This week I have something, or should that be someone, a little different for you all. Matt Shaw is a self-published writer of a whole host of titles including Happily Ever After, Smile, & Writer’s Block. Look on any kindle horror page & you’ll find him there. He’s also a cartoonist who draws caricatures… a man of many talents. Bloody funny guy too, as you’re about to find out…
P.S. This is not for those easily offended!
It’s not every day I am asked to write a blog – which is funny, really, if you think about it…. because I’m a great writer and proper entertaining and everything. Actually, it’s not surprising at all – how my horror trilogy became a best-seller is beyond me. Truth be told, I fluked it and, more often than not, I’m offending people as opposed to actually entertaining them. It’s not as though I even do it on purpose (sometimes) – it just seems to happen.
Anyway, like I said – it’s not every day I am asked to write a blog so I’m going to try and keep things entertaining and as unoffensive as possible. Hell, I won’t even use swear words. Unless, of course, I believe they are needed and add something to the general theme. I remember my dear ol’ ma telling me, ‘Swear words are merely the sign of someone lacking intelligence.’
Like she’d fucking know.
I was asked to write about what scares me. Well, I thought (in a foreign accent for some reason; bit weird like that) this can’t be easy – after all, I write horror for a living (sort of). I know what other people find scary but have yet to be properly scared myself. I mean – sure I’ve jumped, once or twice, watching films or when my nobhead brother jumped out from behind a door (just to get a reaction). I’ve even been known to scream like a little baby girl when a big, fat bastard of a hairy spider ran across my foot whilst I was barefoot once. In fact, come to think of it – I’ve even gone a funny colour upon waking up to find another spider hanging on it’s web, right in front of my face.
For the record (and just so you don’t feel as though I’m doing half stories) – both of those spiders died. Horribly. I regret killing the one which ran across my foot though. For, if you read back… I was barefoot. The crunch was horrific.
So, yeah, spiders… I guess you could say I have a strong dislike for them but (and I’ll repeat that) BUT they don’t scare me.
Even putting myself in situations which should be scary often fail to bother me. My heart always continues to beat with the same strong drum-like beat with which it always does (sadly… for I am a manic-depressive and I wouldn’t mind it if my heart were to suddenly just stop) and I fail to even break a sweat. The only sign I’m in a situation which I’m not entirely comfortable with is when I suddenly get the squits (a polite way of saying ‘I can shit through the eye of a needle’ just in case you unfamiliar with ‘squits’).
To be honest, I’d rather be scared for the sudden need to dash to the loo is nothing more than an embarrassing inconvenience. I suppose I should just be grateful I can make it to the toilet.
Well, this is a rubbish blog about fear and what makes me scared. So far all you’ve learnt is my language is not as polished or polite as it could be and that I get the shits a fair bit. Still, all interesting Matt Facts – I guess.
Going back to my childhood there were a few things which upset me but, again, I wouldn’t necessarily call that ‘being scared’. I was upset and worried but that doesn’t mean I was fearful. One of those things (be patient and I’ll get to the other ‘thing’ in a moment) was the thought of swallowing my tongue. God only knows why but some nights I would literally cry myself to sleep – panicking I was going to swallow my tongue and choke to death. Weird. I don’t know anyone who has swallowed their tongue so I have no idea why this was always in the front of my mind. It’s not as though my tongue is even big. If anything it’s a medium-sized one. Yeah. I might even take a picture and blog it for you too.
The other ‘thing’ which kept me awake at night, upset and sometimes crying (man-tears) was the thought of my mother croaking. Not croaking like a frog, you understand… just…. you know…. dying. Anyway, I’ve grown up a lot since then and now it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Why’s that I hear you ask?
Ooh fuck, just thought mum might read this.
Joking, mum. Just being the funny, quirky little soul people all expect me to be.
Actually, just thought of something which scared me and please do not ask how I linked talking about my mum to this little piece of information BUT…. And, remember – no matter how much you laugh (potentially) this did freak me out.
Here we go….
My bird (the other half) and I were in bed, being all experimental and such, when she suddenly pulled ‘My First Buttplug’ from a box of tricks. A small bullet shaped anal intruder which is meant as an introduction to what I can only describe as ‘an arse-raping’. This was quite a nice one, to be fair – made from a jelly-like material it was soft and had the added bonus of vibrating too. It was also on the small-side, which was another ‘nice’ feature about it. After all, if she wishes to play in that area (on me I hasten to add) I would much prefer a smaller one.
So anyway – we fucked off the romance and got down and dirty and she was soon well into her ‘Alien Probe’ Role-Play (don’t ask). E.T didn’t phone home this time but he nearly did phone 999 (or 911 if you’re American, or 666 if you’re Australian). I won’t lie – the tingling little plug was quite nice. She seemed to be enjoying herself too and starting getting more and more vigorous (and deeper) with how she….
“What do you mean whoops?”
“What do you mean…. erm…. and whoops?”
When she first began her playing – I felt a nice little vibration sensation around my chocolate starfish (or rusty sheriff’s badge, if you prefer) but now…. well…. now I kind of felt it halfway up my back.
Which was weird.
Still, we moved on and ‘finished’ so to speak (always easy to forget things or potential problems when your other half ignores your questions and simply goes down on you instead).
I told her, like the true gentleman I am, to leave the plug and I’ll get it out when I clean myself up. Yeah, she was fine with that – she had her fun – and so she toddled off to brush her teeth (don’t ask). Meanwhile…. (and this is when I got scared for a second or two) I was left in the bedroom by myself.
I stood up.
I can still feel vibrations but… can’t feel anything in my arse? Weird. Maybe it’s stuck to my cheek?
Nothing stuck to my cheeks.
Maybe, because I am leaning against the bed – maybe I can feel it because it’s vibrating somewhere on the bed? A quick scan and – nope – not on the bed.
Delicately using a finger I set about further exploration…. KNUCKLE DEEP!
WHAT THE FUCK!?
Lots of things went through my mind… things like….
1) I’m going to have to go to hospital
2) It’s actually quite nice, can I leave it up there?
3) Eventually the vibrating will stop when the batteries die so… no one ever need to know it’s up there.
And they were just the top three.
The Woman came out of the bathroom to hear me say, ‘It’s fucking stuck! Right up there!’
At least she was sympathetic to my troubles. Oh wait, no she wasn’t. She just pissed herself laughing as I disappeared into the bathroom to try and ‘shit’ it out. And thankfully I did. So a Happy Ending???
The thought of having to go to hospital, though…. yeah – that was scary.
THAT is what scares a horror-writer!
Even so – although that embarrassing snippet of information (I have no shame and share everything) was scary for me, I still feel as though it’s a bit of a cop-out. I get the feeling it’s not really what was sought after when I was asked to write this blog….
Back to the thinking cap.
I need a new cap.
This one feels tight.
(Two days later and a new hat)
I know what scares me.
And it’s serious.
I’m currently working my notice in my job – having handed it in to pursue the writing full-time. At first, this bold (stupid) move was really exciting for me but – the closer it gets to being unemployed and solely reliant on my book sales… yeah… the scarier it gets.
I could lose everything if this goes tits up.
My dignity (oh wait, just lost that with the arse-rape story)…
But I was very much in a catch twenty-two situation for (something else was scaring me without me even realising it) – I was scared to spend the rest of my life doing a job I hate. I’d sooner die having tried than live a life feeling dead already. I figured, I might as well be scared doing something I love and, if it does fail, at least I gave it a bloody good go, right?
It’s all very, very scary.