In this monthly column, we pose your questions to an expert in a specific field of speculative fiction and the wider ‘industry’. This month, for Halloween, we put your questions to bestselling dark fiction writer, horror publisher, and podcaster Daniel Willcocks.
This month: Creating darkness, with Daniel Willcocks
Name: Daniel Willcocks
Website: www.danielwillcocks.com
Specialism: Daniel is a bestselling horror and dark fiction writer, editor and publisher
Follow: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, BlueSky
Daniel Willcocks is an international bestselling author, award-winning podcaster, author coach, and website designer. He is one quarter of digital story studio, Hawk & Cleaver; co-founder of iTunes-busting fiction podcast, The Other Stories; and CEO of horror imprint, Devil’s Rock Publishing. Dan is furiously passionate about all things story. He has written 70+ books across the genres of horror, post-apocalyptic, sci-fi, urban fantasy, thriller, and non-fiction since 2015 for himself and on behalf of ghostwriting clients. Dan also provides author website design services at devilsrockdesign.com.
The dark market
How has the dark speculative fiction market changed since you started in 2015?
The biggest changes I’ve personally seen are in the diversification of the types of stories that we’re seeing come through the big publishers.
For the longest time, dark fiction seemed dominated by the same big names (your Kings, your Koontz, your Mary Shelleys and Edgar Allen Poes), and while speculative fiction has always been creative in the stories it tells, it certainly feels as though the genre has expanded, allowing new voices from all creatives over the world to come inside and play.
The last ten years have seen a huge rise in not just LGBTQ+ and female fiction, but in BIPOC fiction, too. Tananarive Due (“The Reformatory”), Victor LaValle (“The Ballad of Black Tom”), Chuck Tingle (“Camp Damascus”), Rachel Harrison (“Such Sharp Teeth”), and Eric Larocca (“Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke”) are all examples of authors who have smashed onto the scene and are exploring the kinds of stories that, ten or fifteen years ago, might have fallen well below the radar of the bestsellers lists.
For me, it’s great to see a genre championing voices from across the global spectrum. Dark, speculative fiction is such an all-encompassing genre, with no corner of the globe immune to fear and despair, so to see this genre becoming so progressive—and telling amazing stories—is inspiring as there are still quite a few genres who haven’t quite caught up with this progress.
Where do you think post-apoc as a setting is going next?
This one is always difficult to predict. Like most genres, post-apoc goes through its phases of fashion (zombies, EMPs, natural disasters, virus). Over the last few years, cordyceps have been in flavour, thanks, largely, to the likes of “The Last of Us,” but it remains to be seen what comes next.
Personally, I’d like to see some more supernatural apocalypses take over the globe. Freak events like those found in “Bird Box” by Josh Malerman (creatures you dare not look upon), “Tomorrow’s Gone” by Sean Platt & David W. Wright (where did everybody go?) or “Hell’s Children” by John L. Monk (a virus that only attacks the over seventeens).
There’s a lot of fun to be had in this space, and I think we’re far from done yet. It’ll be interesting to see which wild ideas spawn from the empty tomorrow lands over the coming years.
Do you believe that dark fiction can ever run the risk of being ‘too’ dark? In other words, how conscious are you of balancing that dark, unsettling tone with a sprinkling of light relief (where appropriate)?
In a word, “No.”
In a longer word, “It depends.”
The beauty of being a writer and creating art, is that nothing is off limits, and we all have different boundaries and acceptance levels for content.
Just a quick scan of Amazon could find you some of the most depraved fiction you’ll ever read (trust me, I’ve found a few). Even Chuck Palahniuk, author of “Fight Club,” is famed for his short story “Guts” that, at least as far as I can find, is responsible for 73 incidents of people fainting while reading his words.
It all depends on what your goal as a writer is. The darker you write, the less likely you are to find mass market success. It’s just numbers and statistics. There are more markets for “acceptable” prose than there is for depravity and despair.
However, if you’re writing a story because you want to explore subjects in more depth, or you have a story to tell, and that story is dark, then just tell it. Write it down. Explore the tale. Revel in the darkness and use writing as your therapy. Ultimately, there are always going to be readers who want (dare I say “need”) something darker, and you could be the one to provide it to them.
When writing my stories, my first drafts lean heavily into the darkness. I allow my fingers to type whatever they want to in the first draft, and then I consider edits after. Your first draft is only for you, so it doesn’t matter what you write. Your second draft is for readers, so use the editing process to filter, edit, and add the magic that’ll turn your draft into a story.
