When Violence Serves Story

Gore isn’t the enemy of good writing—context is. When violence emerges naturally from theme and character, it becomes revelation rather than spectacle.

  • Why it works: Stephen King once said, “You can’t please all the readers all the time, but you can engage their humanity.” Violence works when it exposes who a character really is: fearful, merciful, vengeful, or broken. In Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery, a single stone does more damage than an entire battlefield because the act is personal. The horror isn’t the blood—it’s the participation.
  • How to do it: Treat every violent moment as a confession. Ask what the act reveals that dialogue couldn’t. If you can remove it without losing emotional truth, it’s not doing its job.

Do

Let aftermath carry the weight, not the act itself.

Use sensory precision sparingly—one detail is stronger than ten.

Avoid

Gratuitous description with no narrative consequence.

Try not to use pain as punctuation.

From My Work

“The thing’s teeth were buried deep in the meat of his calf. Blood gushed around its jaws in thick, dark bursts. The sound was wet, messy. Skin tore.”

This scene in Salt & Bone (WIP) lands not because of the gore, but because Jack knows that sound. It’s the cost of survival echoing back at him.

Know the Line Between Fear and Exploitation

Horror often tests boundaries—but crossing them carelessly risks alienating readers instead of haunting them.

  • Why it works: As Clive Barker wrote in Books of Blood, “The monsters inside us aren’t meant to be paraded; they’re meant to be understood.” The balance lies in empathy. Violence should evoke empathy or revulsion for a reason that fits the story’s moral architecture.
  • How to do it: Ask yourself who the violence targets and why. Marginalized characters, children, and animals often carry cultural weight—depicting harm to them demands heightened awareness and purpose.

Do

Frame disturbing acts through character emotion, not voyeurism.

Show restraint through what isn’t shown. Suggestion can be more chilling than exposure.

Avoid

Targeting trauma for cheap tension.

Don’t just use victimization as shock entertainment.

From My Work

“Nothing mattered anymore. I was going to die, and my parents were going to hurt. No matter what I did… nothing would prepare them.”

In The Death of Me, Katie’s voice turns potential spectacle into sorrow. The horror is emotional—her awareness of what pain will do to the people left behind.

Writing Gore with Intention

Explicit content can serve craft when handled deliberately. The key is control—detail that feels surgical, not indulgent.

  • Why it works: Jeff VanderMeer’s Annihilation captures this balance perfectly: “We were scientists, not soldiers. We dissected our fear.” His gore is methodical—descriptions that feel more clinical than cruel. Readers are disturbed because the characters are, not because the author wants them to be.
  • How to do it: Treat gore as a pacing device. Slow time to the length of a heartbeat. Let the reader’s imagination carry the rest. Describe enough to make them see what you need—and stop there.

Do

Filter gore through character focus (shock, denial, fascination).

Use contrast—quiet before violence amplifies impact.

Avoid

Desensitizing through repetition.

Don’t rely on adjectives like “bloody,” “viscous,” or “mangled” without meaning.

From My Work

“His teeth sank into Dr. Cross’s throat. There was no scream, only a wet, crushing sound. A spray of blood hit the wall behind them—arterial—bright and fast.”

In Salt & Bone, the gore matters less than recognition. Lisa’s calm demeanor juxtaposes that the horror isn’t the body—but what it really means.

The Emotional Aftermath

Violence ends quickly; grief doesn’t. If you stop the scene when the blood dries, you rob the reader of the true cost.

  • Why it works: Carmen Maria Machado’s Her Body and Other Parties thrives on aftermath. Her stories linger on what trauma feels like the morning after—the silence, the weight, the impossible normalcy. That’s where horror grows roots.
  • How to do it: Shift focus from injury to endurance. Let physical pain translate into emotional stakes. A bruised hand can tremble weeks later at a sound or smell.

Do

Explore coping mechanisms or denial.

Let minor gestures (a flinch, a pause) reveal what can’t be spoken.

Avoid

Treating aftermath as downtime.

Don’t use recovery as a reset.

From My Work

“The infection was eating him alive. I knew it. I just couldn’t say it. So, I went for a supply run instead.”

In Salt & Bone, the violence is over. The horror isn’t. Jack’s silence becomes the truest form of aftermath—the mind catching up to the body.

Responsibility Beyond the Page

Writers don’t owe comfort, but they do owe clarity. Disturbing material requires consent—earned through tone, structure, and trust.

  • Why it works: Readers who know they’re safe in your hands will follow you anywhere. Tananarive Due often speaks about emotional stewardship—the idea that authors must guide readers through the dark, not abandon them there.
  • How to do it: Signal tone early. If your book contains graphic themes, let the first chapter establish boundaries and style. Include author’s notes or content disclaimers when appropriate—not to soften the impact, but to respect your audience’s agency.

Do

Communicate tone and boundaries upfront.

Center humanity over harm.

Avoid

Hiding behind “that’s just horror.”

Don’t write trauma for shock value.

From My Work

“You have to stay dead to everyone.”

In The Death of Me, this line isn’t a threat—it’s a boundary. A single line that defines survival, consequence, and consent.

Final Thoughts

Gore and disturbing content are tools—not weapons. When wielded with intention, they amplify theme, reveal character, and force readers to confront truth in its rawest form.

Handled carelessly, they flatten horror into cruelty.

Handled thoughtfully, they remind us why we read it at all: to look into the dark, and find something human staring back.

Extras

Table Of Contents
  1. When Violence Serves Story
  2. Know the Line Between Fear and Exploitation
  3. Writing Gore with Intention
  4. The Emotional Aftermath
  5. Responsibility Beyond the Page
  6. Final Thoughts
  7. Extras