I’ve decided to rewire my brain.

One of the things that I realized when I was writing the stories for What We Talk About When We Talk About the Apocalypse was how naturally the horror-genre voice came out of me. Horror stories are all about imagining the worst-case scenario—and wow am I good at that!

I think writing scary stories came so naturally because I have a slightly anxious personality. I don’t think I have an anxiety disorder, but my mind definitely leans in that direction, sometimes. I recently took the Brain Health Assessment online questionnaire by Dr. Daniel Amen, and it said I had a “cautious” brain type. In reading about that brain type in his book, You, Happier, I was like, “Oh yeah. This is totally me.”

My husband sometimes refers to the voices in his head as his “committee members”—kind of like the characters Joy, Sadness, Fear, Anger, and Disgust from the Pixar movie Inside Out. I think this is a helpful metaphor. Whatever is going on in my mind is just chatter, and the more I recognize it as chatter, the easier it is to ignore the destructive committee members that are not helpful to me.

This is an interesting Peter Attia interview about the process he took in changing his own negative mental chatter.

This brings me back to my changing relationship with my writing, and with genre.

I’ve been a journal-writer since I was eleven years old. Sometimes when I would write in my journal, I would notice myself entering the same old tracks of thought. “This is self-pity mental track #395.” “This is procrastination-busywork mental track #219.” 

I can recognize when I’m on the track, but sometimes I have a hard time getting out of that track. I’ve read that, neurologically, repetitive thoughts are kind of like sledding down a snowy hillside: the more often you ride down those same trains of thought, the deeper the groove gets, and the harder it is to change course. Thanks, brain.

My tendency towards doomsday future-tripping became especially apparent during the pandemic—as I’m sure it did for many of us—when it seemed like the end of the world was literally outside our window. 

These last few years, I’ve also had a number of health problems that have forced me to pause, slow down, and take a long, hard look at my habits—both physical and mental. You can read more about my health journey here.

Back to genre…

When I write horror stories, I find it incredibly cathartic because it’s like I get to take one of my many fears, lift it out of the pile, and let that movie run all the way to the end…usually to a climax scene where a hero figures out how to defeat the villain.

What I love about the horror genre in general—and about Stephen King books specifically—is that those stories are often about resilient characters. They don’t just stop and quiver like frightened rabbits. They fight back.

And one of the classic horror-genre moments is the “Hero at the Mercy of the Monster” scene, where the protagonist has their back against the ropes, all is lost, and they are about to be beaten…but then they somehow find a way to harness their inner gift to defeat the monster.

Usually that inner gift is some variation on “Rationality” or “Cleverness” or “Magic” or “Teamwork” or “the Jungian wisdom of integrating one’s Shadow and thereby triumphing over it”… or whatever theme the author was working with in that story. 

I would say that in 90% of horror stories, good triumphs over evil and the heroes survive. 

(Which is more than can be said about “literary” fiction. I think fictional protagonists have a much higher chance of surviving and finding happiness and meaning if they are in a horror novel than if they are in a literary novel—especially if the protagonist is female. Just think back to all those classics you were forced to read in high school English, and you’ll see what I mean. Antigone dies. Tess dies. Hester dies. Anna Karenina dies. Thanks a lot, AP English!) 

In the rare occasion a horror-novel hero dies at the end, it is usually because they sacrificed themselves to save someone weaker than them. Altruism triumphs over selfishness! Heroes do exist! — And that, my friends, is the meaning of Christmas!

I love this. Horror stories have been great for me because they are a way to externalize fears, dramatize them for entertainment (maybe even laugh at them) and ultimately attain catharsis by triumphing over them.

But that’s not the whole story.

Although writing these scary stories feels powerful, and they bring me a lot of satisfaction and peace for learning how to triumph over a particular fear…I’ve also noticed that they sometimes leave me in a jumpy frame of mind.

There is a reason horror is a niche genre. Not a lot of people like feeling freaked out all the time. Heck, I don’t like feeling freaked out all the time! The whole reason I wrote horror was to get it out of my mind and onto the page, where the monsters in my mind could be defeated and neutralized. 

And I wonder if constantly being on the lookout for horrible things for story material is actually reinforcing the negative confirmation bias in my brain? At what point does writing horror stop feeling cathartic and start feeling like a downward spiral?

A therapist would probably ask, “Does this behavior serve me?” Does this thought pattern of constantly looking out for danger serve me? Does anxiety serve me?

In some respects, yes!

As Dr. Daniel Amen says in his book You, Happier: you actually need a little anxiety to stay healthy. Anxiety is a very useful emotion. Fear for the future is why I exercise every day, eat healthily, and do my best to save for the future. When channeled in the right direction, anxiety can get you off your ass so that you turn in your homework on time.

But too much anxiety is no good. When you spend too much time thinking negatively, there is a danger in shaping your reality in order to confirm those negative thoughts. Confirmation bias. A huge part of our lives is shaped by our attitudes. If you have a bad attitude about your job, you will eventually be fired. If you only recognize the worst in your partner, they will eventually dump you. If all you ever focus on is lack, then you will always feel hunted and frightened no matter how much money you have in the bank. Having a bad attitude can sour any blessing.

What’s the opposite of horror?

For me, it’s romance.

