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In my stories, i controlled what happened in a way i couldn't in real life. my characters lived through the horror and degradation of the cruelty of others and they not only survived, they thrived. they gave me hope and laughter, and they kept me going in spite of everything else. they were my heroes.
-Sherrilyn Kenyon
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In My Stories, I Controlled What Happened

Sherrilyn Kenyon
In my stories, i controlled what happened in a way i couldn't in real life. my characters lived through the horror and degradation of the cruelty of others and they not only survived, they thrived. they gave me hope and laughter, and they kept me going in spite of everything else. they were my heroes.
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Laughter Real Hero

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And then the spirit brings hope, hope in the strictest christian sense, hope which is hoping against hope. for an immediate hope exists in every person; it may be more powerfully alive in one person than in another; but in death every hope of this kind dies and turns into hopelessness. into this night of hopelessness (it is death that we are describing) comes the life-giving spirit and brings hope, the hope of eternity. it is against hope, for there was no longer any hope for that merely natural hope; this hope is therefore a hope contrary to hope.
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Distance running was revered because it was indispensable; it was the way we survived and thrived and spread across the planet. you ran to eat and to avoid being eaten; you ran to find a mate and impress her, and with her you ran off to start a new life together. you had to love running, or you wouldn't live to love anything else. and like everything else we love-everything we sentimentally call our 'passions' and 'desires'-it's really an encoded ancestral necessity. we were born to run; we were born because we run.
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Cruelty, very far from being a vice, is the first sentiment nature injects in us all. the infant breaks his toy, bites his nurse's breast, strangles his canary long before he is able to reason; cruelty is stamped in animals, in whom, as i think i have said, nature's laws are more emphatically to be read than in ourselves; cruelty exists amongst savages, so much nearer to nature than civilized men are; absurd then to maintain cruelty is a consequence of depravity. . . . cruelty is simply the energy in a man civilization has not yet altogether corrupted: therefore it is a virtue, not a vice.
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I have always felt a little bit uncomfortable with question [why i'm write these stories]. it's not a question that you would ask a guy that writes detective stories or the guy that writes mystery stories, or westerns, or whatever. but it is asked of the writer of horror stories because it seems that there is something nasty about our love for horror stories, or boogies, ghosts and goblins, demons and devils.
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There is a kind of laughter that sickens the soul. laughter when it is out of control: when it screams and stamps its feet, and sets the bells jangling in the next town. laughter in all its ignorance and cruelty. laughter with the seed of satan in it. it tramples upon shrines; the belly-roarer. it roars, it yells, it is delirious: and yet it is as cold as ice. it has no humor. it is naked noise and naked malice.
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