When it comes to adding “light relief” into the story, I would always advise that you find places to leave these breaths for people to pause. The dark that you write is only as dark as the light that you place. If you leave someone in a darkened room for too long, your eyes adjust. When you go from a sunlit balcony to a pitch-dark dungeon, the darkness is more oppressive and reflective. Find ways to balance the peaks and troughs of your dark with your light, and you’ll have yourself an effective story.
What do you think about the argument for the importance of SFF writers imagining more sustainable futures at a time when the present is feeling pretty dystopian already? [this one caused quite a discussion in the channel!]
Science Fiction and Fantasy have always been the precursors for envisioning possible futures.
The beauty of SFF fiction is that there are no limits. We’re not tied back by the realities of life, nor the limitations of technology. We can envision and dream utopias and haunting hellscapes that are far beyond what humans will ever be able to achieve.
It is because of this stretching of a collective human imagination that we need SFF fiction more than ever. We are living in troubling times, arguably racing towards our own version of a global apocalypse, but it is in SFF, no matter how dark we write, that we find our hope.
For years, SFF authors have been conjuring solutions to far-off problems. In 1948, Robert A. Heinlein predicted the first mobile phones (“Space Cadet”). In 1909, E.M. Forster not only created the idea of remote, global, digital connection, but also the alienation and loneliness it would bring (“The Machine Stops”). In 1865, Jules Verne foresaw the moon landing, with their calculations for launch velocity remarkably close to NASA’s Apollo missions (“From the Earth to the Moon”).
And, who can forget the 1989 self-tying trainers from “Back to the Future,” only to become a true reality by Nike in 2016.
(Pictured: self-tying trainers and hoverboards were promised by Back to the Future Part II; photo from IMDb)
It’s true that we’re living in dark times. But it’s also true that we’re living in hopeful times. SFF writers around the world are using their imaginations to create the blueprints for humanity’s future. Scientists the world over are finding inspiration in the pages of fiction. All we can do is keep creating, and finding ways to give our characters some form of happy ending—whether they want it or not.
Some dark fiction, especially post-apocalyptic fiction, gives me a profound sense of curl-up-on-the-sofa-with-my-shoes-off-cup-of-tea-and-a-slice-of-cake utter cosiness. Is this something you recognise? Do you write for readers like me? Why do I love this so much? Am I a twisted, psychopathic weirdo?
Did I write this question myself? Because I resonate with this in a deeply visceral way.
You’re not a twisted, psychopathic weirdo. You value simplicity.
Apocalyptic events are horrible. No one wants to see their loved ones racked with a mortal bronchial virus, feasting on flesh, seared by solar flares, or choking in nuclear fallout.
But…
It’s not the apocalyptic event that we find so desirable. For people like me, we crave the reinvention. The clean slate. The day zero.
This is one of the reasons I enjoy writing post-apocalyptic fiction (amongst other things). Even in my horror, I find myself drawn to “the end” scenarios (“They Rot,” “When Winter Comes”). When reading or writing about post-apocalyptic worlds, we get to start everything from scratch, and we’re in the driving seat. We can dictate what kind of world we create. We can decide who’s in charge. We are stripped back to a simpler time—before technology and global politics and pandemics and agonising water cooler talk—in which the only things that matter are connections and survival.
I often fantasise about waking up in an empty world. No overcrowded stores. No anxiety attacks from a litany of notifications I can’t keep up with. No more sugary, fake foods that, while insanely delicious, increase my likelihood of diabetes.
That’s the world I crave. And that’s what a lot of post-apocalyptic fiction delivers. Sure, we read storylines of tough survival situations. Sure, we’re chased by zombies or mushroom-infected monsters.
But in these worlds, all that matters is food, water, and human connection.
And what could be simpler than that?
You’ll notice the BFS community seized upon the “post-apocalyptic” side of your genre experience, and avoided the horror side. Do you find identifying as a horror writer brings adverse reactions in writing circles (outside of horror, of course!)? How do you see the difference between horror and fantasy, if you see one at all?
Horror is definitely a wildly misunderstood genre. As a purveyor of the genre for most of my life (thanks, R.L. Stine), I’ve been fortunate enough to see the breadth of what horror has to offer. It’s not all blood, guts, and gore. The best horror that I’ve seen is horror that focuses on humanity. Holds a mirror to society. Makes you deeply connect with the flaws of a character, and makes you want to root for them to win in a way that I don’t often get with other genres.