Romance is an absolutely mind-blowing genre to me because the golden rule in that genre is that you have to have a happy-ever-after ending. As a reader, I know it’s coming, but it still surprises me every time. 

You mean sometimes things can actually work out?! No way!

When I started reading romances on a regular basis, I felt as if it were re-wiring my brain for joy. For love. For hope.

It was like in The Music Man musical when Marian Paroo is serenading her heart out to Professor Harold Hill.

There were bells on the hill

But I never heard them ringing.

No, I never heard them at all

’Til there was you.

The music man

I’ll be honest: this is not my brain’s natural tendency. But I want it to be.

I’d rather be an optimist than a pessimist. 

Writing love stories is a lot harder for me than writing horror stories, but they also feel a lot more healing. I cry easily. I feel my chest get warm and melty. And it feels like something I need to be reminded of over and over again—that it’s okay to be loved, to be loving, and to let people care for me.

I’ve heard people say that writers tend to write in the genre that concerns them most.

What genre comes naturally to me? Horror.

What genre would benefit me by causing me to grow the most? Love stories.

To me, writing at the intersection of those two genres is also a powerful combo because Love and Fear have a lot in common. 

(Yes, the heroes in romances are sometimes afraid of silly things, like whether their love interest will still find them lovable and attractive when they put on their glasses, but I digress.)

But on another level, falling in love can sometimes involve overcoming actual terror. 

For example, in my short story, “Angel Man,” I write about a woman who is the survivor of domestic violence learning how to fall in love again when she meets a man who is literally her rebound-angel. He is caring. He is patient. He goes at her pace. He is consistent. And because he is so safe, she is able to heal and slowly overcome her body’s traumata-reflex so that she feels safe being alone with a man again.

That story was harder for me to write than some of my other scary stories. But it was also more satisfying.

My hope in writing “Angel Man” was that maybe I could rewire the brain of someone who needed this story, so that they could have a metaphor with which to approach healing. Perhaps by getting introduced to “Angel Man” on the page, they could have an easier time finding their own real-life angel man. And perhaps this story could teach a man how to be an angel for someone who needs to take things slow.

And readers unanimously loved this story. It was interesting that out of all the many people who read early drafts of What We Talk About When We Talk About the Apocalypse, “Angel Man” made it into everybody’s top-three favorite stories.

I suppose it’s kind of like that Netflix horror show, Black Mirror. People have strong feelings about that show—but “San Junipero” is everybody’s favorite episode.

So…that was interesting data when it comes to thinking about what types of stories I want to bring to the world. What do I need? What does the world need? It seems like the answer is more stories about love. (And maybe about overcoming fear in pursuit of love.)

In finalizing my collection of stories for What We Talk About, I made the conscious decision to include only the best of what I’ve written during the last seventeen years.

There were half a dozen stories I chose not to include because they were too dark, too pessimistic. The stories worked. They were well-written, if I do say so myself. They absolutely fulfilled genre-expectations for the horror genre… but in reading them, I couldn’t help but think that maybe the world didn’t need more of this?

Or maybe this wasn’t how I wanted my mind to exist anymore. 

I honored that realization in the other stories included in What We Talk About by portraying established couples in “Inheritance” and “Forever House” in using the power of love to overcome horror. In “Library of Unfinished Projects,” I wrote about the love of a family overcoming the horror of aging. In “Prince of Birds,” I wrote about the love a father feels for his son in surviving a harsh and dangerous world. The stories may have scary parts, but there are also loving parts. 

My aim was to be more balanced: scary things happen in this world, but with love and compassion we will triumph. Love can help you transcend your starting circumstances.

Bonus Lesson: Change Your Language, Change Your Brain

In a strange way, learning a new language—Polish—has also helped me become more conscious about my mental chatter and whether my thoughts aid me.

Last year, I started journaling in Polish—with the help of Google Translate app on my phone. It was interesting to notice that learning a new language actually turned my mind into a blank canvas with which to re-evaluate my own vocabulary. As I sat with my open journal, about to engage in a petty compain-a-thon, I thought to myself, “Is this negative vocabulary really what I want to learn and practice in my new language? Hell, no!”

If I’m going to go through all the effort to learn a new language, why not take the opportunity to gift myself a new personality as well?

I’ve heard of people say that speaking and thinking in a different language can change their personality. For example, my mom says that the Polish part of her brain feels more emotional and intuitive—like reading a love letter—whereas the English side feels more cold and logical.

If it’s true that when neurons fire together, they wire together, then couldn’t I consciously create a Polish-speaking version of myself that was happier and more optimistic than the English-speaking version?

So I started bullet journaling and keeping a five-minute gratitude journal…in Polish.

This had the positive effect of allowing me to learn all sorts of awesome vocabulary for what I love about my life in this new language—which I also love. But it also gave the English-speaking side of me a break.

And, presto-change-o, the English side of me started to change as well. I was focusing so hard on noticing positive things with which to write about in Polish, that it felt like the negative-tracks in my English brain were starting to get weaker from lack of use. It’s now easier for me to have positive thoughts in both languages.

Learning a new language is truly a gift that keeps on giving.

If you liked this blog post, you might also enjoy subscribing to my newsletter. I send out notifications of new books, music playlists, and whenever I post one of these infrequent blog posts. You’ll also get access to cool free stuff, like my short story, “Heart in a Jar,” which is a haunting and poetic story about love, longing, family, and magic.