Years ago when I was enamored with Stephen King’s novels I read in an interview that the only book of his that scared him when he was writing it was Pet Sematary. I found that a little hard to believe. I didn’t think that someone could write something that scared them any more than they could tickle themselves enough to really laugh.
Last night, in my attic office, I was up late finishing up my alloted word count for my NaNoWriMo story. Everyone else in the house was asleep, or nearly asleep. In the story the main character has a seemingly irrational fear of something common in all homes and I was at the part describing this fear. I suddenly got a little nervous myself and when I heard a noise that seemed to come from the closet near my desk, I jumped and my heart began to pound. We live in an older house, that has creaks and groans all the time, and the night was a little windy, so the noise was either the house settling, a twig falling on the roof — only a couple feet from my head — or something dropping off my daughter’s bed (directly below my desk). Even though I told myself those things, I was shaken and when I checked that my word count was adequate, saved my work, closed down the computer, shut off the attic lights and hurried downstairs to bed.
Until last night I didn’t realize that I was writing a novel in the horror/thriller genre. Sorry Mr. King – I’ll never doubt you again!