I was attempting horror for my next book. I gave the first chapter to my friend, and he said that it felt more like a thriller.
When I began to write it, I was thinking serial killer, and not ghosts, or werewolves. That was what made my story a thriller. The mysticism wasn’t with the culprit, it was with another character. I guess anyone with a warped mind could be a serial killer. Not many, if any people could be a mummy, or an apparition. That’s for another book.
I know that I’m a rookie at thrillers. I just wanted to expand. I’m not going children’s books. I have kids, so I’ll leave the kid stories to the professionals. My imagination has too many pit falls in it to be able to make a pure kid’s story.
I was always different in my creations. My rap lyrics were hard, but not gangsta. I was more into the barbarian lyric. It was never bluntz, forties, and bitches. I was into intertwining bloody entrails, and things like that.
Horror doesn’t scare me, so why try to scare others? That was arrogance on my part. Oh, I can creep you out. That’s easy, but scaring you isn’t part of my talent. I write, but my friend Jeff tells me what I can’t do.
Jeff won’t just tell me that I can’t do anything, he just lets me figure it out. He isn’t like that friend that tells you that you could sing, and encourage you to audition for American Idol only to be embarrassed nationally (She bangs! She bangs!).
It’s a good story so far. I just had to categorize it.