Writing What Scares Us: Awakening the Monster Inside
By Brunonia Barry | October 31, 2018 |
Photo credit: mythja
A few months before The Fifth Petal came out, my agent remarked that she hadn’t been able to read the manuscript before bed because of the nightmares it invariably provoked.
Her statement shocked me, as I didn’t consider it a very scary book. It was definitely dark, but all my novels are dark. Part history, part mystery, each has been set in Salem, MA, and there’s no way the dark history of place hasn’t informed every narrative. But my home city doesn’t scare me, rather it takes on a cautionary role in each story, a dark reminder of the errors in judgement we humans often make as well as the consequences of our mistakes.
Along with being shocked by her statement, I was insulted. “If I’d wanted to scare you, I wouldn’t have written that book,” I declared, knowing that nothing I’d yet set down on the page could match the dark recesses of fear I believed I could conjure at will. Unable to let it go, I went on to brag: “If I let my imagination run wild, I could scare the hell out of you.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. I could feel her smiling as she voiced the challenge that would inspire my next book. “Do it!”
My mother always warned me not to temp the imps. To that sage advice, I’ll add a bit of my own. “Don’t temp your agent.”
The challenge she threw down seemed easy enough at the time. It was Halloween of 2016. I was confident I understood the world, as well as the deepest fears most of us harbored. I knew myself, too, knew what I was most afraid of and was pretty sure I could express it.
But that was then.
Two years later, our world has changed so radically I sometimes wonder if I’m living inside a nightmare. And with it, my fears have changed just as much, morphing into something far darker than I ever imagined.
The first draft of my WIP started simply enough. The story was initially about fear of the dark, a universal taken to the extreme in a tale of isolation and disillusionment. But as my own disillusionment with society grew, that once simple idea became far darker. Instead of a universal genre story, it became far more personal. I realized that what I was writing about was the darkness inside myself.
Of course, that was where the narrative was always meant to go. I just didn’t know it when I started. I think our most poignant horror stories express the darkness inside all of us. But, to me, as a writer at this particular moment in history, I was having trouble going there. Everyday life was tough enough. More darkness was not something I craved.
Better angels and continuing efforts at good deeds aside, during these last few years, there has been something else at work here, something fundamental changing in me. I have begun to see hatred around every corner, and a new kind of anger has been building, one inspired by fears I didn’t know I had. The monster outside has been feeding the monster inside, one that must have always been hiding there but was now growing stronger as it fed.
So my story shifted as stories often do. But, opposite to what you might expect, it didn’t become more scary but not scary enough. The problem wasn’t with the monster itself, which was the most frightening creature I’d ever imagined. The problem was me. I didn’t want to wrestle that monster, didn’t even want to acknowledge it. Because, as I wrote more and more pages, I realized that the monster growing inside me was hate. The realization that I could harbor such a creature was the last thing I wanted to face. It was not only terrifying, it was shameful. I didn’t want to let myself go deep enough to encounter it.
But here’s the truth. If you can’t go deep, you can’t write well. And you certainly can’t write scary. What if you decide you have to, that the story you’re compelled to write at this moment in history cannot be the happily ever after of fairy tales? What happens then? Should you awaken the monster? Should you give it a voice? And if so, should you listen to what it reveals?
The answer for me is yes, though I haven’t yet accomplished my goal. If I’m being totally honest, I’m not positive I’m yet good enough at my craft to make my story work, but I have to try. Not because my agent challenged me, but because the story I want to tell reflects the world we now inhabit. Because facing our demons, and taming them, is more important than ever.
Since today is Halloween, it seems appropriate to ask about your fears. What novels, films, or nightly newscasts awaken the monster inside you? Have you ever tried to give that monster a voice? And, if so, what did it tell you?
Brunonia Barry is the New York Times and internationally bestselling author of The Lace Reader, The Map of True Places, and The Fifth Petal, chosen #1 of Strand Magazine’s Top 25 Books of 2017. Her work has been translated into more than thirty languages and has been an Amazon Best of the Month and a People Magazine Pick. Barry was the first American author to win the International Women’s Fiction Festival’s Baccante Award and was a past recipient of Ragdale Artists’ Colony’s Strnad Invitational Fellowship as well as the winner of New England Book Festival’s award for Best Fiction. Her reviews and articles on writing have appeared in The London Times, The Washington Post, and The Huffington Post. Brunonia served as chairperson of the Salem Athenaeum’s Writers’ Committee, as Executive Director of the Salem Literary Festival, and as a member of Grub Street’s Development Committee. She lives in Salem, Massachusetts with her husband, Gary Ward, and their dog, Angel.
