Posts Tagged ‘horror’

We’re baaaaaaaack!

Last year, I stepped up my #31DaysofHorror (watching a horror movie every day in the month of October) experience by adding bingo to the game. This year, I am returning to the same haunt with a new board, fresh with different horror movie tropes and cliches!

Will I top my record of 50 horror movies last October? Will some devoted soul beat me to bingo blackout? Join in and find out! Please, read the rules below, download the board and play along!

31 Days of Horror Bingo Rules:

  1. Each day of October, watch a different horror movie. You are allowed to catch up by watching multiple movies in one day.
  2. For each movie, cross out a tombstone on the board. Only one horror cliche per movie!
  3. Blackout all 24 spaces in the 31 days.

That’s it. Simple. Let’s see who can overdose on horror movies first!

 

 

Christina Bergling

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This is some kind of white girl in a horror movie shit, I thought to myself as I crunched down the dark path through the woods, marching toward our cabin to fetch my daughter a blanket.

The waves of girlish screams of the Girl Scout bonfire faded behind me as the trees seemed to embrace me in solitude. The sounds of the camp dissipated at my back, and the swish of my jeans and crunch of my sneakers became the only sound in the darkness.

I pointed the penlight flashlight ahead of me, chasing its halo over the gravel. A vague anxiety scratched over the length of my skin, a physical echo of the bad idea I was currently consummating.

This is how dumb bitches like you die, the rational voice in my head echoed again, sending the anxious tickles on my hair follicles on harder edge.

Look, crazy, the other half of my brain chimed in, there is no random hobo living under the cabin. This camp is so high traffic and loud there is no way wildlife is hanging out here. Did you hear those girls screaming? You are fine. You watch too much fucking horror. Stop being crazy.

I breathed out deliberately, forcing the weight of my exhalation down to suppress my heart rate as it climbed foolishly in my chest. I reminded myself I was a horror writer. I evidenced to myself all the horrendous things I voluntarily watched. And read. And wrote. And told myself it was not foreshadowing of how I was going to die but rather healthy desensitization to not freak out in mundane situations like walking alone in the dark in the woods.

Yet my heart punched against my rib cage nonetheless.

Don’t be stupid, rational me began again. You can walk to a cabin in the dark at Girl Scout camp. You will be fine.

I continued scraping down the road, swinging the beam of my flashlight across the length of the road. I listened acutely to the how loud my denim pants had become in the void of the night. I articulated the twisted branches and fluttering leaves against the light of the moon. Suddenly, the brief hike seemed so long and wide.

Between the dark trees, I was finally able to make out the circle of lights from our cabins. I ambled down the small hill to make the turn and ascend into our campsite. Then I saw the large, shifting black shape.

That is not a bear, rational me said. You can’t see for shit far away. You’re just being crazy. Go get this damn blanket.

My muscles quivered half-tensed below my skin, but I pressed my own breath down on myself again and kept walking. What horror writer didn’t have an overactive imagination? Wasn’t I just thinking about all the ways I could die tonight? Wasn’t I just talking about all the horrible life decisions that should have killed me over dinner?

As I approached the farthest, lower edge of the cabin circle, the smell filled my nostrils. The odor was thick, wet, feral. It was not unlike the aroma of a cage at the zoo. Yet the pungency assaulted me in a wave. Then I heard the shape moving, foilage bending to its shape. From the symphony of bending branches, I could tell it was large. Its movements echoed around me, riding its smell into my twitching brain.

Then I saw the shape again, clear even in my hazed near-sightedness. It was a bear, low and wide. The culmination of the sight, sound, and smell lobbied a convincing case to my skeptical denial.

Fuck, it’s a bear, both sides of me decided in unison.

I stopped moving and froze in my last footsteps. I stiffened to silence my heavy steps and scratching jeans. I clicked off my flashlight as if the darkness could obscure me from the animal. My feet twitched forward toward the structure of the cabins then back toward the grouping of humans abandoned behind me.

