Henry Corrigan Is Facing Up To His Childhood Fears.

I began this confession with the best of intentions (Any article about childhood fears is a kind of confession. One where we try to tell the truth as best we can and as well as we remember it.)

I knew exactly how the article would start, and how it would end, and then somewhere in the middle, I lost my way. It’s possible that I actually found it. But I guess we’ll see in the end.

‘All my life, I’ve been afraid of failure.’ Those were the words I started with. I almost scratched them out but didn’t, because while they might be nothing more than a feeling I can’t get rid of, that doesn’t make them any less true.

I am afraid of failure, that much I know.

It’s a kind of guilt-ridden, panicky mix of sensations, like the worst kinds of friends, or problem children always acting up in class. The second one of them gets started, the other one says, “Hey, wait for me!”

I can’t point to any specific experience which caused this. Just a small collection of pieces left unattended. Fear of letting my family down, for one, and failing myself another. And these reactions, these ordinary terrors, are much like my obsessions. They’ve only grown stronger with time.

By contrast, I can vividly remember parking my nine-year-old self in the corner of our living room couch with a blanket and a copy of the latest Goosebumps. I’d wait months for it, only to burn through it in an afternoon.

The Heart and Soul of Horror Review Websites. Henry Corrigan is Facing Up to His Childhood Fears.

My mother would call to me from the kitchen, her warning good-natured but pointless. I knew if I finished the book that day, I’d have nothing to look forward to the next. But the light of the lamp was warm against my face and I knew I’d be thinking about the story for hours, even days after I was done. Back then, I was still too young to know I’d be thinking about those stories for the rest of my life.

I may not know exactly when but, much like this article, somewhere between my nine-year-old self and now, everything changed. Fear of letting my family down set in, along with the dread of failing myself.

To this day, I don’t like to be idle. I feel guilty if I sit for too long, though how long that is even I don’t really know. I constantly look for something to do because I’m scared of disappointing my daughter, afraid of letting my wife down and terrified the whole thing could snowball until neither of them expect anything good from me ever again.

I live in night-sweat terror of that.

For those reading this who are more of a glass half-full type of person, I will admit the fear, guilt, and panic I possess have made me ambitious, even tenacious. I don’t like to leave things undone.

But the downside of it is I tend to go without breaks until I’m so tired I can’t sleep. It’s often hard for me to stay present in the moment, even when my daughter is coming to play.

I have to force myself to sit still because while she’ll ask for a playmate, all she really wants is company. A warm familiar body to lean against while she helps the bad guys win at games they’re supposed to lose. My little supervillain in training.

It’s a daily, sometimes hourly reminder to enjoy the fact that she invited me. She wants me to play with her even if it’s just so I can bask in her cheerfully malevolent brilliance.

Focusing on the simple goodness of the moment helps, but even then, I feel guilty when I’m not doing more and guiltier still if I’m not appreciating the time I have with her. No matter what, I always feel like I’m losing something.

Fear, failure, panic, guilt, the weight of incremental decisions and expectations…People like to say that hope is a powerful thing. And it is.

But so is guilt.

And for me, the only way I can get a handle on it is by writing about it.

When I began writing Somewhere Quiet, Full of Light, the very first thing that came to me was the house. Not just the physical structure, though I could see it clearly enough, but the voice.

I imagined it as a neglected old woman, grown manipulative and self-centered. A creature whose best days were behind her, but was determined to attain them again. Once I knew who and what the house was, the family who would come to inhabit her started to come into focus, but still I struggled, particularly with the MC.

I knew they’d be an artist, who had finally found success after years of struggle and a lifetime steeped in poverty. And I knew they loved their family fiercely though it wasn’t without its problems.

But the why escaped me. I couldn’t figure out why a person, when faced with a shady opportunity and every alarm bell ringing in their head…would sign on the dotted line knowing everything they stood to lose.

In all my stories, I try to include something personal. A goal or a personality trait I can build a character around. For Somewhere Quiet, Full of Light, I needed to know what the MC was afraid of most. And once I understood that…

I realized it wasn’t up to the house to craft some diabolical ruse and trick the family in. In fact, it didn’t have to do a damn thing. Eric Tillman, my MC, was terrified of letting his family down. Guilt would be his undoing.

Eric Tillman is a kind, loving, anxious man. I’ve learned a lot from him. I’m still learning, actually.

Eric taught how the things we’re afraid of as children never really leave us. But while they may be part of who we are, that doesn’t mean we’re powerless. It takes time and effort, sometimes more than you think you have, but it is worth it. We can change things about ourselves, become better people, and if we’re lucky, we can bring those we love along with us.

But if we’re not lucky…Eric taught me something else. It might not be pretty, or uplifting, but it is no less true.

If we’re not careful, if we tarry too long or reach the breaking point too late…the feelings we won’t let go of, the things we refuse to accept…they’ll ruin us.

Even in the most brightly lit places.

Author Bio:

Henry Corrigan is a husband, father, bisexual creative, and emerging author who dreams of writing every kind of story. His debut horror novel, A Man in Pieces (Bloodhound Books), won the Silver Medal from Literary Titan and was shortlisted for the Top 25 Indie Books of the Year. His queer haunted house novella, Somewhere Quiet, Full of Light (Slashic Horror Press) debuted in the top 100 of LGBTQ+ Horror Fiction and stayed there for more than a month. He is a member of the Horror Writers Association and the admin for the Horror Writers Collaborative on Facebook.

As an obsessive, overly anxious person living with depression, he has dedicated himself to providing readers with the diverse, flawed characters he desperately needed when he was growing up. But above all, he wants to be known for not staying where he’s been put. To always surprise people, especially himself. Because that’s what makes it fun. The feeling that even he doesn’t know what he’s going to do next.

Somewhere Quiet, Full of Light: https://books2read.com/u/bPklY7

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/henrycorrigan08?igsh=OHYyM2VidG1najY2&utm_source=qr

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/henry.corrigan.35

Somewhere Quiet, Full of Light by Henry Corrigan

Perfection has its price.

Eric Tillman is looking for a way out. Born into a poor family, the once starving artist has spent his life dreaming of a home where his kids could escape screaming landlords and the sting of poverty. So, when his husband Mike, a house-flipper with a jeweller’s eye for abandoned places, discovers a strange, but exciting old house in upstate New York, it feels like the perfect answer to all their prayers.

But once the family moves in, it isn’t long before Eric learns that some chances are too costly to take. For this house has standards it lives by, expectations which must be met. And on the long, relentless road between perfection and salvation…

some doors lead only to ruin.

Intelligent and emotionally resonant, Henry Corrigan stands out as a fresh voice in modern horror. Just a heads-up: this quiet house reveals some pretty dark and intriguing truths! – GNoH

Purchase a copy here

Author

Jim Mcleod
Jim "The Don" Mcleod has been reading horror for over 35 years, and reviewing horror for over 16 years. When he is not spending his time promoting the horror genre, he is either annoying his family or mucking about with his two dogs Casper and Molly.
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Henry Corrigan is Facing Up to His Childhood Fears.