Horror Writers Association - Reading List

Horror Writers Association - Reading List

I was disappointed that Salem's Lot was not on this list. I don't know if any of you out there like scary stories, but this list looks like a good starting point for the uninitiated.

Exercise 1

For my literature class, we were given an interesting, yet frustrating exercise. We were asked to describe an action without using any adverbs or adjectives and with little to no internal thought or dialogue. This was a prickly situation. Below is my attempt. I took my professor's instruction to mean only no adverbs or adjective, but I left in adverbial or adjectival prepositional phrases. I guess I will find out tomorrow night if I goofed. Enjoy!

Dagwood stared into the refrigerator, its glow reflecting on the dome of his head. The stripes of his pajamas shined, an ocean at night. The linoleum chilled his heels and toes. He eyed the meats. Their origin was the deli. They were stacked; each was suffocated by paper and plastic. Dagwood grabbed the stack and balanced a loaf of pumpernickel and a loaf of rye on his head. He then stuck a bag of lettuce and another holding tomatoes in between his teeth. He picked up the mustard, mayonnaise, and olives in the other arm and tiptoed to the table in the dining room.

He had set a plate that could accommodate a turkey and placed his cargo around it like the numbers of a clock. Dagwood sliced the tomato with a cleaver. He took out slices of each kind of bread and shuffled them. He slathered the mustard and mayonnaise on each piece. He grabbed pastrami, cappicola, salami, and prosciutto and nudged them in between the pumpernickel and rye. He positioned the lettuce and tomato.
His widened, and he stopped twisting the lid of the jar of olives. He relinquished the jar and padded to the refrigerator. He swung the door open to reveal slices, wheels, and hunks of cheese that he had forgotten. He procured an armload and returned to his work-in-progress. He stowed the varieties of cheeses in different crannies of the sandwich. From his pocket, Dagwood produced two toothpicks. He cleaved his creation in half and skewered each portion with a toothpick, taking care to include olives in the act. The olives were heads on staffs. Each eyed him with a pimento.

Dagwood wrapped his hands around the inches of sandwich and unlocked his jaw like a python. His teeth trembled and his tongued lolled. Moisture trickled from between the meat as his fingers squeezed the monstrosity. His lips were able to claim the poles of rye and pumpernickel. He crunched through layers of lettuce with only the cheese to break his fall.

Crumbs littered the table. He belched. The moon cast a glow on his belly. He stretched and yawned and rose. His weight carried him to the stairs. They creaked as he ascended them. He flopped into bed. It was 4 A.M, and breakfast waited.

Of Moon and Metaphor

I must register a complaint to all writers, including myself. Why do we insist on exhausting every possible moon metaphor and simile? So many writers are guilty of grasping for that one piece of figurative language that will describe the moon is some jaw-dropping way. Why are we writing about the moon? Why must it be described in every night scene? What is the lure? Robin Williams lampooned it best when he said, "The moon hangs low, like a testicle, in the sky." In reality, it is sometimes that ridiculous. And to what end?

Your homework assignment is to find a moon metaphor or simile and post it as a comment here. It will not be hard to do. I promise.