It ran off, one side of me said. Go to the cabin and get the fucking blanket. You’ll be safe in the walls.

You don’t walk toward a bear, the other side countered. It was a fucking bear. Don’t be the dumb girl in the horror movie. Go back. Go back!

I hesitated and stuttered on the gravel another stupid minute before turning hard and walking fast back up the trail. I did not hear the trees creak behind me. I did not hear the audible angry breath of an animal at my neck. Yet my steps slammed quickened against the dirt, until I could hear the happy giggles of Girl Scouts in the swirling smoke of an fledgling campfire.

 

Christina Bergling

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I’m officially in my mid-thirties; I should be professional and appropriate by now, right?

Um…

…right?

Honestly, I don’t know that I fit into the average subjective definition of either term. However, it has been an idea that has been wriggling around on the skin of my mind lately.

I am the parent of two young children. My partner and I are both very “outside the box” people, so he and I struggle with constantly trying to teach our children to behave inside the social box. This is the sort of contentious relationship I have with social norms and expectations, but by some miracle, I have managed to balance my rebellion into measures of social success thus far in my life.

Yet, as I delve deeper into being a horror author, I find the questions surfacing again. Most specifically, as I post images of me half naked and covered in blood on the wide internet.

Professionally, I have never had much of a problem. I’m reasonably intelligent and have done well through my career. I’ve performed high at my various jobs, though the jury is still out on the new role I just started. The issue is never my work or my work ethic; rather, I might be too much “me” at work. I’ve been scolded by a Master Sergeant in Iraq for cussing too much. I’m simply a very open person. So, my other career of dealing in horror is perhaps a little too public.

I see no issue with someone executing their day job then going home to dabble in any kind of deviant art. That does not mean everyone feels the same way. Our culture is very strange and hypocritical about female expression and nudity. We are bombarded with the imagery of naked women but then told a woman who is naked publicly is morally bereft. While I have yet to encounter any negative consequences for my blatant exhibitionism, I am ever aware of the threat.

I consider what employers, clients, or future employers might encounter when they Google me. I would like to think they could separate the art from the artist and focus on my qualifications, but I simply do not have that much faith.

Am I unprofessional because I am publicly and unapologetically me outside of the “office”? Do I get to be taken seriously when I am comfortable enough in myself to lay my mind and skin bare?

Working in IT, I harbor no illusions about the internet. After working with the government and military for so many years, I am well aware of how much of a delusion “privacy” is now. I know anything sent or shared or even simply residing on a computer with wireless capability is not private. I deal with this reality but simply having no secrets, having nothing that could be uncovered and used against me.

Plus, I have an exhibitionist streak about as wide as half my personality, so I would voluntarily be advertising it even if no one would ever have access to it.

Maybe I can be professional. I can do my job well entirely separate from any extracurricular activities, even if I do post them very openly, very accessibly to employers or clients. What about “appropriate”? The word appropriate itself causes my neck to flex and my lip to curl in a hint of a twitch. I have never wanted to be appropriate because of the many ways the society that manufactures the definition is simply…wrong.

But I’m also older now. Hi, Middle Age; yeah, I see you right there over the horizon. And, more importantly, I am raising children. Get into the box, kids, so you can understand it (and hopefully then jump right out of it and set it on fire).

Is it appropriate for a 35 year-old woman to pose for pictures naked and covered in fake blood? Why not? After pregnancy and gravity have had their way with me, it is the time I have felt most comfortable in my body, given the least amount of fucks. The question sounds a lot like, am I skinny enough to wear a bikini? Now, is it appropriate for a mother of young children to do so? And more than that, be open with her children about it, share and explain the pictures. I am too observant to have not noticed the judgement on parents around me.

Is it appropriate to expose them to horror and art? I let them participate in their own bloody photoshoots, obviously without the nudity involved in some of mine.

My instinctual answer to all of these questions is: hell yes, it’s appropriate. It is my body to live in and reveal as I want. I provide my children with a safe and happy home and do not expose them to anything carelessly or without evaluation.  Yet I remain acutely aware of all the consequences I could be tempting in the distance. Maybe they never come, but it would be reckless to plunge through life so carelessly. I insist on living deeply, not stupidly.

