Merry meet all,

The excitement of the Halloween/ Samhan festive fun is behind us. Now we all face the long, dark cold that lies ahead. Most of us look forward to winter the way we look forward to root canal. The winters in Atlantic Canada leave much to be desired. 

My cat’s napping on the couch. The groomer trimmed her claws today. So far, she is doing okay with her new medication. 

I believe that the dark half of the year is the ideal time to write and reflect on horror. I love the dark half of the year. I know that the cold, ice and snow go hand in hand with this dark season, but I love it. I want to write another horror novel (yes I am crazy lol). I want to find a trad publisher. I want to earn bigger royalties. Ah don’t we all? I also want my own apartment. Again, another pip dream. It can’t hurt to try. I do have to come up with new writing material. I am proud to say that most of my earlier stuff is all published. 

This is the time when many still socialize, but also a time when some people opt to turn inward and be more reflective I am of those. I have a stash of lovely herbal teas to enjoy, cardigans to keep me warm and a cute cat to keep me company. I am so fortunate. This time, as I meditate on what I will write, I want to really ask myself what horror means to me. I have been through a lot, but the last several months have been an eye opener for me. I was thrown out to the streets by my own family, forced to move out of my old moldy apartment, spent a few months moving back and forth from my Mom’s apartment to my boyfriend’s and have to keep seeing my moving boxes stored in my Mom’s basement. 

Horror is loss. I returned to my garden only to see the old stuff from my kitchen stored in my garden. It looked as it all lacked the soul that flourished while I lived there. Like no one was there. Like no one cared. Like something had died. Now the kitchen appliances are gone, but it is not the same. I bawled my eyes out. I wish I could go back to my herb garden on Crown Drive, but I know everything has changed. Life’s a bitch. 

Horror is sacrifice. Maybe I should say, forced sacrifice. I am personally tired of sacrificing, or being forced into that position. I was very reluctant to leave Crown Drive. My heart longs to return to the past- to the freedom I possessed over my life, but the mold was too far gone. I had no choice. I can’t bring back the past. Now I have to live with someone. It sure is a challenge. The rent is so expensive I honestly have no idea if I will ever live alone on my own again.

Horror is death. My boyfriend and his family had to put their beloved dog, Tucker, down. Tucker was fourteen years old, but he was truly suffering. I took Penny to the vet. I thought it would be a routine check for her fructosamine levels because she has diabetes. Poor cat. It turned out she now has hyperthyroidism and high blood pressure on top of diabetes and arthritis. Now I rub her medication on her ear twice a day. Penny had a bad weak spell prior to her appointment. Penny is also fourteen years old. It’s getting harder for her to jump up to a higher surface, but that is why I am here. I will always be here to help her, no matter what. I hope she has a good long life yet. Yes she has me wrapped around her white velvety paw- with perfect pink beanies on her paws. 

I feel like focusing on writing my next horror novel on something that hits much closer to home. I believe that horror has many different interpretations. If twenty people saw Psycho or Silence of the Lambs movies or read the same horror novel, I think the people would each have their own interpretation of it. It is open to many different perspectives. What horror is to one person may not be the same to someone else. Some people like slashers and others prefer true crime or the supernatural. We are all individuals in our tastes and preferences. We are all entitled to our own tastes and preferences. No one is right or wrong in what they enjoy to watch on the silver screen or on their Iphones. Personally I hate TikTok, but I know many others like it. 

Horror is personal. I did just mention above that it means different things to different people. Horror can be so many things. There is a difference between terror and horror. Alfred Hitchcock knew that well. Let’s imagine we are on a rollercoaster. Terror is the slow, agonizingly suspenseful of the thing (I forget the word right now), the rollercoaster ride going up, up and up to the high peak. Horror is the terrifying descent paired with the ignored, frantic rational part of your brain praying you do not die. Just for the record, I refuse and just will not ever go on a roller coaster ride again. Just writing all this made me queasy. Losing a pet, a child even your home can be deeply and extremely personal. Terror is waiting for the mind-numbing horror to happen and horror is when it happens and not a damn thing you can do to stop it.

Horror is many things with many scary masks. The scariest horror might be when the mask comes off and what we see then we find the most frightening- when we can recognize it and be repulsed at the same time. 

Blessings, Spiderwitch