One of the many things I haven´t actually mentioned in the last few months is that I´ve spent a bit of time writing. I even entered a flash scifi fiction contest and got down to the final 21 out of ~350, which made me pretty happy. Course I would´ve been happier to win, but, well perhaps I should learn to use a spell checker first.
Might be a point for this blog too...
Aww, hell. Why break with tradition?
Anyway, I´ve been pootling out a couple of short fiction pieces over the last few weeks and tonight decided to try my hand at a less-than-120-word story for submission to a book project.
Which would be fine, except that it´s a horror anthology.
Now I don´t do horror. The first 15 minutes of Nightmare on Elm Street prevented me sleeping well for months. Actually, 16 years on and I STILL have nightmares over it. However it´s exactly that which made me think I could do this. I have some pretty vivid and memorable nightmares, one of which last year made me wake up dry-retching. Beat that one, Stephen King.
So I figured - hey! It´s gotta horrify more people than just me.
But I´ve been writing it and remembering it and rewording it and... well... I just vomited a little in my mouth. I have actually started shaking while I´m typing this and thinking about the story, it´s making me feel so sick. I think I need to have a bit of a lie down.
With my teddy bear.
And the light on.