Then, maybe the most poignant question: am I safe? I hate that I even have to write that, that it is a question that has to occupy such constant real estate in my mind, but the real world is dark and full of terrors. Like I said, realities of the internet. When will I interact with the wrong person? When will I post the wrong picture? When will I share the wrong detail? When it will be too much and the consequences will be more than social?

The more I find and express myself, the more I question what it will cost me. Everything in life has its price. My brain, especially the depressive mind, quietly catalogs all the ways it could go wrong in the background. I am happy being myself. Writing dark and twisted stories. Taking pictures soaked in fake blood. Dancing on the stage. Posting about the inner workings of my fractured mind. It feels right, within MY definitions of professional, appropriate, and (hopefully) safe.

I will continue my path unaltered and see where it leads. Sometimes, I just need to stop and unpack the doubts from my head.

Christina Bergling

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When I started “modeling,” I think I was chasing a way to feel positively about my appearance. In the wake of my most self-destructive phase, I needed to manufacture some semblance of confidence from the shattered pieces of my sense of self. I knew I could never be classified as conventionally pretty or skinny, but I wanted to make that art. I wanted to see myself differently, from the outside.

Over the course of this clumsy dabbling, I worked with photographers with whom I could collaborate, and our visions collided and amalgamated into what I considered my visual style.

But I never did feel better about myself.

My pseudo eating disorder raged. I would starve myself and not eat on days I did nude shoots, as if lunch or water made a perceivable difference. I would turn the pictures on myself, use them to catalog my flaws, use them as a qualifier of my worth. For as much as I have never prioritized aesthetics for any other person, the toxic tentacles of the damage in my brain always made me one-dimensional to myself. It was as if my physical body was an entirely separate entity from the rest of me, judged meticulously by only its appearance–by ever-sharpening criteria. I was never going to be “thin” enough or “pretty” enough because it was never about how I looked. Self-destruction had been driven out of my heart only to make a hidden home in my eyes and my flesh.

Yet I continued to play in front of the camera. The symptom was never the disease. I modeled until we moved back to Colorado from Tennessee. Then I was no longer dancing, I had no established relationships with local photographers, and I had another child. By this point, I resigned myself to simply being too old and the pictures being a closed chapter in my life.

Then I mentally evolved again.

Two major changes happened. Most importantly, perhaps at the root, I finally made peace with the damaged and self-destructive persona in me. I have been analyzing, flirting with, writing, and being her half my life. This time, I actually forgave her, forgave myself for what I did to us. I released that blame and those consequences that it felt so safe to hold.

Perhaps as a side effect to this or maybe as a tangent effort, I put my atypical bulimia to bed. In vain attempts to restore myself after my son, I spent years obsessing and fixating, starting and torturing myself, punishing my body to the point of multiple injuries. Then I discovered intermittent fasting.

I had attempted numerous diet and fitness paradigms, yet fasting slipped on like a glove. For all my anxiety about not eating and hanger, it was just what my brain and body wanted. Needed.

And impossibly simply, food was no longer an issue. The numbers were no longer an obsession. Just like that. It seems utterly unrealistic. I am neither the weight or size I “want,” yet I don’t care. I am happy. I am comfortable. I have finally grasped that confidence that launched the entire endeavor.

It is possible I have simply outgrown some of the fixations. Life continues to get bigger. Maybe I am old enough to just give no fucks anymore. Yet a part of me still fears this is a trap set by that self-destructive girl, a false summit. Feeling authentically good in my skin feels alien, so forgotten it’s almost foreign. I have reservations over so many years of struggle culminating in so seemingly simple a fix.

But I’ll ride this wave until it sends me crashing onto my face.

In this place, I have returned to modeling. Yet this time is not motivated by a search to find something in myself. This time is not a band-aid over the tear in my mind. I am not trying to prove to myself that I look worth something.