To me, horror is real. I don’t always want happy endings, because a lot of the time in real life, happy endings don’t come—at least, not in the way we want them. I want real risks in fiction. I want to tackle real fears and issues I face, to see how other characters face those obstacles and overcome them. When writing my own horror, I write the things I’m scared of—so that I may learn. So that I may experience. So that I may overcome.
Oftentimes, other writers don’t understand this. I’ve certainly been in rooms where people have visibly judged me when I announce the kind of work I write. In some writing circles, there is a built-in snobbery, and unfortunately horror doesn’t make the acceptable list.
A few writers change their mind when I tell them of the 12million downloads we’ve generated on “The Other Stories” podcast, or the number of times I’ve hit the #1 spot on Amazon with my horror.
But even then, those people are in the minority.
I think the main piece of advice I can give to anyone experiencing this within their own genre is this: find your tribe.
Thriller and romance are two of the most popular genres in the world (available in every airport, supermarket, library, subway stand), and yet, there are people that don’t like those books.
Not everyone is going to be a fan of your work, or what you do. That’s okay. There are 8.2 billion humans in this world. No matter what you write, someone out there will enjoy it and beg you for more.
Do it for them.
As for the differences between horror and fantasy, I view horror fiction as a feeling, while I view fantasy as a genre. Horror may bleed into fantasy, and fantasy may bleed into horror, but both genres still feel distinctly different. Game of Thrones, I would argue, is a fantasy tale with horror elements. Frankenstein is a horror with fantasy elements.
Either way they play well, and I don’t think it’s worth writers getting hung up on the distinction. Focus on the tropes of each genre to deliver a great storyline, let your fantasies be dark, or let your horrors be fantastical.
Remember, there are no rules.
Your approach to work
When writing post-apocalyptic fiction and other dark matters, how do you take care of your mental health?
Strangely enough, I write dark fiction, partly, because it helps my mental health.
Writing is cathartic. On the page, I can create whatever I want to. I can explore whatever I feel like exploring. I can kill characters who resemble people I know in real life, and I can make them fall in love. I can process the death of family members by channeling the experience through characters, and I can fight the monsters that keep me up at night—and win.
Writing is my therapy. Ask almost anyone who knows me, and they’ll tell you they’re surprised that I write horror. I’m a cheery guy. Outgoing. Chatty. I love a good laugh, and I care about the people I love deeply.
I strongly believe, in part, that this is because I exorcise the demons in my writing. My latest project (currently shopping to agents, “The Nowhere Line”) is a vivid fictional retelling of one of the darkest periods I’ve had to endure in my own life. It allows me to have the conversations that couldn’t be spoken. It gives me permission to let out my anger at the injustices and horrors I had to face alone. I can use metaphor and euphemism and symbolism to hone my writing into something artistic, poetic, and that could genuinely help someone else down the line.
Without this outlet, I don’t know what I’d do (maybe sleepwalk the halls a night and scratch my rage into the walls until my fingernails snap and bleed).
That’s the power and the beauty of art. Every word typed is individual. Every thought is unique. Nobody on planet Earth has written the same tale in the same sequence of letters, words, and sentences as you have (ever wondered why it was called a “novel?”), and no one ever will.
Unless you “write” using AI.
But that’s a whole different topic of discussion.
How on earth have you written more than 70 books in 10 years?! What’s your productivity secret?
There are a few ways I can tackle this question, as some of my circumstances have been pretty unique over the years, yet some of my methods are global and available to all.
Here are the things that I (and every writer across the world) have control over, and can utilise to become more productive to write more stories:
- Consistency — carve a moment every day (5-10 minutes), or as many days throughout the week as you can. Sit your ass down. Write. This is how we start. Back in 2014 I would give myself 10 minutes of writing time each day. I would manage around 150-200 bad words. I would pat myself on the back, and go on with my life. After a month, I had 6,000 words. After 6 months I had 36,000 words. By the end of the year, I had written a novel’s worth of words.
- Just write — As I said earlier, first drafts are for your eyes only. Stop trying to reach perfection when you’re drafting. Stop judging each letter and word and chapter. Write forward (without constantly going back and checking your work) until that full first draft is done. Fix it later. Get the story down. The words will fix themselves when the first draft is complete. Trust me. I’ve coached dozens of authors into finishing their first drafts in one month by using this mindset.
