I’ve got something very special for you all today – in today’s blog post, I’m going to throw open the windows of my mind and let you peer in at my brain. Not literally, you understand, that would be dangerous and icky. It would also involve installing a window in my head, and then I’d have to measure it for blinds, and that’s just too much like work.
This blog post will allow you an exclusive insight into the thought processes of that most secretive of creatures, the Writer. Marvel at the astounding leaps of logic! Quail before the mysterious power of wordcraftery! Titter behind your hand at the rampant egotism! Come one, come all, and see the marvellous Writer in action! Tickets are £3.67 payable in all of your Earth currencies or by logging into Paypal in your dreams and imagining that you’ve sent the money across to me.
And now, with no further ado, I give you… Dave Daring.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Wait, what? Shit. Shit no. I can’t start it like that. That’s the sort of thing a high-schooler starts a creative writing assignment with. That’s amateur hack cliché stuff. Dark and stormy night, fuck the dark and stormy night.
But I’ve got to set the mood. I mean, it’s a horror story, right? You can’t start a horror story with ‘It was a lovely sunny day,’ can you? There are rules.
A blood-curdling scream ripped through the night.
Better! Blood-curdling scream, good stuff. Ok, who’s doing the screaming?
Barbara Devonshire pounded through the woods, her huge bosom heaving with-
Steve Devonshire pounded through the woods, his massive cock heaving with-
The hideous monster pounded through the woods-
Ok, let’s drop the woods. And the pounding. Rethink this whole thing.
What’s scary? In terms of settings?
Woods. Caverns. Graveyards. Haunted castles. Empty hospitals. Abandoned amusement parks.
Graveyards might be good. Screaming in a graveyard, that could be a good mood-setter.
A blood-curdling scream ripped through the night. The graveyard, normally home only to the dead, was now teeming with life – terrible, horrible life, bent on the destruction of all humankind.
Nice. Grand scope. What does the bad guy want? Nothing less than the destruction of all humankind. The stakes are high.
I hefted my shotgun and aimed it at the lead creature.
“I don’t know what you are,” I drawled, “but I know what you’re gonna be – wormfood!”
I pulled the trigger and the creature blew apart, claws and tentacles flying, drenching me in ichor.
What the hell is ichor, anyway? Man, why do people have to use such stupid words for such simple things. Slime, I’ll say slime instead.
I wiped the slime out of my eyes and gritted my teeth heroically.
“No need to go to pieces,” I said.
Wait, does that even mean anything in that context? I mean, he blew it to pieces, so it’s gone to- oh, never mind, I’m sure it’s ok.
More hideous creatures gathered around me, surrounding me and hissing. This was not good.
More mood-setting, very important stuff, got to sell the danger factor here.
They were seven foot tall and covered with razor sharp teeth, but I wasn’t scared. It was all in a day’s work for Dirk Daring
Wait, has that name been used before? I get the feeling it’s been used before, like in a videogame or something.
It was all in a day’s work for Dave Daring.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my collapsible chainsaw.
“All right, suckerheads,” I said snarlingly, “prepare to meet your maker!”
“They already have – me!” cried a mysterious voice from behind a nearby gravestone.
MYSTERY! Always add a surprise villain.
“What?” I cried with shock. From behind the gravestone stepped my arch enemy, the evil Doctor Medical.
“It is I, Doctor Medical!” said Doctor Medical. “You have fallen into my trap for the last time, Dave Daring!”
“I think not, Doctor Medical,” I said, starting my chainsaw. I whirled it around my head and lopped off several monsters’ tentacles and arms. They howled with pain and the floor became slippery with blood. I killed many more monsters but more kept coming, and my arms were tired from swinging the chainsaw. I was doomed.
Oh shit, I’ve written myself into a corner. How the hell is he going to get out of this one? Think think think think AHA
I threw my chainsaw to the floor.
“Alright, Doctor Medical, you have what you want. Come and get me.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he cried, gathering me up into his arms for a passionate kiss. The monsters all clapped their hands and tentacles. Doctor Medical and I were married the next day, and we moved into the graveyard to live happily ever after with our family of monsters.
I’m the best fucking novelist since Ernest Hemmingway.