Ugly Behavior

Introduction

I’m not particularly known as a writer of violent stories. But ugly stories, tales about the terrible things we do to ourselves and to each other, have always accounted for a portion of my work. (And of course there are those who believe all tales of crime and horror—whether supernatural or not—are by definition “ugly” and do not care to read about these things. A collection such as Ugly Behavior would not be for them.) Both for those readers who appreciate this sort of thing, and for readers who would prefer not to encounter this other mode of mine, I’ve put all these ugly stories together into one box. It’s that box under your bed, pushed all the way back against the wall, the one that takes some effort to get to, the one your momma doesn’t know about (or at least, the one you like to think she doesn’t know about).

As ubiquitous as that age-old reader’s question, “Where do you get your ideas?” is that question specifically put to crime and horror writers, “Why do you want to write of such things?” or perhaps more to the point, “Why would you want to tell such an ugly story?”

In my case people often say, “But you look so peaceful… you seem so optimistic.” People see this as a contradiction. In truth, I am an optimist. I believe wonderful things can come out of the most terrible events. I also believe life is hard enough for most people and we have no business making it even harder if that can be avoided. I believe we have a duty to each other to be as kind as possible. And I want my kids and grandkids to surround themselves with good and kind people.

I also believe the world is full of predators and the vilest kinds of monsters. People are capable of the ugliest behavior. For me, to ignore these things is to ignore the deadly snake in the room. We need to know what we’re up against, so that we can really appreciate what it means to “behave honorably.”

The other thing that sets these stories apart from the majority of my work is that no fantasy elements are involved. The terrors here are the daylight terrors of human interaction.

At times transcendence and transgression appear to be unexpectedly close neighbors. Most of us, I think, crave some sort of transcendence. We want to move from where we are in our lives to a better place. But when we cannot achieve that, some of us will choose transgression. Of course sometimes transgressing societal norms may be the only way to achieve some kind of social evolution. But we cannot always tell the difference between that positive action and its destructive counterpart. We become so eager to escape the limits of everyday life we are just satisfied that there’s been any kind of movement at all.