Why write a horror novel? Fans of my previous works want to know what would make me turn from the fantasy adventure style of my Everflame series (my most successful series) and travel this “dark path.”

The answer is somewhat meandering. A part of me thinks to answer, “Well, haven’t I always been a horror writer? Are there not moments in all of my books that fit the genre?” Even if that is true, it doesn’t really answer the question in the direct way it deserves. 

The direct and honest answer is because—like all of us, I think—I’m searching. I’m searching for myself in an ever-changing world, searching for a foothold to begin making a climb, searching for the answer to a question we all know and yet mostly find impossible to articulate. I believe we constantly search for the ability to fulfill our purpose; possibly the deepest satisfaction we can ever know.

So I’m writing a horror novel because I’m searching. I’m writing a horror novel about searching, among other things. 

What helped me come come to this decision? What drew me to this path? I think I can point to one work that is both my greatest success and greatest failure as a writer: The Dean Machine

I call it my greatest success because to this day I think it’s my best story, the one I like the best, the one that means the most to me. And it was my greatest failure for commercial reasons. I confused too many genres, and created a story that couldn’t please anyone but myself. 😂 “Hey everyone, come read a story about a rescue dog, inspired by an actual rescue dog of mine… oh, and this will be a science fiction adventure… oh and it’s also kind of a psychological thriller… oh and some of it is definitely horror… like angry, eff the world, pages of rage horror. Sounds good, right?”

Yeah… No one wanted to read that, and the people that did were left mostly confused and disturbed. Book bloggers I gave advanced copies to pretty much all gave the same review that can be summed up in two emojis 🤯🤷🏻‍♂️

I remember doing a charity event where I gave out my books in exchange for donations to the rescue dog organization I agreed to help. I thought at the time it was a win-win, I get my book in the hands of readers and make money for rescue dogs. Yet, as the event went on I realized I was handing my book mostly to sweet old women with big smiles and bigger hearts, who were at an event to help dogs, and feel happy about doing good. By the end I was thinking, if they actually read this book, it’s going to destroy them. I had really fucked up the marketing of the book. The Dean Machine wasn’t a fun sci-fi adventure for those who love their rescue dog. It was a confusing genre mashup bred from anger. It was a horror novel written as an FU to an apathetic world that hurt my dog and took him from me too soon. It was a story that only worked for me, because it was really just for me. 

My wife and I had adopted an old dog who had been through hell in a puppy mill, and suffered at the hands of ignorant, apathetic and evil people. We cared for him, loved him, nurtured him, and watched him blossom under our care. And then two years later he died because, despite all we had done for him, the atrocities he had suffered before us were too much for him to physically overcome. The damage had been done. There was nothing we could do. 

So I poured my love, my sadness and my absolute red hot rage into a story I felt would honor him and the legacy of what he stood for. For me it will always be successful because of that alone. 

Truly the book was my absolution, my penance for the perceived sin of not being able to save my dog’s life. And through that process, without realizing I had done it, I had written a book that could be classified as much horror as any other genre.

Really, there are moments in all of my books that are dark enough to be considered horror. Yet, I never allowed myself to walk that path completely. The Everflame series was about hope, redemption and the indomitable spirit that resides within us all. I wanted it to be accessible for readers of all ages and temperaments, almost like a superhero comic book. The Dean Machine was just a work of pure catharsis, something I needed to do. The Hands of Ruin series (though unfinished) is intended to be a sprawling epic about family, and how time connects and equalizes us all. Everflame: Mystic Wild was an attempt to recapture the youthful adventure the original Everflame series thrived in.

But my next book, the one I’m working on right now, it’s about the realization that some of the best things I create come from a very, very dark place. So, this book will be a horror novel about searching for, and finding myself. This book is about my life, and what happens when I go walking in the dark.

• • • 

For a window into the dark places I go, check out The Dean Machine currently available on kindle at a temporarily reduced price.

Dreams have always been an integral part of my creative process. I dream vividly, at length, and regularly. For a time during my youth, I imagined that everyone dreamed in the same way that I did. It wasn’t until open dialogue about dreaming, with friends and family, that I discovered dream patterns can be very different for every individual. I was stunned, frankly, to learn that some people don’t even remember their dreams when they wake. The thought was strange to me, mostly because my own dreams were so lucid, regular, and often left a deep impression on me. There have been many days of my life where the previous night’s dreams have affected my mood throughout the entire day.

When I was younger, I suffered through something called Incubus Attacks (though I didn’t know what they were at the time). An Incubus Attack occurs when there is discord between the sleeping mind and the sleeping body. The results can be quite terrifying because, essentially, you can dream when your body is awake.

These episodes didn’t happen erratically, and spontaneously, during the day. It’s not as if I had a form of schizophrenia. Incubus Attacks usually take place in the time when your mind is transitioning to sleep, or transitioning awake. It’s as if the world of dream bleeds slightly into the conscious world.

I was four years old the first time I can remember having an Incubus Attack. I had awaked in the middle of the night, and for one reason or another, left my bed. I looked out the window and saw, at a distance, Grover. Yes, Grover from Sesame Street. Grover turned, looked at me, and then began running toward my window, screaming and flailing his arms. Naturally, I began screaming, and my parents found me crying below the window in my bedroom.

I experienced many Incubus Attacks in my youth, but not all were so lively. Mostly, I would feel something touching me that wasn’t there, or I could hear someone yelling at me that wasn’t there. These specific attacks would usually occur as I transitioned to sleep.

The last graphic Incubus Attack I remember took place when I was fifteen. I woke in the middle of the night and sat up in bed. I looked into the corner of my room and found an orb, glowing and floating about four feet off of the ground. As I watched it, it shot a red laser beam toward the foot of my bed. I got out of bed and walked over to the light switch, which was at the other side of the bedroom, all the while keeping my eye on the orb. When I turned the light switch on, the orb was gone. I was alone, standing in my bedroom, wondering what was happening to me. It wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I came across the term and realized that I had been having Incubus Attacks as a child.

Though the attacks stopped, my spirited dreaming did not. I would have to say that I have always had rich dreams on a nightly basis, with rare exception. However, it wasn’t until I began writing that I found a way to make my dreams work for me. In fact, the first two chapters of Everflame were from a dream I had. In the dream, I was Evercloud, the helpless child. I was prisoner to the events going on around me, and I can remember having some distinct connection with the bears that controlled my fate. The dream didn’t detail everything that I’ve written in those chapters, but I can still recall the memory of the mountain and the flame to this day.

As an adult, the types of dreams I have are what I call video game dreams. I’m usually in some life or death situation, where the circumstances are very fantastical, and I have to find some special object, or defeat some evil foe. Very often, the fate of the world hangs in the balance. I suppose I didn’t have much of a choice but to become a fantasy adventure writer.

The book I’m currently working on, The Dean Machine, has a lot of influence from my dreaming as well. The impetus for the book was a real-life event that affected me deeply, however much of the plotline comes directly from my dreams. I can remember being the main character of The Dean Machine, Dan Delacor. I can still feel the panic that overtook me as I ran from the great wall of Yellow City, running as far as I could from the clutches of the evil Chancellor Elgrey Vinsidian. I can remember, quite vividly, the confusion of wandering with my little dog, Dean, not knowing where we were. I can remember the sickness in my stomach as I discovered that I was… well, I won’t ruin it for you. Besides, the book is not finished, and who knows what I might dream up tonight.

And I suppose that’s the truth of my writing, and the source of my imagination. I have no method, no tactics, and no brainstorming techniques. I dream. I simply lay my head down and immerse myself in the unknown. I’ll try to keep you apprised of what I find.