One of my favourite things are rainy nights. I like everything dark and shiny with a mix of coloured lights (if you’re in town).
Darkness is one of the more interesting things to fear. You could write mountains out of molehills about darkness and still not really know what it is. Beautiful, mysterious and full of space for your imagination to wander. Why fear something like knives, water or bacon splashing you when there is the dark to be looked into. It’s a magical fear.
I don’t fear the dark myself. It’s more about the other side of the darkness when the lights come back on and the world, people, life floods back in filling all the little niches and cracks and making you be something understandable again. The darkness is kind of nice, simple, blank and limitless. It’s the opposite of a blank, white page waiting to be filled. The darkness is already complete but you can always add whatever comes to mind, if you feel the need. The darkness always has room for more.
How do you feel about darkness? What could you write about it and a fear of the darkness?
Keanu Reeves has been open about his fear of the darkness and sort of assumes that it comes from a philosophical standpoint: perhaps a fear of death.
What if you could go back in time?
What if, one day, when you were a grown-up, you went back to your old home and climbed the ladder into your parents’ attic?
And, way in back, in a dim corner, barely illuminated by the flashlight in your hand, there was a box, a trunk, a large, dusty wooden trunk, with a lock that used a skeleton key?
So you contemplate whether or not to open it, to turn the key and open the lock, carefully, because you don’t know what might be in there, and the attic was a place that you seldom entered when you were a kid, not only because it was hard to get to, but because it was a cold and dark and drafty and scary place, and only the grown-ups were allowed in there.
Still, you want to know what is in the trunk.
Because you know it contains memories.
It is filled with the kind of memories that generations more than a hundred years ago could never have: photographs.
Not only photographs, but the negatives, too, a treasure-trove of memories.
But whose memories?
And when they join you in the present, are they the ghosts that you once thought haunted the attic?
Source: Ghosts – Darrell Noakes
Have you seen rephotography before? I’ve seen it done several times but have yet to try it myself.
I found these today while checking links for dmoz. The Anne Lamott quote is the most emotional for me. These were collected by a young woman, recently widowed at the time. But the site hasn’t been updated since 2012. One of the great things about sites on Blogger, they don’t disappear unless they are actually deleted by the owner (or made private).
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. you wait and watch and work; you don’t give up.
“Now we should live while the pulse of life is strong, life is a tenuous thing… fragile, fleeting; don’t wait for tomorrow – Be here now. Be here now. Be here now!”
-John & Stasi Eldredge, “Captivating”
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer. ~Camus
“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”
– Theodore Seuss Geisel (Dr. Seuss)
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. ~From a headstone in Ireland
“Courage, it would seem, is nothing less than the power to overcome danger, misfortune, fear, injustice, while continuing to affirm inwardly that life with all its sorrows is good; that everything is meaningful even if in a sense beyond our understanding; and that there is always tomorrow.”
~ Dorothy Thompson
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. ~Kahlil Gibran
“Be reverent before the dawning day. Do not think of what will be in a year, or ten years. Think of today”. ~Roman Rolland
I don’t remember what or why I wrote this. It’s been in a text file (unsaved) to my desktop since the weekend. The flash fiction that time forgot. How many times have you written something, finished it and then realized you had no idea why you started it? Maybe it’s just me.
I feel asleep in front of the computer, looking up postal codes for Christmas cards. I woke up to a dark house and a darker computer screen. The power had gone out, again.
The fireplace was keeping the room warm and dimly lit. I might not have power but I had the essentials: heat, water and a roof to keep the snow from burying me. Likely there would be power again by morning.
So until then… watch a little TV… No. I laughed at myself. So dependent on electricity. Can’t even boil the water to make fresh coffee.
I got up to shut down the lights (to save power, right?). I checked the door locks. All was well. My foot was just on the first step to go upstairs to bed when the computer monitor flickered.
Without power there was nothing electrical working. I froze, puzzled. Was this some new paranormal phenomena? Some new scientific breakthrough?… Of course I had to go back to investigate.
An email was now on my screen. The rest of the computer was dark, no flickering lights showing the Internet was connected or the computer had power. In every science known to modern man it was impossible for an email to show up on my computer and yet, it was there.
No sender name or return email address. Just a note “See you tomorrow”.
I wasn’t going anywhere tomorrow. We were expecting a heavy snowstorm, it was a Sunday and my Christmas shopping could be put off for a better day. No one was coming here. I liked my weekends quiet and alone when I could get them that way.
