Who have we here? Ahhh… the one who wanes and waxes with the phases around her, the Moondustwriter – Leslie Moon. Not only is she a lovely poet, but a traveler in both body and spirit. Let’s hear what she has to share regarding what encourages and terrifies her about writing horror.
I’ve lived in many strange situations in my life: some precipitated by chance, others by free fall, a very few by intent. Do you ever strain to get away from something then run to get back on board? That’s horror for me. I lived in a kaleidoscopic framework of horror as a child; I tried to shut my imagination down to stop magnifying the dread around me and just as quickly tried to jump into imagination’s rabbit hole to escape pursuit. Where I grew up, we were trained in how to deal with a Zodiac killer attack. We were also instructed in how to ferret out things like razor blades in our food. I don’t know how many little girls looked into the eyes of someone they trusted and heard the words “I’m going to kill you.” I also don’t know how many kids (in my generation) fought nights of real terror away with nothing but their screams. That was my world, the one that I believed I would never awaken from. Remarkably, I did wake up into adulthood.
You would think every painting I painted would be black, that every story I wrote would be bloody, but instead they were colorful fantasy. Horror is difficult for me to write and painful to read. Much of the horror I write is reflective of what I’ve lived or experienced (in the past never in the present.)
I’ve traveled the world and met some incredible people, most of them children. I most often live in the culture not around it. I have smelled the stench of humanity and I like it. What I dislike intensely is the way children are discarded by our world. I’ve spent nights (on the street) watching (and running with) young people who were being chased like rabid dogs. That to me is palpable horror.
I do have a family who I have tried to insulate (unsuccessfully) from the horrors of daily living.
I have written all of my life. It is as much an outlet for me as it is a hand reaching to pull others out of their rabbit hole. I’ve written for hospitals, radio, churches, schools, magazines, blogs, nationally, and internationally. The best part of the writing is the people you meet in real life and in fiction.
…and there you have one “mood” of the many layers of Leslie Moon aka Moondustwriter
About Leslie: Writing is one of my passions. I am a published christian author, poet and photographer. I have written, as well as edited, for periodicals, radio, ministries.
I am an advocate for the arts and the special needs community – my passions lie there as well.
On the dark side of the moon, I can be found hanging out with Pen of the Damned.
You can find Leslie on her blog and twitter at these links:
Read Leslie’s latest post on Pen of the Damned
“9-1-1? I am calling about three, maybe four people who have been abducted. I can tell you where they are.”
“Let me get your name, number you are calling from and location.”
“Oh okay.” I tried to take large gulps of air to still the panic. “It’s my daughter. They…he took her. One of them had a gun at my head.” I trembled as I remembered cold metal pressed against my temple.
“Ma’am calmly give me your name, your number, the closest address.” I could sense rising impatience in the operator.
“Address? I dont’ know. I’m in the part of the psychiatric facility that’s under renovation. Does the address matter? Some of the buildings are unstable. That bastard is putting my child in harm’s way. I’m her mom. She would be a famous actress if he would let her live. There’s no number on this plastic hull of a land line. I killed him, I think. The man who held a gun to my head. I always carry a knife…I work night shift. I’m not sure if the blood is mine or his. Get a damned squad car here now!” I threw the receiver; it ricocheted off the wall.
Great, now they will wonder who the psycho is, I chastised myself.
“No!” I heard her familiar scream. But this was no stage scream; there was too much blood curdling. Running in the direction of her voice, I gave up any hope that the police or paramedics could make it in time.
I saw his face. He was so placid and had such a kind smile when we had him on psychotropics. I told my colleague that it was too bad he couldn’t stay in a permanent, happy drugged state. “That could adversely affect recovery,” came his reply.
“Who is being adversely affected now?” I shook my fist at a blank hollow window.
I heard vibrations, then the recognizable sound of shattering glass.
“The building is going to cave in before help arrives.” I looked toward the empty shadows behind which were the monsters of my past and present. Focus, they can’t hurt you unless you allow them access. FOCUS!
Taking assessment of my situation, I knew that time was against me. What resources do I have that this madman does not?