One of my favorite genres in writing is horror. I’ve written a few short stories that can be pretty gruesome in their details at times, especially when describing attacks from things that are not of this world.
Life has changed considerably for me in the past few years. I recently became a father and I’m pushing myself harder to complete a portfolio to hopefully have some of my writing published in the near future.
However, as I’ve been going back and revising some of the stories I’ve written, it occurred to me that my daughter would likely be reading these same stories someday. I immediately felt a sense of guilt in the pit of my stomach.
My daughter is only three, so perhaps I was feeling that way because she is still so innocent. Maybe I will feel differently down the road when she is screaming at me like a teenage banshee. But it certainly got me thinking, “Are these the stories by which I want to be remembered? Are gruesome tales of horror and suffering the legacy I’m leaving behind for my children and grandchildren?”
I don’t think I’ll ever stop myself from writing horror because I do believe I am quite good at it. However, I definitely feel more inclined to expand the topics I write about since taking time to reflect on this.