- Accountability buddies — For the love of God, don’t do it alone. Writing is already lonely work, so find your tribe. Find a friend, find someone online—find anyone—who is willing to hold you to account, and who you can bounce back and forth your ideas with. While I started my journey alone, I cannot give enough credit to finding Luke Kondor along the way. Without his encouragement and example, I would not be typing this right now.
There are many more tips and tricks that I could share, those are certainly the big (sometimes unpopular) ones. Commit. Do it regularly. Give yourself permission to write sh*t. Find a friend. Eventually, the numbers rack up.
(Pictured: Just some of Daniel Willcocks’ 70+ books)
As for the things I was oddly fortunate enough to utilise, but which are fairly unique to my own circumstances:
- Co-writing — I have co-written many stories, and co-edited many anthologies. One of the fun things with these kinds of co relationships is that you can be more productive with your work. In 2016, Luke Kondor and I worked on two books together at once. I would draft one, while Luke would draft the other. We’d swap for edits. Swap again. Boom. Two books done in the time it would take to do one. (If you’d like to learn how I manage my author collaborations, you can check out my book “Collaborations for Authors.”)
- COVID — In 2020 the world shut down, and I wrote and produced 20 books. At this point in my career, I had just gone full time as a writer. The world was locked down. There was very little else to do to keep me sane. I had beginner energy from starting my new life, and a lot of time to use it on.
- Ghostwriting — Around this time I also started ghostwriting for international fiction clients, writing books in a system in which I was allowed to prioritise writing without worrying too much about marketing or editing. I was a word machine, and I had a team around me who made sure I could keep churning out stories. It was a good (and tiring) year.
Mostly though, it’s the first three points that keep me writing new fiction. Consistency really is key. Small efforts each day rack up. Check out James Clears’ “Atomic Habits” if you’re interested in the science of why and how this works. And please, for the love of god, write forward, and stop trying to write perfect stories. They don’t exist. Trust me.
Overall, despite how unique some of my circumstances have been, I know that the core of what I do can be replicated by many (and has). After several years spent coaching authors, I’ve seen the effects of my methods, and I’m glad to learn that it’s not magic.
You just have to put in the work.
Your bio says you ghostwrite – does that include fiction? How does that work?
Ghostwriting was a core part of my author business from 2019 – 2022. My work was 95% fiction, spanning the genres of urban fantasy, thriller, LitRPG, and more.
Ghostwriting varies from project to project, depending on the demands of the client. For some books I was given hefty outlines, full character profiles, chapter summaries, and then asked to flesh out the summaries into full chapters so that I could bring the client’s vision to life.
For others, I was given the bare bones—main character, villain, setting—and left to use the scraps to make up a world entirely of my own.
For some projects I was paid by the word (I believe I was paid $0.08per word at the peak of my ghostwriting), with no offer of royalties or recognition (hence “ghost”).
For others, I received a lower upfront pay, with the opportunity to earn a small percentage of the royalties based on the books’ success.
The unifying factor is that my name was never credited on any of the works. I have over 35 novels (across four series) in the wild that I will never receive credit for, but I don’t mind this at all. During my ghostwriting, I had the chance to work with some great editors and creatives, and to learn how to write in genres which intrigued me, but which I wouldn’t want my name attached to for fear of diluting the brand that I’ve made with my dark fiction.
I am proud of these books, but they are not the books I want to write. Ghostwriting is a great way to make a living if you’re unconfident in your writing and want to work with creatives before putting your own work out. It’s a great way to earn money as a creative alongside your own projects, providing more stable income than royalties often give. It’s a good way to bring your projects to life as a creative if you think you don’t have any writing talent.
While people have mixed opinions on the ethics of ghostwriting (I fully understand them, though I don’t always agree with them), there are many pros and cons for why you would want to get involved. I could not be more grateful for my time working with my clients, and it’s gratifying to see many of my books with hundreds of five star reviews in multiple languages…
…even if no one will ever know that I wrote them…
Read previous columns
Ask an expert
- September 2025: Working with book bloggers, with Kayleigh Dobbs of Happy Goat Horror
- August 2025: Websites for creatives, with E.M. Faulds
- July 2025: Anthologies, with Dan Coxon
- June 2025: Self-publishing, with AK Faulkner
- May 2025: Indie presses, with Black Shuck Books’ Steve J Shaw
- April 2025: Being a traditionally-published author with Adrian Tchaikovsky
- March 2025: SFFH artwork with Jenni Coutts
Ask an agent, with Laura Bennett:
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