If you could be invisible for a day, how would you spend the day?

J. Marie Ravenshaw Hmm ... wow! What a question. Well, I'd probably study people because they fascinate me. Many times people only show you what they want you to see. So, just think about what they'd show you when they think that no one is looking! I'd study their nuances, memorize each facial expression; I'd just enjoy analyzing everything about them. After that, I'd probably rush home and write something. Hopefully, it'd be worth the read.

What scares you?

Nomar Knight What scares me is evil in its purest form. It could be anything from an invisible entity that makes itself known by draining my energy. It could be a chance encounter with a stranger who seems to ooze malice out of his or her pores. Also, the child that doesn't have an inkling of how valuable life truly is scares me in that most children are innocent, but every once in a while, evil finds a young host to exploit. The thing is...you never know when you'll come face to face with evil and if that day ever comes, if you'll be able to deal with it.

What are you views on graphic vs. implied horror?

Jaeff | KBtW of the Free Folk I think there's certainly a place for graphic horror. Blood and viscera can be entertaining, especially when you're talking about - as strange as it sounds - the lighter side of horror. It's so easy for gore to go over the top and become silly, and you can really get stuck in a never-ending cycle of trying to "top" the accomplishments of the last person who set the standards for how disgusting it can be. But if it's for a Halloween haunted house or a spoof or just some good old fashioned gory goodness, the graphic type of horror can be a rip-roaring good time. For my money though, implied horror and suspense will always be more effective at creating the emotion of terror in an audience. For me, it all goes back to fear of the unknown. What you can't see or hear will always be more horrifying for an audience, because our imagination knows no limits. Graphic horror is limited by the vision of the creators... which may or many not match your particular idea of what's horrific. Sure, it might be scary to have a werewolf or a mummy or an alien outside the house trying to get in, but for me it's infinitely scarier when there's something outside the house trying to get in... and you have no idea what it is. The imagination is a powerful tool and the best horror allows it to run rampant with terrible thoughts.

Another Halloween.

Pam and I used to sit on this front porch and hand out sourballs. They were all we could afford. We'd listen to echoing giggles of trick-or-treaters and talk about having kids of our own some day. We'd laugh and eat candies until our tongues ached. We'd stay out here until the Jack-o'-lantern candle burnt itself into a puddle, and we could see our breath in the crisp air. These are the times I'm trying to think about tonight.

Billy ran to the door at the sound of the bell, anxious to see who arrived first. He opened the door quickly and saw a small child with a sheet over his head, dark, black holes cut into eye holes. At one of the bottom corners, the letter "C" written in permanent marker. Billy remembered last Halloween, this is the same costume Charlie wore. Billy was glad to see Charlie; it had been weeks that Charlie has been in the hospital.

I have finally come to grips with the fact that I am dying. My seizures are more frequent now, and for the past two months, I have had delusions of an angel and a vampire following me around.

The three of us walk along the dusty roads together: Azazel, the Prince of Darkness, Michael, the Archangel, and me, a writer, slowly losing his mind.

I sat looking at the trophy in my hands, the evidence of what I'm truly capable of doing.

For months I had suffered with writer's block. I couldn't write a word; I hadn't a single idea in my head.

Suddenly I was hit with a surge of inspiration. My fingers raced over the keyboard as the story filled my monitor's screen. It was as though the story was being dictated to me, word by glorious word. When I finished I could hardly believe that I had written this wonderful tale.

A late summer breeze stirs, carrying her intoxicating smell across the room. Hints of orchid and vanilla infiltrate my senses. Vibrant and seductive, it stirs something within me. She moves to her dresser and turns on the radio. Haunting, melodic notes waft through the night, a serenade for the dead. My eyes drift shut for a brief moment as the music speaks to me. I resist the urge to reach out and touch her, my unwitting bride. I remain rooted, content to watch from the shadows. What is a mere moment when compared to the promise of eternity? Our time approaches with swift peril.

As the final hymn drew to a close, Pastor Marx moved from behind the pulpit to the center of the sanctuary. "Go in peace. Serve the Lord," he declared.

"Thanks be to God," the congregation intoned. The pastor began his recessional as the postlude commenced, completing his journey at the back door of the nave. That familiar cue prompted me to grab Amy's little hand and shuffle out of the pew toward the center aisle, where we were swept up in the rest of the crowd filing toward the exit. The pastor greeted the parishioners as they made their exodus and prepared to go about the rest of their day, and before long, it was my turn.

Annie Douglas sat at the kitchen table, her cup of coffee long grown cold. Every once in a while, her insipid gaze strayed to the calendar tacked on the wall beside the back door. Each blocked number had a bold black 'X' crossed over it. No one saw her shudder, no one knew her fear.

Exactly one year ago to the day, her husband, Henry, was murdered.

Leaving my living room and grabbing my coat, I cursed under my breath, silently complaining about the terrible movie I had just watched. I left the house while still fastening the zipper on my coat and strode down the empty, dark street.

The weather was milder now, after a long cold winter, even at this time of the evening. There seemed to be a threat of rain in the air and the wind was a little bit chilly. Other than that, it felt like spring. Winter was well and truly gone for a year.

Thanks! I really enjoyed her interview as well. I agree with you.

Thank you! It was a lot of fun interviewing her.

Every author I interview has their work highlighted in that newsletter but I appreciate the suggestion and I agree it definitely gives us insight into their mind.