I needed this. I’m writing a book about people doing horrible things, for what they consider good reasons (“the greater good”). I’m going to use this to springboard the evolution of one of the characters to be confronted with the consequences of his actions, and have it change him.
Thank you for this.
Thank you, Linda. I was a bit nervous about this post, so I’m very glad you understood what I was trying to say. Doing bad for the greater good is a great way to put it. Good luck with your WIP. I can’t wait to read it.
Brunonia, the turn of events have deeply inspired a story I’m working on right now, too, but the funny thing is? In the darkness I still find myself seeking hope, even within my characters’ lives, and it’s really starting to show on the page. The way those who succumb to the dark sink further inside it–just as you have voiced above–and those who, instead, use it to fuel their anger in the form of action save us all from ourselves. Meanwhile, I can’t wait to read this new book of yours! I adore your writing and really look forward to seeing where you go with it!
Hi Heather. I’ve been admiring your actions and involvement, and have been trying to do my part as well. I think what surprises me is the amount of anger that has surfaced in me these last few years. I’m a child of the sixties, peace and love generation, so I didn’t want to look too deeply at what I’ve been feeling lately. But anger is a great motivator, so I’m right there with you. The character I’m writing believes she’s coming from love, but it’s actually revenge, and that’s not an easy thing to write honestly unless you can understand it. It’s taking some real self examination on my part. Hope I succeed. And hope to see you again soon.
I’ve read that Philip K. Dick was offered a ton of money to write a sequel to The Man in the High Castle. He refused, because he didn’t want to go back “there”. His story after all was about mind-bending one’s reality.
Nowadays, I feel like we’re fast approaching PKD’s there.
Fear.
I don’t fear the end as much as I do the moments before the end.
I don’t fear “there” as much as what I fear is is going on “here”. Here has lost all illusion of safety.
Thanks, Bernadette, for reminding me about The Man in the High Castle. I’m going to take another look at that. “Fearing the moments before the end,” really hits home for me, and plays into the character I’m trying to write, because it is in that moment that my character changes, not necessarily for the better. The illusion of safety is what the whole WIP is about. I’ve been under the illusion that it might be easier to write if we weren’t actually living the same story. But it probably wouldn’t be necessary if things were different.
Brunonia,
You’re a gifted, compelling writer, who manages to find the beauty even in the sorrow. I can’t wait to read your new work. Blessed be your journey.
Thank you so very much, Bernadette.
I want to thank you, Brunonia, for giving the monster a name. I’ve been feeling it, too, and feeling ashamed of it. But love can be fierce, too, and it may be that underneath all the madness, people are driven by a common impulse. This impulse is what my characters seem to be grappling with. Does the end justify the means? Does something bad done for a good reason have one definable label? These are the question that keep me coming back to the keyboard in hopes that my characters will shine a light. Thank you for this today.
Thank you, Susan. I just copied your statement, “Love can be fierce, too,” and put it on my bulletin board (along with attribution), so I can see it each writing day. So good to remember when wrestling with dark questions.
Wonderful, Brunonia, to see you digging so deep. Kudos.
I find it curious that fear is subjective. To an extent. What makes one person tremble, another smiles, entertained. I’ve had readers comment on the darkness in A Keeper’s Truth, darkness I didn’t feel writing or reading it.
The concept baffles me. Mainly in knowing how deep to go on my current WIP, No Apology For Being.
Thanks for this post, Brunonia!
Hugs
Dee
Award-winning author of A Keeper’s Truth
Hi, Dee. Fear is subjective, isn’t it? It’s good to remember that as we write. I do think we should go as deep as we can in exploring a character, which means going deep into ourselves, something I’m finding difficult. Even if we don’t use all we learn, it helps to be able to reach it. Which is something I’m learning as I go.
The problem with dealing with monsters in writing is the amount of time YOU have to spend with the monsters.
Love is just as scary. Because it’s so important.
And love can strip you bare.
I think that’s why I’m having trouble getting back to the mainstream novel trilogy I’m writing. Moving cross-country has given me a break, and I could just quit – the first volume’s not selling much right now anyway – let it quietly slip away, and spend the rest of my life getting involved in the lovely retirement community we’ve joined for life.
And not keep digging to the bottom of what’s subtitled, A novel of obsession, betrayal, and love.
It would be so much easier. No one would ever have traces to follow. The hard work would just stop.
It’s so tempting. And I’m so tired.
I don’t have to write this. Or anything.
