The Recipe

It is rare, for me, to write short stories. They cause me panic. I get five paragraphs in and I’m happy — and then I start to feel pressure. Remember, keep it short, I tell myself. Don’t waste space. Next thing I know, I’ve lost track of what the story is about, obsessed instead with keeping the word count low. So it’s strange, and true, that the three stories here all came out very short and very fast, without any doubt along the way. And I know this happened for two simple, unexpected reasons.

First, I knew Steve was going to illustrate them, and he’s great. That prompted me to focus on writing sharp visuals. And that turned out to be a useful way to approach writing horror, as I think the genre is chiefly imagistic. By which I mean it is not rational. Think of the stories that have most startled or creeped you out — even the subtle, psychological ones. What makes them all work is not the reason there is a monster, it’s the basic fright of seeing the thing. Anticipating Steve’s art enabled me to write past the reasons toward images, and I’d never focused that way before.

Secondly, these stories were all written in the first weeks of the coronavirus lockdown (it’s strange to realize that a billion people know exactly what is meant by a phrase that didn’t exist in December). I went from motoring all across the city every day to being confined at home. And I experienced a burst of energy that I can only explain as a reaction to the huge uncertainty that came with that change. Would I still have a job? Would stores run out of food? A friend of mine bought a gun — was that necessary? I started to have intricate dreams, like I had in childhood, and they lingered after I woke up. I was experiencing a nervous mania without precedent and, if it wasn’t going to make me crazy, it needed a place to go. So it went into writing.

And I’m still having bizarre dreams. Which means I’ll write more stories.