I am trying to look scary and disturbing.

I have launched into a new collaboration with members of my “commune.” The photographer is establishing her visual voice, and I am happy to play test subject. We both love horror and have already collaborated on one of my novels. With the addition of a blood minion, we are collectively chasing beautifully disturbing images.

Successfully so far.

The difference is where I am coming from. I no longer feel infected by that pervasive insecurity. I am no longer worrying if the wrong position creates a bulge; instead, I am making sure the fake blood is dripping right. I am able to look at the pictures and see the image rather than all the things I am not.

I have worked with some amazing photographers over years (and plenty not), but there is something unique about laughing your head off as your “sisters” ladle chocolate fake blood on you, about collaborating with women who have held you up most of your life.

The fact that the pictures are turning out is just a bonus.

Christina Bergling

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In the month of May, I participated in the ABCs of Horror Movie Challenge hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Halloween. Each day, I selected a horror movie I had not seen to match the letter of the alphabet for that day.

So allow me to share my new-to-me horror alphabet from May.

A is for Audition
Visually poignant and confusing in the best and most disturbing way
B is for The Bye Bye Man
Boring, cliche, and full of poorly executed tropes
C is for The Children of the Corn
Essential. How had I not seen this yet?
D is for Dig Two Graves
Delightful spin on the exhausted revenge subgenre
E is for Excision
Fell infinitely short of expectations
F is for Frontiere(s)
Some wonderful combination of Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Hostel
G is for Ginger Snaps
Fun ride with angsty, teenage goths
H is for House of the Devil
Gorgeous throwback that left me bored
I is for Irreversible
Irreversible and haunting in every way, brilliant but brutal
J is for JeruZalem
Winged zombies, stupid
K is for Kaw
Fantastically horrendous, the Birdemic of horror
L is for The Lazarus Effect
An excellent cast in a passably entertaining story
M is for Maggie
A slow burn twist on the post apocalyptic zombie trope
N is for Near Dark
Bill. Paxton.
O is for The Open House
A spectacular fail at commentating on random crime
P is for Phenomena
Classic Argento, delivering cringe-worthy gore before the credits
Q is for A Quiet Place
High tension suspense in an interesting premise
R is for Raw
Beautiful and disgusting, a wonderfully real take on cannibalism
R is also for Revenge
So good I needed a second R! Gorgeous and gory, how rape revenge stories should be told
S is for Slither
Disgusting and hilarious
T is for Terrifier
Amazing practical FX gore, deeply disturbing and so much fun it had us screaming
U is for Under the Shadow
Slow and uneventful
V is for The Vault
An awkward insertion of horror into a bank heist movie
W is for Wrong Turn 2
As awful as I knew it was going to be
X is for XX
Four frightening trips into female horror
Y is for Yeti:
Curse of the Snow Demon
Ridiculous and hilarious, best of the worst
Z is for Zombie
Necessary zombie watching, subgenre defining

 

Christina Bergling

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As an author, you do have to crawl into the skin of your character. Often, I simply use myself as the boilerplate. However, when I crafted Emma for The Rest Will Come, I definitely took character study to the next level.

Not only did I base this character on a person in my real life (and her life experiences on several people in my real life), when I was belly dancing in Tennessee in February, I performed as her.

It is always fun to assume a persona on stage, liberating and exciting; however, it was even more entertaining to become a character I had created in my own story. I spent so many months inside her head, crafting and developing her. It was somehow cathartic to put a shovel in her hand and let her undulate and hair toss around the stage.

Not to mention I miss undulating and hair tossing on the stage in general.

I debated whether I ever wanted to publicly share the video of the performance. The internet can be…unforgiving. Ultimately, I decided f— it. It was my first time choreographing anything by myself, and I do like how it turned out, amateurish as it may be.

Ultimately, the performance is probably if Emma met Ronnie but close enough.

When it comes to the state of the world at large and current events, I am with the majority in being ready and excited to say goodbye (and fuck off) to 2017. What a rollercoaster mess of a year.

