Steven LaChance Blog

You know what I love most about writing? It allows me to look at things I might never have considered otherwise. It opens doors in the mind and lets me step into different shoes, different lives. This same quality has also drawn criticism toward my work now and then. And I get it, especially from readers who come to my books just for the horror.

The thing about slasher horror, and one of the reasons it’s so popular, is that it doesn’t ask too much of the viewer or reader beyond the moment. It’s fast, visceral, and direct. The scares are the point. And that’s fine—there’s an art to that, too. But for me, stories like that have always felt like they’re missing something: Heart. Reality. Depth.

Hitchcock knew this. Psycho wouldn’t have hit nearly as hard without the time we spend with Marion Crane before the infamous shower scene. You care just enough about her that her death matters. And that moment only works because there’s weight behind it. I always say you have to care to scare, but it goes deeper than that.

Horror should offer layers. It should make you feel uneasy, not just because of what’s happening, but because you understand why it’s happening. Psycho isn’t terrifying just because Norman Bates kills people; it’s frightening because by the end, you get a glimpse into what makes Norman tick. That insight is what makes it stick. Without it, the whole story would’ve felt flat.

I strive to provide my readers with depth. There’s nothing wrong with horror that comes from understanding. I like that phrase, “horror with understanding”; it fits my style. My books don’t fit neatly into a box. They become emotionally complex and dirty, and I hope my readers feel that complexity when the horror arrives, or even more so when the horror results in a character’s death. Trust me when I say, the days I kill a character are always hard. I get attached to them, and I hope my readers do, too.

Take my book Crazy, for example. On the surface, it appears to be a story about a psychopathic killer at first. However, at its core, it explores the relationships we navigate and how we influence one another, often without even realizing it. We constantly are bumping into each other throughout life, not always understanding our impact on others when we do. I didn’t want Crazy to depend solely on its horror moments. I had something I felt was important to share, and I wanted to leave my reader thinking about their own lives and feelings.

I remember writing the opening line of the book, which belonged to one of the characters—actually, it was the main character, Sarah.

In the opening pages, she says to her mother:
“He hurts me, Mama. He hurts me bad.”

These are the first words she speaks in the book, which I did intentionally. Those first words are impactful, and hopefully, the reader is instantly asking themselves, “What in the hell did he do to her? How did he hurt her? And what is her mother going to do about it?” I believe the line is very effective in drawing you in, and not once do you question where the horror lies within it. It will always be one of the most effective and simple lines I’ve ever written, which instantly impacts the reader. It’s almost like a verbal gut punch that you weren’t expecting.

That one line set the tone for everything that follows. Crazy is really about the pain we cause each other, and how that pain echoes back. The killer? The ghost? They’re the catalyst, but the book’s heart is about the hurt we do to each other and how that can live on. Hurt from different forms of abuse, now that’s the emotional center of the book. Every character within the book acts and reacts from a place of hurt and emotional pain. I think that is why this book has been so successful; people can relate to those feelings. When an act of revenge is carried out in the book, you almost find yourself cheering it on, but in the end, you understand those acts are the walls that have built their eternal prison or hell, if you will. It’s a hard-hitting message for a horror book.

I want my readers to walk away feeling something more than just fear. I want them to think about their own thoughts and feelings because of what they have read, and maybe question how they find themselves moving through this crazy world. I think Crazy does this very well.

Right now, I’m working on a new novel called Grace. Yes, there are horrific moments—some of the darkest I’ve written—but what makes the story powerful, I think, is the emotional development of the characters. Grace explores those deep, universal fears we carry with us as we move through a world that’s no longer what it used to be. The horror comes from both outside and within.

Because again, you have to care to scare. And I believe horror that understands people will always hit harder than horror that just goes for the throat.