Thank you to everyone who replied to the childhood trauma question!

I’ve started up a blog about horror movies, and I was thinking of making a regular childhood trauma feature, so all this is really useful! I can definitely identify with a lot of your fears. For anyone who wants to know, mine were:

·         IT. More specifically, Pennywise. THAT FUCKING CLOWN. I didn’t even see the actual film until I was about 13, but they showed it on TV when I was seven, and I saw a trailer for it, and that alone left me terrified.

·         The part in Fantasia with the dinosaurs. More specifically, the part at the end of the sequence where they’re all dying, and they’re trudging through the desert, and they can’t find water, and they’re dropping one by one. SO UPSETTING. Weirdly, I loved the ‘Night on Bald Mountain’ sequence where the devil and his minions create havoc. I used to watch that part again and again, and I always got annoyed when the Ave Maria segment began, the devil got scared away, and the people went to church. Looking back, I don’t know why my mother wasn’t more concerned about me.

·         Watership Down. All the rabbits dying horribly! And they were all so mean to each other!

·         The part in The Wolves of Willoughby Chase where the factory owner’s son (who, to be fair, was a dick) gets crushed in a mangle. Ugh, my stomach clenches just thinking about it.

·         Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark. I loved the Indiana Jones films, but I was terrified of Arnold Ernst Toht. He was an evil nazi, so I think I’m justified. I was even more terrified when his face melted. That shit just wasn’t right.

·         The Witches. Oh holy moley. I had to sleep with the light on for months after seeing this film. I think because they wore masks and wigs and gloves so they looked like ordinary people, but were really these terrifying monsters. And the fact that they only went after children. Ugh, my dad thought it would be a good idea after this to take me to see a stage play of The Witches. The Grand High Witch had stage makeup that made her look like she was burned, and her eyes glowed red. I spent most of the play hiding under my seat. Thanks, dad.

·         Ursula’s death in The Little Mermaid. Just… ugh.

·         Aslan’s death. This was in the BBC version of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe that was on TV when I was little. My mum got it for me on video one Christmas, and I watched it all the time, but I had to get her to fastforward through the part where the White Witch kills Aslan. It was more than my little heart could bear. 

·         I used to stay up late when The X-Files was on, and watch it with my headphones plugged into my TV. I could cope with most of it, but I remember two episodes that really freaked me out. There was one called ‘Signs and Wonders’ which was all about demonic possession, and another called ‘Badlaa’ about this little crippled midget who wheeled himself around in a cart and would kill people and live inside their bodies. Although watching that one years later, I was no longer scared when I realised the guy who plays the midget is Deep Roy, the actor for the Oompa Loompas in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I’m just glad I never saw the episode ‘Home’ when I was little, because that shit is terrifying.

·         Jurassic Park. Mostly the raptors, if I’m honest. And the fact that they were so clever and worked as a team. Though the T-Rex was pretty terrifying as well. I was scared of that film, but I loved it dearly.

I have a question for you guys.

Was there anything that really scared you as a child, from a film, or something you saw on TV? It doesn’t have to be horror, just something that really creeped you out? 

writersbane:

The Heart and Craft of Life Writing: Write Like Nobody Will Read

((By Sharon Lippincott))

Dance like nobody’s watching,
Write like nobody will read.

These words darted into my monkey mind as I gazed at Christmas lights, thinking back to high school days when folk dancing was a favorite activity. A motley mixture of adults and teenagers gathered each week at the Rec Hall for a medley of line and couples’ dances from many nations. College kids home forChristmas made holiday dances especially festive.

There were never any lessons – you just picked the dances up as you went, with occasional pointers from old-timers. Any athletic ability in our family went to my sister and brother. I was one of those kids always picked last for whatever team was forming in P.E., so, although I loved the music and the dancing, I was never a picture of grace. On some level I knew this, but put it out of  mind. I was having fun. At least until the night Kelly gave me some startling advice.

“Quit trying to make like a ballerina,” she said with a sneer. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look?”

Ouch! Where’s the nearest hole? I fled to the ladies’ room to do battle with my Inner Critic.

Kelly was a couple of years older than I and home on break from college. She had studied ballet practically all her life, and she was good enough to turn pro. Undoubtedly watching my awkward attempts was painful for her, and tact had never been her strong suit. Perhaps she meant well, but her words stung.Fortunately she disappeared back to school, and I soon got over the humiliation and enjoyed dancing as much as ever, perhaps more.

I didn’t discount her message. After thinking it through, I did begin to relax into the music more, and seemed to move a bit more fluidly. If I was still a little awkward, so what? It didn’t seem to bother anyone but Kelly. We were there for the joy of dancing, not to put on a performance, and in general we were an accepting group.

Today as I recalled that horrific moment, I made the obvious connection to writing. There was a time when my writing was almost as awkward as my dancing. I have drafts of two short stories I wrote in 1978. They are utterly dreadful! I keep them as benchmarks for measuring progress. When I went to college I fell away from folk dancing, so I’ve had little opportunity to refine those skills. But I have continued writing for over thirty years now, and with lots of feedback, study and practice, I’ve made progress.

Today I often dance at home alone. I dance because I love to dance. I dance like nobody is watching, which is easy, because they aren’t. I write the same way. I write thousands of words nobody will ever see for every hundred I share. Maybe if I took up folk dancing again, I’d do better at it for all the private practice.

My advice for you: Forget the Kelly’s in life. Dance like nobody’s watching and write like nobody will read. If a Kelly wanders in, look for what you can learn and forget the rest.