I make excuses when I’m being criticized. Ok, maybe that’s not completely true. Well, yes, it is, but more so I always feel this need, deep inside my tongue, to explain why it is I might have done this, or that.
The problem is it’s quite a hard things to realise I’m doing when I don’t really think before speaking. I tend to make the excuse real early on before things sink in and then I sit back, and reflect and realise I’ve done it this way, mostly because I know, even as I explain that I’m doing it wrong and that I’m going to do everything I can to fix this.
So I’m sorry for everyone out there who I’ve done this with, it’s a gut reaction and I am, and do, take what you’ve send to heart.
What I feel a deep seeded need to explain is Loved by a Werewolf, and quite clearly the whole Moonlit Wolves series, but don’t worry people I ain’t changing them.
I wrote this series in what I felt light romances, and clearly, I was wrong.
I’m not wrong about my ability to write that type of story as I have, My Kevin is a romance, and my first Movember book is one as well, but apparently when it comes to paranormal what see and how I feel and what I believe should be expected from one isn’t love or loving or even nice. Its blood and gore in a level not even I noticed until someone pointed it out to me.
The thing is I know I haven’t written on scene gore, not really, not more than a body laying at another’s feet, because I made me point not to.
This is what I wrote, Book 2:
Wetness ran onto Tim, his neck and lower face slathered with the thick chunky downpour. His mind worked double time trying to figure out what it was. His chest ached from rapid breathing. It didn’t help that he had been tied to this tree too long. His arms—hands, elbows—ached.
Tim’s head went grey, fuzzy and slow. He wanted the wet stuff off his face, even if his mind wouldn’t come up with what it was. He wanted—
Something hit him. Slammed into his thighs and Tim’s world tipped on its hinges and went toppling into darkness.
Now, if I wanted to go graphic it would have been more like this: [sorry bout roughness]
Blood splashed across his face, chunks of soft meat slapped softly at his neck as Colin’s teeth dug into the man’s neck, looking for a prize as he pulled his throat apart. Tim’s brain tried rebelling from the carnage that was happening around him, as his chest rose in heavy breaths.
The beast Colin was at the moment took a short time to remove the man it was killings arm off him, the limb feel, it’s fingers caressed Tim on it’s way to the ground, hot wetness was left behind making Tim shiver. His stomach bubble up into his throat, he was sure if he’d had anything to eat he’d have projectile vomited just from the smell.
The sound made it worse, the screams and yells of the men getting attacked and then a settled silence broken by some animal grunts and human noises Tim didn’t want to name.
His eyes sprung tears as he fought the need to yell and scream, encouraging the beast along as he wanted to beg them to stop. To save the life of someone who would turn around and stab him in the back.
He wanted off the tree so he could join in on the carnage because the fear that vibrated his arms and legs demanded vengeance for what he’d been through.
Guilt ate at him as his mind suddenly had too much, he couldn’t deal with any of it. Not the blood pooling around his legs, socking into his pants. And defiantly not the emotions that wanted to pull him apart, making him something worse than the beasts killing what they could get their hands on.
Or I don’t know something like that, I just wrote it up now for this.
But this is kinda my point, I wanted to write something like the bottom one. I wanted to have full on blood carnage but I decided before I wrote the book that I wouldn’t make it violently graphic, only I failed.
The thing I didn’t understand as I wrote it, and quite honestly until I spoke to my mum about it, was the fact that what I did made it more. It made you have to put in your own thoughts of what had happened, while putting you in the mind of a person going through it.
Clearly you understood exactly what was raining down on Tim without me having to point it out because it was so horrific he’s mind turned blank as it rebelled against him understanding what was happening around him.
You as a human have enough experience with gore and horror to fill in blanks I’ve given you emotions for, and what makes it worse is the fact that I’ve done it without understanding what I’ve done. I’ve made you be able to think up your most horrifying thing you want to think of as I splatter the dude with blood and have him pass out.
This is kinda brilliant and makes me want to see what I could do with something more horror orientated, because, at the end of the day, romance and horror aren’t that far removed. They are both emotionally related. It’s about making you feel things rather than telling you what’s happening.
Obviously, it would run more between what I have above and what I have written below because it’s needed, but here’s the thought I had.
The idea: contemporary horror-ish romance (Stockholm syndrome)
A boy falls in love with a ghost who terrorised and killed all his friends. In the end the cops come and the kid kills himself because he can’t live without the ghost.
But what really happened in the hotel, that night, when the only one standing the next morning was a boy, with a knife in his hand and blood down his body smiling like a loon as he sliced the blade across his throat.
What you think? Something you’d be interested in reading?