The Palos Verdes Peninsula |
Photo by Dave Dyet |
Elisa Ludwig: There was a period of time in my life when I'd just graduated from college and I was living at my parents' house and working in a video store. I'd get home late at night and, too wired to sleep, I'd settle in front of the TV. Many times I'd use the hour or two to catch up on the classic/foreign/art house films I was supposed to be personally recommending to customers, but just as often I would watch reruns of the original episodes of Unsolved Mysteries that aired nightly on Lifetime. The pounding synth soundtrack, the dramatically lit reenactments, the suspicious talking-head interviews—it was all conceived perfectly to draw you right in. Eeriest of all was Robert Stack, who stalked around in his trenchcoat and offered a husky-voiced narration. The first frame warned "this is not a news program," but because the stories were ostensibly true, the show never failed to give me shivers. There were nights when I'd be so spooked out by a story of a woman gone missing or a creepy encounter with the paranormal that I'd have to stay up and watch a Godard film just to get it out of my head. The show was resurrected in 2008, and I haven't seen any of the newer episodes, but I suspect that without Stack (he died in 2003) it's just not the same.
Lamar "L.R." Giles: When I gear up to bring the scary I tend to think about the masters. King, Lovecraft, Matheson...and I remember that less is more (well, maybe not for Lovecraft). I revisit the novels and scenes that scared me most and I realize there's never as much detail as I remember. The masters are good at giving you just enough to get your imagination going, then your own fears fill in the gaps. I try hard to do the same.
Diana Renn: When I need to write something scary, the night is my friend. I cannot draft anything remotely spine-tingling or creepy in the light of day. I need a dark house, and a soft pool of light on my desk. Wind howling is a bonus. I open window shades so that I'm confronted with darkness outside, so that I can feel it pressing in on me. This summer, I wrote the scariest scene in my novel at a vacation cottage on Cape Cod, where there were no outside lights and the moths hurled themselves against the screen I sat by to get to my computer screen glow. One huge bug was as large as a small bat. Maybe it was. I hate bugs. I hate bats more. I was terrified. I wrote on.
Diana Renn: When I need to write something scary, the night is my friend. I cannot draft anything remotely spine-tingling or creepy in the light of day. I need a dark house, and a soft pool of light on my desk. Wind howling is a bonus. I open window shades so that I'm confronted with darkness outside, so that I can feel it pressing in on me. This summer, I wrote the scariest scene in my novel at a vacation cottage on Cape Cod, where there were no outside lights and the moths hurled themselves against the screen I sat by to get to my computer screen glow. One huge bug was as large as a small bat. Maybe it was. I hate bugs. I hate bats more. I was terrified. I wrote on.
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Elisa, your entry on Unsolved Mysteries takes me back -- that show gave me nightmares!
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