Dark fiction can be lots of fun to read, and to write.  Fiction provides a safe space to explore ideas and emotions that can be harmful if they were to be expressed in real life.  Thanks to make-believe, you don’t actually have to hurt anyone to wonder about how hard it is to get away with murder, or to explore a fascination with some of the darker aspects of human nature, like manipulation, pain, addiction, and death.

There are some people for whom dark fiction is not their “thing,” and that’s okay.  Entertainment reading should be entertaining–if the book’s more upsetting than fun, it’s probably not for you, and it’s fine to stop reading it.

When you write dark fiction, you can get some really weird comments.  I’ve gotten some bizarre critique from people who are clearly not fans of the genre, yet feel compelled to tell me “what’s wrong with my story,” as though I will suddenly stop writing dark fiction and instead write something more to their tastes.  Here’s a sampling:

“By writing about this behaviour, you’re endorsing it in real life” is one of my favourite weird comments.  Maybe my murderer thinks his actions are justified; maybe my torturer really digs her “hobby”.  Just because the characters thinks their actions are acceptable/justified doesn’t mean I, the author, do.   I’m describing the way the characters see their world, not the way I feel about them.

And if the murderer gets away with his crime, or the torturer doesn’t feel remorse?  Again, those plot outcomes don’t equal “so I, the author, think the murderer deserved to get away with his crime, and the torturer did nothing wrong.”

There’s a certain satisfaction in seeing characters who do wrong receive punishment, just as there’s a satisfaction in seeing characters who do good be rewarded.  But reducing all fiction to a morality play is very limiting.  If your story’s about getting away with murder, there’s no tension if the reader doesn’t at least think escaping justice is possible.  If your story’s about having to interact with a person utterly incapable of remorse, then “softening” the antagonist will only harm the plot.

In the end, I, as the author, can describe what my characters think, say, and do; but I have to trust my readers to be able to decide for themselves how they feel about those characters,  and whether they agree with them or not. Nor will I be constrained to set my story in an idealized world where bad things always happen to bad people (and only good things happen to good people).

“What if you give people bad ideas?” was one of my grandmother’s favourite comments.  The implication was that if someone acts out the murder scene in your story, then the fault is on you, for “giving the person a bad idea”–not on them for actually committing real-life murder.

People do learn things from fiction, and that’s why it’s important to provide realistic and honest portrayals.  For example, for those of us who don’t do police work as a career or know those who do, a surprising amount of our “knowledge” comes from fiction.  This is the sort of “background knowledge” we soak up without knowing when we consume fiction, and this can be harmful when we presume real life works like CSI.

But anyone who goes out and re-enacts a murder because they saw it on TV has got much bigger problems.  Such a person is going to find an “inspiration” and an “excuse” somewhere–if not in a story, then from somewhere else (animals in nature, perhaps…)

“Why can’t everyone in this story be happy?  Why do bad things have to happen?” is a comment from someone who’s looking in the wrong genre.  If everyone in the story is happy, then there’s no conflict, therefore no plot, therefore no story.

It’s perfectly understandable for a reader to feel a little disappointed if they were hoping for a particular character to have a “good ending” and the story went somewhere else.  It gets weird when the commenter elaborates, “No, I mean all through the story.  Why does (character) have to be awful and cause so much trouble for everyone else?  Why does there have to be a monster/a murderer/a villain?”  If this conflict isn’t your jam, dark fiction isn’t your taste.  This comment is like complaining about unrealistic events in a fantasy novel, or feeling dissatisfied when the couple get together at the end of a romance novel; it’s the convention of the genre, and if you don’t care for it, then you’re unlikely to enjoy the genre as a whole.

And if that’s the case?  That’s fine.  There’s lots of other fiction for you to choose from.  But criticisms to the effect of “you’re writing in your genre, and your genre is horrible!” seem very bizarre to me when the story is Exactly What It Says On The Can.

This month we’ve given you some ideas about what to do when everything goes wrong.

It can be frustrating, even scary, when you feel that everything is happening to you, for reasons you couldn’t have foreseen.  Negative things are coming your way and they’re not the consequences of your actions in any way that you can identify.  What do you do when bad stuff just seems to be thrown at you, the undeserving target?

We’ve had advice on what not to do.  Public tantrums in the name of venting won’t do anything for your reputation as a professional.  Take some time, talk in private, cool your head, and approach the problem calmly and thoughtfully.

Rejections can become similarly emotional, particularly when you’ve invested a big piece of yourself in your work.  It’s hard not to take rejections personally.  But rejections can be a tool for improvement if you’re able to analyze why you got them.  And sometimes, you get them for no apparent reason–maybe your tastes just don’t match the editor’s–and all you can do is carry on.

Similarly, it’s difficult to offer your work up for edit, or to receive a copy back from a publisher demanding major changes.  It’s up to you to decide whether or not to accept those changes.  If you can recognize that your work isn’t perfect and understand that your editor is trying to help improve your work, you’ll be better positioned to judge whether a change truly threatens your vision or whether it simply makes your story more appealing.

Criticism:  what is it good for, anyway?  Thoughtful criticism can point out areas of improvement.  Often, though, critics are looking for something different than the story you provided, and they’ll say so with varying degrees of civility.  It’s hard to divorce yourself emotionally from negative reviews, but where is your energy better spent:  being upset that someone on the internet didn’t like your book, or concentrating on making your new book the best that it can be?

It would be great if stories wrote themselves smoothly from start to finish, but few of us are that lucky!  Sometimes we have to make minor revisions to get our stories back on track–and sometimes we need to make major revisions.  Don’t use a band-aid when surgery is required (or vice versa; the art is learning to tell the difference!)

Stories aren’t the only things that can require major surgery.  When you’ve got a health crisis, a family emergency, or financial struggles,  a previously balanced life can fall wildly off-balance.  Take care of yourself and your needs and, when you can, write.

And, of course, there’s things we can do in advance to help stave off crises before they happen.  Backing up our work, understanding our contracts before we sign them, investigating publishers before we submit to them, keeping track of submission deadlines:  these are all examples of how a little work now can save a lot of grief later.

One of the major differences between amateurs and professionals is in how they respond to crisis.

If you’re a hobby writer, then it’s perfectly okay to give up writing if your real life gets stressful or if the story’s not working out or if the hobby just isn’t fun any more.  If writing’s your career, then it’s not as easy as finding another interest.  Either you find yourself another career, or you do some damage control and keep your writing career afloat.  When you encounter rough waters–as all of us do–hopefully this month’s ideas and tips will help.