I sure am tired of writing these cleverly named blog posts this late/early, depending on how you view the day.
I made up a story in my head, which helped to calm me. But this story was anything but calm. It involved captivity and torture, pain and despair. But it calmed me. Why?
Maybe it's the New York Times next bestseller. What does the world need more of - triumph over minor (arguably) events, or triump over grotesque circumstance such as what I created in my mind tonight?
Even Silence Has an End was my inspiration for this horror tale. Captive in the jungle, puss-ridden feet raw and infected from miles of walking. Forced to play Russian Roulette with the only comrades you've come to know. Lashings for minor infractions. Shitting next to your tent. Vomiting from the parasite-infested water you were forced to drink. Hearing your fellow captives writh in pain and sadness at night. This all makes for a compelling story. Yet I am disturbed to have created such a monstrous tale.
Do horror novelists feel this same guilt and wonder? I'm led and intrigued to expand on this story. Creativity comes in many forms. And this form just happens to be morbid.
I have terrible night tremors. Disturbing dreams to say the least. Perhaps this story is calming because it's putting the power of such a story in my hands. I've taken these nightmares and did something with them, instead of remaining in fear of falling asleep.
My shame and worry over this tumultuous tale has lessened, and I'm ready to fall asleep powerful and in control.
Here's to hoping I expand on my story...and get some rest tonight.