It’s January of 2003, and I just turned 44, and I’m staring at a renewal form for a somewhat obscure writer’s group called The Horror Writers Association (HWA), of which I’ve been a member for nearly a decade. It’s a letter-size document tri-folded into a display-window envelope. Black and white. Single-sided. No frills. It looks like something that was mimeographed at my kid’s kindergarten.

It’s a far cry from the endless stream of glossy propaganda with which the Writers Guild inundates its members. But I guess that’s the point. Unlike the Mercedes-driving, espresso-swilling screenwriters of the Guild, we poor schmos and schmo-ettes who proudly call ourselves “horror writers” are mired in the ghetto of the publishing world...and nowadays resources are scarce.

As a mass-market literary category, horror enjoys a reputation a few rungs below Afghan cook books. Some believe this is because of the glut of cheesy slasher novels that came out in the 1980s in the wake of Stephen King’s success. Others believe it’s due to that cinematic high watermark, FRIDAY THE 13TH, and all the brilliant, poignant, feel-good sequels it has spawned. My personal theory is that horror fiction is currently on the down-slide -- at least commercially -- because of its name.

THE OXFORD AMERICAN DICTIONARY defines horror as “a feeling of loathing and fear, an intense dislike or dismay.” This is not what HWA folks write. Nor is it what name brands like King and Straub and Barker and Rice do. Nor is it the product of lesser known but equally brilliant practitioners such as Joe Lansdale or David Schow. Horror is what September 11th was. Horror is what passes as government nowadays. Horror is your nightly news. Horror is CNN.

The myths and metaphors of the HWA are more like dark wonders...or supernatural suspense...or psychological fantasy...or whatever. In other words, pick a name, any name. But this rotting rose by any other name is still a venerable old genre and literary form that will continue to rear its mongrel head. As long as there are troubles in the world, and people are required to deal with nightmares.

Which brings me to the point I was trying to make at the beginning. I’m going to renew this stupid HWA membership. Why? Because the opportunities are out there. The field has been decimated, sure, but like the sleepy state of rock and roll in the late 1970s, the genre is poised for breakthroughs. Horror will see its own Sex Pistols coming down the pike very soon. Horror will rise out of its moldering grave. And boy oh boy, how I hope, very soon, for my kids’ sake, horror will pay off.

If they would only change that idiotic name.