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Short Is Good: David Lubar and Why Short Stories Are Awesome

David Lubar is the author of many children’s books, including some great books to introduce to kids who love scary books, such as the Weenies books and the Nathan Abercrombie, Accidental Zombie series, and he now has published a “young adult” collection of horror stories called Extremities (the publisher failed to send us a copy for review, so I can’t tell you what that actually means in terms of age appropriateness).  It wasn’t an easy thing– he wrote about how difficult it was to get a publisher to show interest in short stories in this essay.

I think publishers in general have missed out on the appeal of the short story, especially for kids and young adults. A short story can have a solid impact that a novel makes too diffuse (if you want to see how awful translating a short story into a novel can be go check out Isaac Asimov’s short story “Nightfall” (I first read this in high school) and then read the novel version, Nightfall, co-written with Robert Silverberg (or not– how two giants of science fiction managed to make such a mess of such a masterpiece is beyond me). When a short story ends suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a cheat. It takes your breath away. You have to muse on that last moment– did the princess choose the lady or the tiger?  If a novel ends suddenly, it’s annoying– I want things tied up.

The short story requires economy of language. Every word must count, and what is left out can be as important as what is visible on the page. A collection of short stories provides variety. You can flip through and find something that probably will fit your mood. Even if one story doesn’t float your boat, it doesn’t mean you’re sunk with hundreds of pages. The next one might be fantastic. A short story can be read in one sitting. Someone who finishes what she’s reading builds a sense of mastery. It’s not required that you slog through a thousand page novel for that feeling of “Aha!”

Lubar wrote that he felt that one reason he wasn’t able to sell the concept was because, although he described it as an anthology of horror stories, not all of them had supernatural forces. That may matter if we’re niggling over the details of genre– Becky Siegel Spratford’s definition of horror states that it must have a supernatural creature or aspect. But it mostly doesn’t matter to the readers. Maybe it’s better to call them scary stories than horror stories, if genre definition matters that much. We receive anthologies and short story collections all the time (check out this link to our YA anthologies page and this link to our adult anthologies page). Some have supernatural horrors, some have human horrors, and some have both. Kids and adults both like short and scary stories, and a short story collection is a great place to take risks. Publishers, take notice.

Posted on July 24, 2013 by , Reply

Moms vs. Zombies, Mother’s Day Edition: Mother May I?

Welcome to the final entry in our Mother’s Day lineup. Today our zombie editor, Michele Lee, shares with us her thoughts about building a culture of reading and writing when you’re a horror-loving mom.

Michele Lee is the author of Rot and mother of budding writer Rose Lee. She is also a book reviewer in addition to her role as zombie editor for MonsterLibrarian.com.

Mother May I?

By Michele Lee

As if it’s not bad enough that we parent these days in the spotlight of public scrutiny,  there comes a point where you hear the dreaded words “You read what?”

It’s hard to avoid zombies, werewolves, vampires and ghouls these days. The kids even have their own versions, the Poison Apple books from Scholastic, Nathan Abercrombie, Accidental Zombie by David Lubar, The Zombie Chasers, Zombiekins, and. of course, Zombie Butts from Uranus by Andy Griffiths. This isn’t a new thing. In my younger days we had There’s a Batwing in my Lunchbox by Ann Hodgman, Bunnicula by James Howe and The Little Vampire.

We grew up with it. While those a generation older than us teethed on Stephen King, we blossomed from elementary monsters to R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike and Richie Tankersley Cusick. Don’t forget that L.J. Smith and her Vampire Diaries were ours first. On our side of things we wonder how the Jason and Freddy-loving teens became the same parents who sneer at our zombie T-shirts and look at us with suspicion when they see us reading the latest Brian Keene in front of our kids.

As parents, we’ve already been there, wondering where’s the limit for our adorable little spawn. Of course we don’t let them watch a Saw marathon. We don’t read Laurell K. Hamilton to them before bed every night either. But the nature of kids is to idolize us adults (which is at once one of the most awesome, and scariest parts of being a parent) so of course, things bleed.

Two years ago now (almost to the day) while I was editing Rot for its launch, my daughter decided she was going to write a zombie story too. She even asked me how to spell zombie, so she could write it on her to do list (and you better believe I have pictures of that in her scrapbook). Rot is not in any way at all appropriate for a kid to read, and I’d been very careful not to let her hear me reading it out loud. But she knew, and had seen the illustrations, and she wanted to write a zombie book too.

What came out was a most excellent story, that I promptly paid her a dollar to let me publish on my blog (because money flows to the writer). Enthusiastic, she pitched me a sequel (with evil ballerinas!). Write it, I said. And she lost interest. She was five.

Does she still know about zombies and vampires and what kind of things I write? Sure. She can grab the books my work is in, stare down the occasional meat puppet on the cover and wave it at me, exclaiming “This is your book, Mom.” But she doesn’t see terrifying tales of torture and sickness and blood-curdling terror. They’re things Mom has done that we all should be proud of, like her spelling tests and her brother’s artwork.

Kids get scared, but they are not adults and they do not think the same way. Scary and gross to kids are snot monsters that swallow hamsters (who are later saved by people wearing underwear and capes). Scary is something the world teaches them.

My daughter, accidentally one night, saw most of Repo: the Genetic Opera. She woke up in the middle of the night, and I was watching it and didn’t see her sitting in the doorway, fascinated. Ask her what it’s about and she’ll say there’s a pretty, blind woman who sings songs and tries to help a girl who finds out her dad is a bad guy. It’s not the blood, the repossessing of organs, the corporate greed, the hedonism or the addiction that scares her. And the bit where Paris Hilton’s face falls off? That’s just silly. Really, she doesn’t think the movie is that scary at all, just sad. The bit that resonated with her was the girl holding on to her dad crying because he wasn’t what she thought he was.

When kids are scared, it’s personal. Generally, they aren’t scared of monsters and blood, they’re scared of mom and dad abandoning them, or letting people down themselves. You know how kids always assume if something bad happens then they must have done something wrong? They aren’t scared of the same things we are because they haven’t connected with the real scary things in the outside world. My daughter wasn’t scared about 9/11 because she had no clue what it was, but I don’t know an adult who wasn’t.

When you’re a horror-loving parent, the wicked, inhuman beasties remind your kids of you, a person they trust and love. I don’t advocate having a popcorn and showing-of-Chucky night for family time, but if your kids want their own scary stories, how is sharing time, and a small piece of something you love with them, so wrong?

Besides, they need to be prepared for the zombie apocalypse too, right?

Posted on May 8, 2011 by , Reply