Alicia, you are speaking directly to me with everything you just said. “Love can strip you bare,” is a great way to put it. That includes love of writing. I’m at the same stage in life, people around me retiring, and I’m not enjoying the “business of writing” as much as I once did. I think every book is the last, because it takes so much out of you each time. And there are other things I’d like to experience and enjoy. That said, I think it’s the very reason I have to keep going. The whole process is still a puzzle to me, but I learn something new each time. Just from your words above, I hope you keep putting your voice out into the world. We need it.
Please don’t stop writing. I love your books.
Jeannine
Thanks, Jeannine!
All the powerful emotions we have — love, lust, hate, fear, and the rest — exist for a reason. Whether you believe they evolved or are gifts from a creator (or both), they all have utility, all have a place in society. All are virtues.
But virtue becomes a vice when taken to an extreme or misapplied.
Hate gets a bad rap, mainly because it’s misapplied.
You can hate racism or sexism, and that’s a virtue. There’s nothing not to hate about them, and hatred is a powerful motive to fight them.
But hating a person we believe is racist or sexist is usually a vice. Partly, of course, because we could be wrong about them, but more importantly because most people have something good in them, and hating them will blind you to it. You’ll start thinking they;re subhuman, and treating them like they are. And that’s almost always wrong.
Are there any people that should be hated? Probably. But they are far rarer than the politicians and their proxies in the media would have you believe. People who raise young girls to be suicide bombers? I’d say yes. Trump or Hillary? I’d say no — hate is too powerful a motivator for me to let all the hysterical propaganda about those two cause me to feel it. The politicians and media are professional emotion manipulators, and I don’t like being used like that– I won’t let them tell me who to hate.
Most of my characters have hate, hate grounded not in propaganda but in personal experience and (not unexpectedly) love. Like a man who at 14 killed his own father to save the lives of his mother and younger siblings: he hates people who abuse children, violently, and will commit murder as a result. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
So when we feel hate, or when we write about characters that hate, is that hate a virtue a vice? As an author, it’s important to know which.
I agree wholeheartedly. And it is very important to know which, though sometimes, I think we can fool ourselves. Which is why we need to do the work.
Hi, Brunonia:
Interesting that your books take place in Salem. One of the key aspects of witch-burning and all related form of heretic-hunting and Inquisitional terror is that they become all the more severe, prominent, and destructive during times of great social upheaval — like the transition from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance, and today’s Europe and US. These scorched-earth attempts to “cleanse” the community invariably seek out the weak, the marginalized, the outsiders. It’s no surprise you have felt an increasing sense of dread these past two years, or that it would kindle in you feelings of rage and hate. Rage and hate are empowering emotions in the face of great fear. The problem lies when we focus that hatred or rage on individuals who serve as hobgoblins of that fear, instead of any genuine threat. We’ve seen a lot of that this last week, and will no doubt see more. The mantra I always try to keep in mind comes from the union movement — “Don’t get mad. Organize.”
Thanks for the thoughtful post on this most unique of days — the day when, it was often believed, the veil between this world and the spirit world was at its thinnest, and one might easily encounter specters from the otherworld. Maybe that also means our imaginations are at their quickest and most vivid. If so, it might be a good time for me to get back to writing. :-)
David, I do believe the veil is very thin today, so it’s probably a great time to write. It’s an interesting time to be out on the street as well, especially in Salem. Thank you for sharing the mantra: “Don’t get mad, organize!”
What do I fear? Loss of loved ones, loss of love, physical pain, failure, not accomplishing everything I want to before my time’s up.
Brunonia, I must thank you for writing this. My first thought on seeing it was that I might have read your piece and all the comments and responses earlier, and come out of the sensory tunnel I was trapped in on Hallowe’en. Instead I was fighting the darkness in my house and all the missing parts that were revisiting me here. Every wild critter came up from the wash and into the yard. Fitbit switched his body side to side, barking at them then at me to stay in my seat. The last of them came close to dawn. Two Mexican Grey Wolves ran in circles, picked up large stones and tossed them about. One hit my old aluminum wheelchair ramp. The sound was explosive. The wolves ran and jumped the wall howling the bay that Steve had made when he was dying. Hallowe’en was fierce. It was the first time I had faced it. No. It was the first time I had lived it. I lost friends this Hallowe’en. It set off a string of strange relationship collisions. Each day brought a new loss, even today. I had to face that my closest friend here might not be my friend at all. I started to sink more, but Fitbit pulled me up and out just enough to enable a release from the dark spirits lurking inside, looking at me from the inside out showing me their faces and… Fitbit just ran barking into the room and won’t leave my side. I have to stop writing now. He is insistent.
I applaud you brave persons . . . facing the darkness inside and out and remaining true to self is hard work. It’s tempting to retreat and give up . . .and then I see the young, working to build a better future and I have hope.