Horror Fiction: A Vaccine Against Fear

– by Josh Schlossberg, JoshsWorstNightmare.com

I’ve deliberately kept a low profile during the last few weeks, not wishing to add to the flood of (mostly mis)information flowing from the fingers of the anxious and ill-informed.

I wanted to break my silence by assuring you that I’m not here to fan the flames of fear, but to help put them out. While we’re not out of the coronavirus woods yet, it may be that before very long we’ll be approaching the edge of the forest. Indeed, China’s outbreak peaked sometime in February—with only a trickle of new cases these days—with life over there in the process of returning to normal. 

If the most densely populated nation in the world that made zero advance preparations for this pandemic is through the worst, that bodes very well for everywhere else. I’m not saying there aren’t challenges ahead, or that governments shouldn’t be enacting strict measures, or that people shouldn’t be taking precautions. To nip this in the bud, we’ve all got to come together (not literally!).

While I don’t want to downplay things, trends do suggest that COVID-19 will peak and decline before very long in most regions of the world. It’s this evidence-based optimism that makes me feel justified to write not about the pandemic itself, but people’s reactions to it.

Simply put: People haven’t been reading enough horror fiction and it shows.

Some of you may be aware that I’ve been researching/writing/worrying/warning about disease outbreaks in both a fictional and journalistic capacity for over a decade, specifically since the 2009 H1N1 pandemic. So, back in January, while the world was distracted with who was saying what mean words to whom on social media, I was paying close attention to the outbreak of a new respiratory ailment in Wuhan, China. 

Having read many zombie novels, I recognized the plot line: A handful of cases in some far-flung region. Initial reports suppressed or dismissed. When the reality of the incidents could no longer be denied, people telling themselves it couldn’t happen here. And then, before long, the zombies scratching at your door. 

While I didn’t expect corpses to reanimate (OK, maybe a little), I did begin to physically and psychologically prepare for what I knew was probably inevitable. I started disengaging from public social events, stocking up on food and other household products, and quietly suggesting others do the same (nearly all of whom ignored me and/or thought I was crazy). 

The result was that, come March, when people were finally starting to wake up to the situation and began freaking out, my anxiety had already peaked and is now on the downslope. What this means is I’m not needlessly feeding the collective fear by emotional venting, spreading inaccurate (or out of context) information, or prognosticating apocalypse. 

Speaking of feeding, since I had already procured my necessities during a time of overabundance, I didn’t need to do any last-minute panic shopping and add any stress to the supply chain. (The most ironic thing about panic shopping is that it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy: When everyone buys way more than they need all at once for fear of running out, they genuinely do create scarcity). Had more folks paid closer attention to zombie novels, perhaps there would now be enough toilet paper to go around.

While horror fiction can certainly warn us about specific calamities such as disease outbreaks, its much greater benefit is how it can help prevent a lot of needless panic, which is more dangerous than any pandemic. 

In other words, reading horror fiction is like a vaccine, inoculating you with a harmless germ of terror to build up your immunity for when shit really hits the fan.

The COVID-19 pandemic is but one example of multitudes, as life itself is full of both rays of light as well dark twists and turns we’d best prepare for. This isn’t to say we let ourselves be consumed by the shadow by, say, reveling in snuff films or drinking wine from the skulls of our enemies. But we can’t afford to ignore it, either.

To the contrary, people’s largely unhelpful and sometimes hysterical reactions to recent events prove that the world could benefit from more people who have built up a bit of tolerance to fear. And it just so happens horror fiction is one of the best tools at our disposal to help us get there.

My Story Won An Award…Sort Of

Hubbard AwardMy short story, “The Cat’s Meow,” received a Silver Honorable Mention from the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest!

What does this mean? Not much, really—simply that my story beat out a few thousand other entries to be selected for a category slightly above the ordinary, non-metallic Honorable Mentions, but far, far below the actual winners, finalists, and semi-finalists.

(What’s more important is that “The Cat’s Meow” will be published in Disturbed Digest by Alban Lake Publishing in June 2018.)

One thing that’s been keeping me up at night: If I’m a writer of the future, does that mean I’m not a writer of the present?

Will You Vote For Me in the Bards and Sages Reader’s Choice Awards?

digital rendering of an airship

Please consider voting for me, Josh Schlossberg, in the Bards and Sages Quarterly Reader’s Choice Awards!

Just CLICK HERE, scroll down to the July 2017 issue, and click on my name!

The author with the most votes per issue will have his or her short story reprinted in a “Best Of” compilation.

If you’re feeling really generous, scroll down to the bottom of the page and vote for me as the Bards and Sages Quarterly author of the year. Thanks!

 

Drain Published in Bards and Sages Quarterly

Josh Schlossberg’s short story, “Drain” leads off the July 2017 issue of Bards and Sages Quarterly, along with 16 other speculative fiction authors’ amazing tales!

Purchase the e-book for $2.99 and print version for $9.84.

Excerpt:

digital rendering of an airship

As I lay in bed, leafing through my old hardcover copy of Talking to Heaven, I felt a tickle on my wrist. Some sort of beetle the size of an apple seed, flat and brown, nonchalantly crawled up my arm, as if out for an evening stroll. I shrieked and blew it onto the nightstand.

Since I’ve lived in the city my whole life, only getting out into the country a handful of times over the years, I was never much of a fan of bugs. Spiders hunched in dark corners. Bloated worms rotting on the sidewalk after a rain. Fruit flies buzzing around the sink in a cloud of filth. I know insects are a part of nature, but so is the flu—just because something’s natural doesn’t mean it’s good…

READ MORE at Bards and Sages Quarterly