I decided there was some yet unknown scientific principle at work, or the message was for the invisible aliens living in my house and not meant for me at all.
Writers don’t get to be very seasonal. It’s snowing outside your window while you write about which sunblock to use. Everyone is out Christmas shopping and you take the time to finish up that story about the Easter bunny. We live with our calendars in two different hemispheres. So, writing some creepy poetry just after Halloween shouldn’t be a big challenge. Bring along some Halloween candy (of course the dear little children won’t miss a chocolate bar, or two). Halloween chocolate is a great mode of inspiration!
What’s your poison… poem? Mine is going to be short and bittersweet.
Night fell with the unknown hands of a clock.
Traffic piles up, buses are packed and sidewalks are rushed.
The darkness brings things that move, slippery and dangerous between the cracks.
Masses of people but none are awake, living in dreams and nightmares of their own making.
In the dark there is freedom, without blindness from mobile technology.
In the dark there are no rules, there are no law makers and no one keeps paperwork.
One dreamer falls off the sidewalk, between the concrete jungles.
One dreamer wakes up in the darkness and can’t phone home.
There are no calling plans and roaming signals here. It’s too dark.
Source for inspiration and the image: Creepy Poems for Halloween | Flavorwire
What a fun thing for writers to do. Show your personality and show off your writing genre with a selfie. Other genre writers should get together on this idea.
What would non-fiction writers do?
Horrorselfies.com is your source for all selfies supporting the horror, dark fantasy and occult genre. We welcome new selfies – please read our submission guidelines and submit your selfie. You may share any of the selfies you find on this site, in fact we encourage you to do so!
People like a story with a secret. But there is more to a secret than the secret itself. How would you design the ultimate secret door? Would it be mysterious, dark and dangerous, sparkling and light or something no one ever noticed until…
I like this one. It blends into the wall. The painting covers the seam at the top of the door and who would think a secret door would just appear right in the middle of a big painting on the wall? Nice camouflage.
For me the ultimate secret door would be in plain sight. Anyone could have seen it if they had just noticed the tiniest of tiny seams in the wallpaper. Of course, the seam would be placed right on the stripe pattern of the wallpaper. A casual glance would have no hope at all in finding it. If someone actually looked, carefully… they would decide it was just their imagination and think a secret door is just romantic nonsense anyway.
Solarpunk is a science fiction genre. I like the sound of it. Steampunk has the mechanical attractions along wtih the Victorian fashion. Cyberpunk tends to be dramatic and expecting a terrible future. I’ve heard other “punk” phrases but don’t remember them at the moment.
Solarpunk seems to be about living and having a future, with everyone included. I’ve been told I’m foolish, but this is how I see things. I don’t really believe people will allow a completely dark and terrible future for ourselves. Surely, we aren’t that stupid.
…solarpunk appears as a loose collection of ideologies, manifestos, and desires for a sustainable, achievable future. It’s elegant high-end technology powered by renewable energy. It’s a shift away from geometric centralised infrastructure to a decentralised, organic, free-flowing design. It’s microgrids instead of national grids. It’s stained glass solar panels, and natural fabrics merged with solar cells. It’s bespoke instead of mass-produced. It’s permaculture and microbreweries. It’s communal instead of corporate. It’s radical sustainability: when hippies and hipsters meet, and techno-geeks crash the party.
According to Flynn, solarpunk is about a “future with a human face and dirt behind its ears.”
“A lot it is just reacting against the things that people feel aren’t fruitful and aren’t sustaining, and are the consequences of the lives that we have been told we’re supposed to want,” says Flynn.
While steampunk aesthetics feature a complex mix of Victorian-era clothing, riveted metal, leather, and Gothic tendencies, solarpunk art is leaning towards a green Art Nouveau aesthetic, with stained glass and wrought metal topped with solar panels and surrounded by greenery.
Among the Shadows: Tales from the darker side of L.M. Montgomery (the writer of Anne of Green Gables).
What makes a story creepy? There are obvious things like ghosts, graves, death, etc. But, what could you write without obvious creepy things?
I still think the real horror isn’t the stuff made into a typically horror movie or book but the day-to-day stuff we all but take for granted. The real horror is losing your place in the world. Losing your credit card – that flash or flush you feel when you realize you didn’t just misplace it in the house.
Horror is simple and strong at it’s best. Being chased by bloody corpses, ghosts or assorted made up monsters does not compare to the horror of getting audited for unpaid taxes, not being able to find your child in a department store, or … what?