From my earliest memories of story in all of its forms, I have been fond of the monster. A good creature feature with an ‘alien being’ in black and white celluloid with a scratchy soundtrack or on the printed page alternatively, I found to be compelling entertainment. Whether vampire, werewolf, mummy, or from the black lagoon mattered not. I loved them all.
For a time I confused my passion for the monster with a passion for horror. As I delved into the genre more, I found my path separated from horror and that I really enjoyed the monster archetype and all of the associated tropes. Now don’t get me wrong, I love a good scary story. I adore a things that go bump in the night tale. That is a secondary passion to my affinity for the monster.
More specifically, in the space in which modern horror has diverged from the monster tale, I have diverged in my affinity for the horror genre. My intention is not to throw stones here by any means, but modern horror has on some level devolved into a grotesque mockery of itself. It has on some level become a modern outlet for torture porn bathed in buckets of blood. Not something of which I am fond by any measure.
A good creature feature now, that always has my full and undivided attention. I will line up for them. For the most part I have seen them all, good and bad. In no small measure I find a distinct affinity for what most in fiction refer to as ‘the other’. The being that didn’t ask for their current state. The one that has been cast out of modern society. The one that went to its own looking for acceptance and found only rejection and pain.
This forms the basis for all good monster tales. Some say this is a maudlin holdover from the Victorian roots of the form. I find this to be tripe, and a justification for the current state of modern horror in most cases. The monster trope, the archetype, is at its best when it honors its roots. It is running at its peak when it is delving into the deep questions of our humanity. A good monster tale can do all of that and a lot more.
When the form does what it is supposed to it reveals our human weaknesses and frailties. In the hands of a master of the form we realize that the creature is rarely the monster. The creature is merely the reflection of the true monster. We realize that it is Von Frankenstein that is the monster and his creature is merely the thing he created. We realize that Count Dracula is the reflection of our dark side that dwells in all of us.
I grew up adoring all of the forms of the monster. I grew up loving the Dracula tales. I bayed at the moon with Lon Chaney. Listening to a medieval organ played by a masked figure touched me in a deep place. The dark places these creatures went revealed in me more than I wanted to know.
In recent years though, my affinity for the werewolf, the vampire, the dragon, and others has waned. The reasons for this have more to do with my distaste for popular culture. I hate what our culture does to a thing when it obsesses over it. It takes something wild, something frightening, something altogether alien to the modern world, and well wipes its arse with it.
When the [insert monster form here] becomes the newest craze, all of the things that drew me to it in the first place gets wiped away. It becomes a well-recognized thing. It becomes the current darling pet of modern culture. It becomes something less than it deserves to be. And we cease to be able to fear it. And that end result is one that I find disgusting.
So usually by the time something I adore finds its way into popular acceptance, I tend to exit stage left. More often than not I do not wish to watch or read what comes next. The defanging of the thing that once scared me, is an act that I do not wish to be party to. Certainly I can’t either abide or endorse it.
And when it comes to the monsters I select as participants in the fiction I write, I opt for the less common ones. I reach for the ones that have not been bleached by the klieg lights of our popular culture. I reach for that which still scares me. I reach for the things that still put a knot in my stomach when I think of them.
So it goes without saying that I still adore the original forms that scared me, but when I put pen to paper, I seek out the rare and the obscure. When I need to tell a monster tale featuring a member of the draco family, I reach for the wyvern and not the dragon. When I need to tell a tale of the dark and foreboding featuring misunderstood beast plaguing humanity, I reach for the ghoul and not the vampire.
Some have accused me of being contrary in this perspective. On some level they may be correct. I do not wish to tell the stories that have already been told ad nauseum. I wish to depart from the common forms when I write fiction. I do not wish to let the reader have a sense of familiarity with the tale, because they know the form. I seek first and foremost to force the reader to pay attention precisely because they do not know the form.
A common quote of which I am fond comes to mind at this moment. ‘I aim to misbehave’. I aim to go where the reader does not expect. I aim to seek to honor that which we know by going where we haven’t been with something that we are not familiar. Failing that, I hope to do that with something with which we are not intimately familiar.