However, if I refine my focus down to something a little more narcissistic, the assessment of the year brightens. For my writing, 2017 was a pretty damn successful year.

Last January, things would have never appeared so optimistic for my authoring career. I began the year released (with my two novellas, Savages and The Waning) by my first publisher. I went from having two books published and available to being featured in an anthology or two. From there, it felt like starting over.

However, starting over did not take long. Within the same month, my novel The Rest Will Come was accepted by Limitless Publishing. This rejuvenated my confidence and allowed me to focus on something positive and productive. It was ultimately released in August.

Not far behind that, I had a short story, “Hatch,” included in Collected Easter Horror Shorts in April.

Then, in October, things exploded. My poor rejected Christmas horror short “Santa’s Workshop” was accepted by Horrified Press into a future holiday anthology. My short story “Black Widow” was published in Collected Halloween Horror Shorts.

And my short story “Adam, Eve, and Mr. Bubbles” was published in the anthology Demonic Wildlife.

In November, my previously rejected short story “After the Screaming Stopped” was accepted in the upcoming Graveyard Girlz anthology by HellBound Books Publishing.

In December, I had three horror drabbles accepted into the upcoming 100 Word Horrors anthology.

Also, and perhaps the most exciting, HellBound Books Publishing released the second edition of my second novella, The Waning. This release was especially thrilling because it got one of my released books back on the market and because my friend Phil designed the badass cover art. Holding this edition was particularly special.

Then, to top it off, HellBound Books Publishing just offered to publish the second edition of my first novella, Savages. With this last contract, all of my finished and submitted works officially have homes. I no longer have released, rejected, or orphaned works. Every piece submitted is published or has a contract to be published. This is a HUGE accomplishment. This is what 2017 was for my writing.

2018 will already see the re-release of Savages and the publication of Graveyard Girlz100 Word Horrors, and possibly the holiday anthology from Horrified Press. Additionally, I am planning on submitting to three different anthologies before summer and am working on a collaborative novel with Kevin Kennedy. I also hope to start on my second solo novel, though I have not yet settled on a concept.

In short, I intend to be busy. 2017 was kind to me, at least as an author. I intend to build on that momentum.

Christina Bergling

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I have been so busy posting reviews for the Telluride Horror Show, that I haven’t yet had time to talk about my actual experience of it!

This year was my first attendance of the Telluride Horror Show. Previously, I have only made it to the Stanley Film Festival (back when there was such a delightful thing) once. I haven’t even been to Telluride since I was a child.

The Telluride Horror Show is in its 8th year so is relatively established, and that much shows. The festival is well organized and smooth running, and the town seems very acclimated to the invasion by hundred of horror lovers.

Plus, Telluride is just GORGEOUS! I’m a Colorado mountain girl, so a town like this will always speak my native tongue. I loved that everything for the festival was in walking distance. The venues might be a half mile apart at the farthest, and our lodging was situation blocks away between them. We were able to just walk everywhere and enjoy the mountain air (or a creepy dark path with a bear sighting).

We arrived midday on Friday (after having to deal with our son shoving cinnamon playdough up his nose and needing to go to the doctor for extraction from hours away). Since it was Friday the 13th, en route we watched Friday the 13th and Friday the 14th Part 2. It helped to set the appropriate mood for the weekend.

We threw down our bags, mixed a drink, and headed to pick up passes. The venue for pass pickup was a little congested with lines for the ice cream social, passes, the bar, and swag all intersecting. However, things moved so quickly and the swag was so awesome that it was easy to forgive. I am still living in my lightweight hoodie and hat I bought there. I was even able to find horror figurines to match my children’s upcoming Halloween costumes.

Then we raced over to our first screening, Tragedy Girls. Witty, funny, and socially on point, Tragedy Girls is a fantastic choice to set the mood for our festival experience. (Read my full review here)

Following Tragedy Girls, we headed over to Creepy Campfire Tales. When we attended the Stanley Film Festival, we devoted our entire trip to watching movies. We did not indulge in any of the other activities. This time, we were determined to take in some social and non-screen activities.

