Horror, Justice, and Resilience by E.F. Schraeder

Horror, Justice, and Resilience by E.F. Schraeder

Nothing to see here, keep moving. 

On a good day, that’s my brain’s reaction to stressors. Other days are amygdala days, loaded with a pulsing brain hum I can’t turn off, agitating my nerves until all I want to do is —

stop.

As a kid, that’s how I fell in love with horror in the first place. Horror sort of matched where I was. It was the only genre with the capacity to distract me through immersion. Horror made room for big feels and tried to make sense of chaos. 

I was introduced to horror early and in multiple formats. My mom spent countless hours reading (and re-reading) Grimm’s Tales and Charles Addam’s Mother Goose poetry aloud in creepy voices. I’d stare at the gruesome pictures, shiver throughout, and giggle at the end.  Making sense of absurdity, risk, and uncertainty was a big deal. That was something I needed help with. 

As a gut reaction, the indelible justice of the horror movies I watched as an older kid on late-night TV also appealed to me. Think about over-the-top William Castle productions, stylish Hitchcock and Hammer films, and Corman’s unforgettable Poe-Price films. Horror served a steady diet of wrongs being righted, where those who cheated, betrayed, and violated others were held accountable. Horror logic dictated that even beyond death there would be comeuppance, considering cases like Poe’s memorable “M. Valdemar” (starring Vincent Price in Tales of Terror, 1962) ; Hawthorne’s “House of Seven Gables” (Twice-Told Tales, 1963); and the Lovecraft-inspired tale of a warlock’s revenge (The Haunted Palace, 1963).  Even illusionists, skeptics, and magical beings were ultimately bound to the scales of justice (The Mad Magician, 1954; Burn, Witch, Burn, 1962; Warlock, 1989). Unlike reality, hurting others in horror held inevitable, often cosmic consequences. There were certainly problematic representations, but horror tales promised some version of recompense, even if warped. Misdeeds were handled with a severe, often violent seriousness. Too young to accept that the world wasn’t going to make sense, the visceral satisfaction of retribution and punishment provided the comfort of release. 

Horror movies, horror poetry, horror stories: they all cranked up the adrenaline and let me breathe. In a horror movie, you learn to predict the terror. Yes, there’s something behind you. Don’t forget to lock the door. There is something under the bed, in the attic, behind the curtain, in the closet. The thing you fear most? It’s right there beside you. 

Horror taught things that were unavailable in any other genre. It was okay to be terrified because in horror, anxiety and paranoia were warranted. Shaken up like a nice emotional cocktail, all the feels made sense in fiction, poetry, and film. Like a deep breath, indulging in horror reading and viewing offered me a way to relax. And most importantly I learned that even if I died, things still might be all right in the end.

BIO 

Author of the poetry collection, The Price of a Small Hot Fire (Raw Dog Screaming Press, 2023), the novella What Happened Was Impossible (Ghoulish Books, 2023), and other works, E.F. Schraeder’s poetry, fiction, and nonfiction has appeared in many journals and anthologies. Co-editor of the feminist charity anthology In Trouble (Omnium Gatherum, 2023), Schraeder believes in ghosts, magic, and dogs.

WEBSITE LINKS

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5989787.E_F_Schraeder 

Raw Dog Screaming Press: https://rawdogscreaming.com/books/the-price-of-a-small-hot-fire/ 

The Price of a Small Hot Fire by E.F. Schraeder

A careful study on estrangement and loss, The Price of a Small Hot Fire excavates the archetypal horrors of monstrous motherhood, from abandonment and unsteady reconciliation to the grave. Experimental and intimate, E.F. Schraeder’s collection gives voice to a semi-autobiographical examination of a griefscape from a queer lens.

This collection of poems is an emotional journey that will find readers clutching their hearts at both the subtle moments and those that cut like a knife. The raw feelings seep onto the pages, encompassing the vulnerability of open wounds, while at the same time cutting through a stone-like exterior to see the blood still inside. It’s not only a reading of poetry but an internal vibrating contemplation of the maternal relationship and how it molds us.WHAT THEY’RE SAYING

“E.F. Schraeder’s wonderful collection The Price of a Small Hot Fire is a gleaming poetic knife: strong, sharp, and heart-carving.”
– Lucy A. Snyder, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Exposed Nerves

“Schraeder writes with teeth sharpened by decades of grit and despair; vicious and morose in equal measure.” – Anton Cancre, author of This Story Doesn’t End the Way We Want All the Time

“Frankenstein serves as a touchpoint in these poems written from the perspective of one who feels both monster-made and a monster, made.”—Lisa M. Bradley

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