Subliminal blood, sublime blood

I might have mentioned (once or twice) how much I love the Nightstalker series. I grew up watching it on broadcast TV, sometimes on the big set in my parents room, sometimes in my own room with the lights off and the bedsheets in my hand ready to be pulled over my head if things got too intense. I think a person gets a lot out of a childhood with the right amount of fear of the boogyman.

Now that technology has progressed to the point where a person can have more movies and shows available than would have fit in an entire house of VHS tapes, I like to indulge myself once in a while. The short, single season of Carl Kolchak's exploration of his own dark world is one of those indulgences.

There's one episode, Chopper, that I saw recently. An updated version of the story of the headless horseman, its first death comes with the roar of a motorcycle engine and the cold chime of polished steel. Highlander fans take note of the type of sword used to collect heads and its distinctive white grip. This was more than a decade before anyone heard of Connor MacLeod.

But we don't see the blood. The engine sound cuts out and we hear the sword ring. We get a brief, frame-frozen shot of the blade and the neck, and an instant later we see and hear the anguish of an innocent bystander who bore witness.

We don't see the blood, but we believe in it. The same part of our brains that helped small children watch painted herd animals come alive on cave walls lit by flickering firelight gives us the experience of seeing blood everywhere when we don't see it with our eyes. We have faith in the blood. Can I get an Amen?

Remember Psycho? Marion Crane, nude and oblivious, taking a nice, relaxing shower to ease the sting of realizing that love doesn't really conquer all? Just as she's about to settle into a life containing a little less faith, dear Mother arrives to provide a religious conversion on the edge of a butcher knife. After that movie was shown, there were people that swore Hitchcock had pulled a Wizard of Oz style effect and filmed the blood in color. People were as certain they saw crimson running down that shower drain as they were of their own names. In their heart of hearts, they believed it.

Hitchcock used chocolate syrup for that scene, liking the way it looked on film. Children all across the U.S. add the blood of Marion Crane to milk every day, and they guzzle it down with smiles on their sweet, innocent faces. I have some in my refrigerator right now.

I've known that scene used chocolate syrup for a while now, and a short time ago I had the pleasure of introducing my two nephews to Psycho. (You want a challenge? Try keeping a straight face while people you know are debating whether the killer is Norman or his mother) Sitting there and seeing a story play out that I already knew, it didn't make a difference. When I looked at watery chocolate syrup, I could feel Marion Crane dying, right there in front of me in black and white.

Now suppose someone is working with words and not pictures, and they want to make believers out of their readers . How do they cast that same spell?

Well, let's look at the tools we have, and at what we need to do. We need to convey a set of sensations, and we have every word in the English language and its competitors, and we also have all those fears our readers carry around with them. We have their dreads, as Mister Barker once put it. Those special kinds of fears that people think about and plan to avoid even when there's no source for them around. Most of those comes from old instincts that are buried so deep they're written in the language of nerve endings, sounds, and smells.

Feel: something sharp drags across the skin of your throat, and then the front of your shirt is wet.

Hear: the voice of a strong person who you respect for their intelligence, babbling in that tired, frustrated way that we automatically connect with someone suffering from Alzheimer's, or a non-fatal head wound.

Smell: that thick, wet, sweetness that sticks on someone's skin and hair when they get near a dead body lying out in the hot sun. That smell you can taste and feel.

Back to puppies and kittens. Please take your barf bags with you when you leave.

Important point: this medicine, like all others, only works when given in the correct dosage. Too much and we overload the system, numbing the reader. Too little and defensive reactions kick in, like denial. We end up with an audience that we've vaccinated against us. Curses, foiled again.

That's a rather complicated set of circumstances. How do we keep track of everything? By keeping our goal in mind. We want to tell a good story.

Ladies and gentlemen, it's good to be back, writing.

No news like bad news

When you create horrible events and want your poor, unsuspecting reader to gasp and shudder, you need them to know the people who have all those terrible things happen to them. Watching 'Alien,' we cringe when the helmet is cut away and we still can't see John Hurt's face, and we squirm in our seats when that very Freudian alien pops out of his chest. Why? Because we've spent the last thirty or so minutes getting to know him. Yes, his best scenes come after the facehugger drops off. But by the time that 'leathery object' opens up, we at least have a good idea of whether or not Kane would be getting a Christmas card from us, and whether or not we could kill some time with him over a bottle of beer and a conversation about politics.

That's part of how we get involved in a story. Relating to characters, seeing and understanding how they relate to other characters. It's not the only way, just the most well-established. There are one-person plays, and movies and stories with only one character. But even most of those have phone calls or letters or whatever so that we know that our hero is not the last human on earth. Maybe one of the great masters can do it, but fortunately for me there aren't enough of them to give the rest of us regular competition.

That caring is important, because it's what keeps us reading the story or watching the film. It may or may not be set up as such, but the tale is a recording of that character. A slice of their life, and maybe the last one.

You can argue with me, but my humble opinion is that bad news connects us with characters like good news never will. Most of us achieve a kind of equilibrium in our lives, and if we're climbing whatever ladder we're on, we climb it one rung at a time, according to plan. To us, 'normal' is either continuity or slow progress. When we're introduced to Bob and his wife Jane, who are getting started building a life for themselves, we get to know them pretty quickly. New beginnings are a blank slate, one that we often read our on lives into.

In a book or a movie, when someone wins the lottery or has their rich uncle leave them millions, most of us scream 'plot device.' Now, everything is a plot device, because if it isn't, it gets edited out (or it should). But if our heroes move into the creepy mansion not because they inherited it, but because Dad lost his job or Mom is blacklisted for blowing the whistle on the local PTA's cocaine fundraiser, and it's the only place they can afford, then we understand that they're having hard times, and hard times are something we can all relate to. We can give a family who's in a middle of a run of bad luck some sympathy, because we hope that someone would give us a bit of sympathy when we find ourselves in that same situation. A person or family living high on the hog only makes most of us feel envious, which is why you don't see a lot of millionaire protagonists. I remember the hero in 'Bag of Bones' was worth quite a lot, but King is a lot better at this than most of us, and even he had to kill off the man's wife.

Maybe part of it is selfish, too. Empathizing for people in need makes us feel good about ourselves, but envy is a false comfort that only makes us colder. Everyone is a hero in their own mind, and the good guys don't wish a bus would run over their lucky neighbor. Only flesh and blood people do that.

This isn't strictly a random post. Some people that I'm close with decided to call it quits recently. Again, it's a bit selfish, but it seems there's a little less happiness in the world right now. Time moves on, and life changes. It doesn't ask how we feel about the changes, either.

Boy, sounds like the perfect set up for a horror movie, doesn't it? Maybe I'll write something and put one of the characters in a similar situation.