Envious as I was as another horror author listening to someone read their work by the flickering firelight in the crisp mountain air, it was a very enjoyable experience. Then it was a quick sprint to resupply on food and drinks before hurrying to another showing.

Being that it was Friday the 13th in October at a horror film festival, we absolutely had to go see Never Hike Alone. It is a wonderfully executed and painstakingly local fan film of Friday the 13th. (Read my full review here)

By the end of the movie, I had imbibed my fair share and was enjoying the added effect of a few more thousand feet in altitude. However, said enhancement turned on me in the morning. I suffered a very brief but crippling hangover. I had to sleep it off while the rest of my party attended the horror comedy block of shorts. I managed to pull myself together for round 2.

Trailers from Hell, a collection of 35MM horror movie trailers. The trailers span multiple decades, but they are absolutely ridiculous. It was just the sort of simple, mindless entertainment I needed to ease me back into my day.

Following the silly, we embarked into the more cerebral with the Lovecraftian mind-bender The Endless. I loved the realism in the fraternal relationship of the main characters and the raw and creepy filmmaking. (Read my full review here)

After The Endless, we walked down to the pig roast. I appreciated that the festival included a free meal. It is nice to splice in experiences when you can interact with all the three dimensional people you are sitting next to in the dark for hours. The food was basic but also filling and delicious, fueled us up for a night of solid screenings.

We went to Jungle next, a real-life account of a hiker lost in the Amazon jungle. It is raw and intense and terrifying. Though I would not normally classify such a movie as horror, it is so gripping I was wiling to embrace the deviation. (Read my full review here)

We exited the theater after viewing Jungle simply to line up in the cold outside it again for Creep 2. Knowing Creep 2 was on the roster in advance, we had watched Creep right before coming to Telluride. The franchise is an interesting approach to found footage, completely carried by the main actor. (Read my full review here)

By this point, my brain was becoming a bit overstimulated by so many horror movies, typical for this point in the movie festival. The final morning, we took in back to back horror short blocks. First suspenseful, which started strong for two then went off the rails. Then zombies, which were super fun.

The final showing came up, and I struggled with my commitment. Part of me just wanted to relax and do anything but watch another movie. However, I am so glad we powered through. Well, half our party.

For our last movie, we watched Trench 11, a horror movie set in World War I trenches. I loved the history, the characters, the filmmaking. Genuinely, I just enjoyed it as it brought a perfect close to our set. (Read my full review here)

Before we departed, we took in one more social horror event, mostly so we could hang out with friends we had made at the Stanley Film Festival. We participated in horror trivia. Although our entire team was just terrible at horror trivia, we managed to finish somewhere in the middle and had a fantastic time doing it.

Then there was the lovely 6 hour drive home in the dark. Small, winding mountain roads slicing through the night. My GPS leading us on the opening arc of a Wrong Turn movie on some desolate dirt road. Yet, somehow, we still made it home.

My overall first impressions of Telluride Horror Show are entirely positive. Truthfully, I can only directly compare it to my one attendance to Stanley Film Festival. In that competition, Telluride wins on films but falls shorter on venue. While Stanley Film Festival had fantastic movies, there were some I did not enjoy and some that unnerved me to the point of discomfort. Whereas with Telluride, I only took issue with some of the suspenseful shorts. The ending ratio was much more enjoyable.

However, you cannot argue with The Stanley Hotel as a venue. Telluride is small and very convenient in that we could walk absolutely everywhere very quickly, yet the social events were crammed into small spaces like the Sheridan’s bar. The ballrooms in The Stanley were much more open and conducive to socializing. There was also The Chiller Lounge, which was necessary to recover from movies like The Treatment.

Culture-wise, the two festivals had a similar feel. People were more engaging and friendly in person at the Stanley Film Festival; however, there was much more online networking after Telluride Horror Show. The proprietors, in particular, are very responsive on social media, which always makes a fan and attendee feel appreciated. After the show, I was contacted over Twitter by multiple directors to review their movies.

