Darrell James
A neighbor of mine recently read my collection of short stories, Body Count: A Killer Collection. When I saw her some days later she commented that she liked the stories but that they made her wonder about me (the author)—the inference being that because I write about murder (sometimes from a somewhat dark perspective) that I must somehow be as secretly deranged as the characters I create.
Moi? I’m a guy who walks around ants on the sidewalk so as not to spoil their day.
In my introduction to the book, I did offer this defense: “I am less intrigued by murder itself, than I am with the premeditation that leads to it. In other words, at what point in the course of human conflict does murder become the solution of choice.”
Ahhh, but, then, perhaps, it was no defense at all, but yet another clever attempt by the author to conceal his darker, more devious, intent.
A neighbor of mine recently read my collection of short stories, Body Count: A Killer Collection. When I saw her some days later she commented that she liked the stories but that they made her wonder about me (the author)—the inference being that because I write about murder (sometimes from a somewhat dark perspective) that I must somehow be as secretly deranged as the characters I create.
Moi? I’m a guy who walks around ants on the sidewalk so as not to spoil their day.
In my introduction to the book, I did offer this defense: “I am less intrigued by murder itself, than I am with the premeditation that leads to it. In other words, at what point in the course of human conflict does murder become the solution of choice.”
Ahhh, but, then, perhaps, it was no defense at all, but yet another clever attempt by the author to conceal his darker, more devious, intent.
I know I’m not the first writer to be held in suspicion of his work. In Stephen King’s On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft, he indicates that the he is often ask why he chooses to write horror (given such obvious talent for writing). His answer is: “What makes you think I can write anything else?”
Perhaps, good Stephen has looked inside himself and glimpsed the demon that conjures the work.
But I doubt it.
In real life, I abhor violence of any kind. And find it uncomfortable to even be in the presence of an argument.
And, if it were so, one of us (Stephen or I) would have already been caught skulking through some dark alley or climbing through some unlocked bedroom window.
So, what’s behind the fascination for writing stories of murder? And what does it say about the readers who love to read them?
Leave a comment and let me know your thoughts. (I’d truly like to know who among you to be on the lookout for.)
Perhaps, good Stephen has looked inside himself and glimpsed the demon that conjures the work.
But I doubt it.
In real life, I abhor violence of any kind. And find it uncomfortable to even be in the presence of an argument.
And, if it were so, one of us (Stephen or I) would have already been caught skulking through some dark alley or climbing through some unlocked bedroom window.
So, what’s behind the fascination for writing stories of murder? And what does it say about the readers who love to read them?
Leave a comment and let me know your thoughts. (I’d truly like to know who among you to be on the lookout for.)
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