Horror writer Stephen Graham Jones reveals that crafting a compelling spine-tingler relies almost entirely on how the story ends. NPR reported that the author compares the narrative wrap-up to jumping off a flat mesa into the dark, trusting a toehold will appear in the abyss.
From Midland Oil Fields to Horror Fiction
Jones never originally planned for a literary career. A member of the Blackfeet Nation from Midland, Texas, he anticipated working with oil fields or cornfields, imagining a future driving a tractor as a farmer. Yet, storytelling came naturally from an early age. He recalls spilling Kool-Aid on the couch and blaming his little brother purely for self-preservation. By the third or fourth grade, reading novels gave him the confidence that he could write and finish stories just like the authors he admired.
I think craft can get you through 95% of a novel. The craft is mechanics. It’s the little techniques you use to achieve this or that, and situate the story and the reader. That’s all crafting technique.
Today, Jones balances his writing with teaching as an English professor at the University of Colorado Boulder. Over a career spanning decades, he has published numerous novels, short stories, and novellas. His 2020 breakout work, The Only Good Indians, explored characters grappling with their heritage and history against hauntings and possessions. He recently returned to that universe with a sequel titled Off the Reservation.
The Mechanics of a Terrifying Ending
According to Jones, the true art of writing a good story only comes into focus during the wrap-up. While 95% of a novel relies on standard mechanics and even footing, the ending requires taking a sudden leap into the unknown. Experts studying fear note that audiences flock to horror experiences because the modern world feels deeply uncertain. Jones shares this view, emphasizing that the conclusion is what readers ultimately seek out.
If a long, dark tunnel of a story features a light at the end—whether that light belongs to daylight or an oncoming train—it suggests the difficult tunnels of the real world will also eventually conclude. Beyond contemporary anxieties, the genre offers writers an avenue to confront the past. Jones points out that current cultural moments often try to sanitize history, making continuous reminders of bloody footsteps and darker historical chapters essential.
Inviting the Reader’s Own Demons
When constructing monsters, ghouls, or slashers, Jones deliberately leaves blank spaces in their descriptions. This design allows readers to graft their own personal demons onto the antagonists, making the narrative matter on a much deeper level. Effective scares happen when readers picture the threat in their own minds without requiring explicit spelling out from the author.
Monsters should be built from personal fears, drawing inspiration from difficult parents, teachers that don’t like you, schoolyard bullies, or past bad coaches. To write a successful story, Jones insists an author must have something genuine to say. That approach does not require preaching; it simply demands writing truthfully, regardless of whether the audience numbers fifteen people or fifteen million.