It is always my hope to take the misunderstood and weave a unique tale of my own creation. In the course of doing so, I hope to honor the tropes and the archetype. I hope to delve into the places that cause us discomfort. I hope to reveal as much about ourselves as about the monster in doing so.
For a time I confused my passion for the monster with a passion for horror. As I delved into the genre more, I found my path separated from horror and that I really enjoyed the monster archetype and all of the associated tropes. Now don’t get me wrong, I love a good scary story. I adore a things that go bump in the night tale. That is a secondary passion to my affinity for the monster.
More specifically, in the space in which modern horror has diverged from the monster tale, I have diverged in my affinity for the horror genre. My intention is not to throw stones here by any means, but modern horror has on some level devolved into a grotesque mockery of itself. It has on some level become a modern outlet for torture porn bathed in buckets of blood. Not something of which I am fond by any measure.
A good creature feature now, that always has my full and undivided attention. I will line up for them. For the most part I have seen them all, good and bad. In no small measure I find a distinct affinity for what most in fiction refer to as ‘the other’. The being that didn’t ask for their current state. The one that has been cast out of modern society. The one that went to its own looking for acceptance and found only rejection and pain.
This forms the basis for all good monster tales. Some say this is a maudlin holdover from the Victorian roots of the form. I find this to be tripe, and a justification for the current state of modern horror in most cases. The monster trope, the archetype, is at its best when it honors its roots. It is running at its peak when it is delving into the deep questions of our humanity. A good monster tale can do all of that and a lot more.
When the form does what it is supposed to it reveals our human weaknesses and frailties. In the hands of a master of the form we realize that the creature is rarely the monster. The creature is merely the reflection of the true monster. We realize that it is Von Frankenstein that is the monster and his creature is merely the thing he created. We realize that Count Dracula is the reflection of our dark side that dwells in all of us.
I grew up adoring all of the forms of the monster. I grew up loving the Dracula tales. I bayed at the moon with Lon Chaney. Listening to a medieval organ played by a masked figure touched me in a deep place. The dark places these creatures went revealed in me more than I wanted to know.
In recent years though, my affinity for the werewolf, the vampire, the dragon, and others has waned. The reasons for this have more to do with my distaste for popular culture. I hate what our culture does to a thing when it obsesses over it. It takes something wild, something frightening, something altogether alien to the modern world, and well wipes its arse with it.
When the [insert monster form here] becomes the newest craze, all of the things that drew me to it in the first place gets wiped away. It becomes a well-recognized thing. It becomes the current darling pet of modern culture. It becomes something less than it deserves to be. And we cease to be able to fear it. And that end result is one that I find disgusting.
So usually by the time something I adore finds its way into popular acceptance, I tend to exit stage left. More often than not I do not wish to watch or read what comes next. The defanging of the thing that once scared me, is an act that I do not wish to be party to. Certainly I can’t either abide or endorse it.
And when it comes to the monsters I select as participants in the fiction I write, I opt for the less common ones. I reach for the ones that have not been bleached by the klieg lights of our popular culture. I reach for that which still scares me. I reach for the things that still put a knot in my stomach when I think of them.
So it goes without saying that I still adore the original forms that scared me, but when I put pen to paper, I seek out the rare and the obscure. When I need to tell a monster tale featuring a member of the draco family, I reach for the wyvern and not the dragon. When I need to tell a tale of the dark and foreboding featuring misunderstood beast plaguing humanity, I reach for the ghoul and not the vampire.
Some have accused me of being contrary in this perspective. On some level they may be correct. I do not wish to tell the stories that have already been told ad nauseum. I wish to depart from the common forms when I write fiction. I do not wish to let the reader have a sense of familiarity with the tale, because they know the form. I seek first and foremost to force the reader to pay attention precisely because they do not know the form.
A common quote of which I am fond comes to mind at this moment. ‘I aim to misbehave’. I aim to go where the reader does not expect. I aim to seek to honor that which we know by going where we haven’t been with something that we are not familiar. Failing that, I hope to do that with something with which we are not intimately familiar.
It is always my hope to take the misunderstood and weave a unique tale of my own creation. In the course of doing so, I hope to honor the tropes and the archetype. I hope to delve into the places that cause us discomfort. I hope to reveal as much about ourselves as about the monster in doing so.
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