And the social experience is a large part of what a festival is about for me. I can watch horror movies anywhere and with anyone. It is something different and decidedly more special to do it with people who share the same passion, with people who contributed directly to what you are watching. I adore cast and director Q&A. I love being able to randomly talk to a filmmaker in line for their movie. It is what going to a horror film festival is all about for me.

Telluride Horror Show was a fantastic experience for everyone in our group. We have already begun planning and plotting for next year and enlisting other victims to join us.

**BONUS**

After the Telluride Horror Show, my viewing was able to continue. I was privileged enough to screen Frazier Park Recut from the comfort of my own couch. The multiple perspective found footage film is both a throwback and something divergent in the subgenre. I would have loved to have gotten it into our viewing schedule while we were there! (Read my full review here)

 

Christina Bergling

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The other day, I was just doing laundry, like any other working mother might. Honestly, I may spend half my life washing and putting away laundry. Anyway, I was trying to figure out what clothes I would want to pack for Telluride Horror Show. I ended up doing an inventory of my horror/Halloween/gothic wardrobe.

I ended up with over 40 items. Now, in high school, I was a typical damaged little goth girl. Halloween has always been my favorite holiday, and I don’t do anything I like a little. And when I grew up, I became a horror writer. None of this is unexpected. Some pieces are from my gothic recovery period in my early 20s. Some are horror movie shirts. There are just a lot.

Some have been woefully neglected, so I resolved to wear them ALL in the month of October. And if I’m going to do something so festive, I might as well hop on social media and share that silliness with everyone. So I am going to post pictures of each of my ensembles on Instagram, Twitter, here…

Now, am I model? Nope. Do I have a perfect appearance by societal definition? Absolutely not. This is all just fun and games. This is about the clothes.

So in addition to #31DaysofHorror bingo, I will be posting pictures for #Hallowear all month. Enjoy!

 

**UPDATE: The Clothes**

45 ensembles later! I clearly underestimated my fashion patterns.

At first, it was fun to document all these clothes I love. Many had been left neglected in my closet for years. However, taking selfies or having people take pictures of me every day had a strange psychological effect. By the end of the month, I was OVER it. I was sick of posing and selecting clothes from a finite selection and of seeing my own face. The first two days of November, I did my hair away from the mirror because I was done with my own visage.

So while it was fun, do not expect it to become a regular thing from me. Unless I buy another 45 pieces of horror/Halloween attire!

 

Christina Bergling

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It is that month again. The best of all the months. A time when the weather finally descends from hellish heat to a cold edge in the air. When death is all around you as the corpses of leaves gather on the cool ground. When the gothic and macabre overtake the mainstream and ghouls and goblins come out to play.

It is also time once again to participate in #31DaysofHorror! This entails watching a horror movie every day during the month of October. Last year, I managed to get 50 horror films in the month!

This year, I am adding bingo to the event. So please, read the rules below, download the board and play along!

31 Days of Horror Bingo Rules:

  1. Each day of October, watch a different horror movie. You are allowed to catch up by watching multiple movies in one day.
  2. For each movie, cross out a tombstone on the board. Only one horror cliche per movie!
  3. Blackout all 24 spaces in the 31 days.

That’s it. Simple. Let’s see who can overdose on horror movies first!

 

**UPDATE: The Completed Board**

Plus bonus movies:

The Invitation
The Endless
The Belko Experiment
Jungle
Gerald’s Game
Frazier Park Recut
Cult of Chucky
The Girl with All the Gifts
30 Days of Night
Annabelle Creation
The Mummy
Trick r Treat

This year’s total: 36 horror movies

I’m already formulating new bingo boards for next year…

 

Christina Bergling

christinabergling.com
facebook.com/chrstnabergling
@ChrstnaBergling
chrstnaberglingfierypen.wordpress.com
goodreads.com/author/show/11032481.Christina_Bergling
pinterest.com/chrstnabergling
instagram.com/fierypen/
amazon.com/author/christinabergling