve into much more. I think this happens because I care so much for my characters. I write horror, but it’s horror with heart. I wouldn’t mind being remembered for that even if it’s not what I initially set out to do
I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with a good bloodbath, but I feel it’s far more poignant if the pieces strewn about the room used to belong to someone the reader has grown to believe in and care about. I’ve read plenty of brutal stories where the main purpose is shock value and sometimes—if I’m honest—I wish I could do that. It seems that there’s an audience for that kind of material, those that want you to get to the meat of the matter and waylay the moral of the story. I fail those readers constantly, I’m sure. I do apologize, but I just can’t find the blinders required to write mindless violence.
I believe I’m different because I don’t write the kind of stories I like to read. I’m one of those who enjoy a good dismember-festival with buckets of blood. I love the Hostel movies and was fascinated by the entire Saw franchise. I’m a huge fan of killers like Voorhees and Myers; even that old burnt-faced, dream-stalker Krueger continues to entertain me. In literature, psychos like those are a little more difficult to do. I’ve seen it done well, like in PillowFace, by Kristopher Rufty, but most of the time, it falls short. I surmise that the draw of masked and deformed killers in cinema comes from the stalking, not from the concern about the people being stalked. There’s excitement involved, not worry. For me, that’s hard to convey on the page—getting pumped up for the next kill—so I stay away from it. I do better at letting you get to know my folks before something bad happens to them. If it’s not broke, no need in fixing it.
My sophomore effort, Dastardly Bastard, should have been a psycho-killer novel. Needless to say, you can read the synopsis and find that didn’t work out the way I thought it would. My characters had different plans, leading me on a hike through their worst memories to fight a being both cunning and viscous in nature. I like it better this way. I got to know those seven individuals and found that those who died did so because the story called for it and not for the sake of bloodlust. Maybe one of these days I’ll slaughter countless throngs, but not this go around. So, if you’re looking for bloodshed, try Konrath or Crouch because they’re two of my favorites. If you want something a little more subtle, try Dastardly Bastard on for size.
Amazon Kindle: Dastardly Bastard, by Edward Lorn
Barnes & Noble Nook: Dastardly Bastard, by Edward Lorn
Smashwords eBook: Dastardly Bastard, by Edward Lorn
Widow Marsha Lake brings her son, Lyle, to help him heal after his father’s death.
Donald Adams, aka H.R. Chatmon, joins the tour to get away from a sticky situation.
Justine McCarthy consents to the hike to placate her boyfriend, Trevor.
For Jaleel Warner, the tour guide, walking the chasm is just part of his job.
Each of these people must face their darkest memories in order to discover and defeat the secret buried in Waverly Chasm.