Letting the reader's imagination do the dirty work…

I am constantly amazed when readers comment on the depths of my depraved mind. Sure, I like to flex my blood and gore muscles as much as the next horror writer, but I much prefer leaving the heavy lifting  up to the reader's imagination.

Much like anything else, constant exposure numbs the senses.  Readers can easily separate themselves from words on a page, but its a much tougher task to hide from their own twisted imaginings.

My debut thriller Asylum Lake is a great example of blending my words with the reader's dark thoughts.  I cannot recall a single book event or discussion where a reader hasn't commented on a specific excerpt from my book only to embellish the text. I am flattered beyond belief by this.  I get off knowing that the  words I choose fan the flames of their imaginations.

Enjoy this excerpt from Asylum Lake

Blood spilled by violence leaves a stain far different from blood which is shed in any other way. As Lionel stood on the tips of his toes at the kitchen sink, he was surprised by how much more difficult blood was to wash away than the dirt he was accustomed to. The dish rag had done little to clean the gore from beneath his fingernails. It had taken a fork from the drawer to scrape most of it out. As for the streaks and spatters that coated his forearms, neck and face – they seemed to be a lost cause. Lionel had considered showering, but that would have

meant removing what was left of Mrs. Reed from the bathtub. In the end he did what he could with a wet towel and decided not to worry about the rest.

Not that the mess was limited to the kitchen; bloody tracks led from one end of the small Cape Cod to the other and smeared fingerprints were on everything from the kitchen knives to the golf club he discovered in the hall closet. Even the hedge clippers he had picked up in the garage were bloodied … and

broken. The blades had actually bent and snapped clear off from the wooden handles. The dull and rusty shears had worked just fine on the kids, but Mrs. Reed was a big woman with thick bones – and thick bones, he learned, required a hacksaw. Lionel had to make the long walk from the bathroom to the garage three times for new blades.