horror-authors

As the helpless vampire watched the transformation, it started screaming. It was still screaming when his rows of razor sharp teeth sank into its throat.

Nothing Makes Me Feel Happier Than Seeing A Child Smile From Happiness.

No amount of therapy can replace the joy of revenge writing.

Even though it__ pleasing to boast about achievements I have earned in my generation, nothing makes me more content in the world than just having the exciting opportunity to share my passion of work with the public. What is even more exhilarating, is being able (having the capability) to spend quality time with my loving wife, (Gloria) and family doing what I love most in the world -- writing. Their total well-being and health, along with my health too means everything to me. I have had my fair share of narrow escapes in my life to know how important my family, and health are to me. I will never take that for granted again _ ever.

I Wish This To Never End.

I Have Always Had A Facination With England, And Their History.

If You Are Not Getting Any Kind of Negative Feedback, Than You Probably Are Not Working Hard Enough.

As soon as Todd drove off the motorway it vanished from the mirror, and so did the sun across the moor.

I am amazed at how much I can learn by watching interviews of successful people.

You Can Not Me Honest To Others, If You Are Not First Honest With Yourself.

I Know Many Horror Authors Are Depreesed or Act Misabrle With Their lives. This Seems To Go With The Territory. For Example, Best-selling Horror Author, Joe Hill Talks About His Own Depression And Anxiety And How He Is Too Afraid To Take A Pill Because, of How This May Deminish And Destroy His Creative Side of Writing Horror. I Myself Happen To Feel The Exact Opposite. I Almost Always Noticed A More Creative Output In My Writing When On Pills.

You Can Not Be Honest With Others, If You Are Not First Honest With Yourself.

Ever Since I Can Remember, I Have Always Been a Huge Advocate for Women and Children.

My original intent was to write a horror story about someone who loses his mind and slowly begins to unravel. The story, as I envisioned it, would evoke horror within the context of psychological decay, entropy.

In My Case, It Did Not All Start With A Mouse, Instead It Started With A House.

Still onto This Day, I Dawdle to Be Plagued With The Same Unfortunate Reoccurring Nightmare. In My Horrifying Dream, there is an Attractive Women With Piercing Blue Eyes And Light Brownish Hair, Sporting A Lengthy Red Dress With Extended Dark Black Heals Who Kills Me On Christmas Day. In My Dream I am Listening to A Christmas Song_ __ingle Bells_ While Rambling Down a Dark Corridor Inside A Home. I am Shot in The Back of The Head And The Music Box Lingers Playing The Same Tune. I Can See Nothing but The Bottom of Her Mends, And Then All Becomes Ample Dark.

I Do Not Like Canadians, I Love Them.

When he shut himself in his apartment he found that he hoped he was waiting for nothing at all.