Where Genre Meets Humanity: A Reflection on StokerCon 2026

StokerCon is a weekend that exists in perpetuity on my calendar. As soon as the dates for next year’s con become available, the countdown to one of the biggest weekends in horror fiction begins, excitement building with every passing day, week, and month. And then, it’s here: three to four days of utter chaos. There are panels, there are ceremonies, there’s catching up with old friends and meeting new ones, there are impromptu adventures, and there are more than a handful of moments of pure overstimulation. 

But what does an event like StokerCon actually mean to the world of horror fiction? Giving a definitive answer on this is hard; every attendee’s experience is so vastly different. What I can expound upon with confidence is my own experience, the “big” things that rang so true for those three or four days, and the sentiments that linger long after I’ve returned home.

If you attended Rachel Harrison’s Guest of Honor panel on Saturday morning, you probably have a good idea of where this article is headed. For those who didn’t: something happened at this panel that fundamentally informed not only my experience as an attendee, but as an aspiring fiction writer, a creative, and someone who loves the horror genre. It was a panel filled with powerhouses of the contemporary horror fiction scene: Harrison herself, of course (author of The Return, Such Sharp Teeth, Play Nice, and Kiss Slay Replay), along with Nat Cassidy (author of Mary, Nestlings, and When the Wolf Comes Home), CJ Leede (author of Maeve Fly, American Rapture, and Headlights), with She Wore Black podcast host Agatha Andrews moderating. In addition to celebrating Harrison’s accomplishments and exploring her work, the panelists engaged in a discussion that was deeply earnest, authentic, and moving. The last fifteen minutes, though, proved to be a sucker punch to the heart.

Before I get to that, you need to have some context. I entered StokerCon this year wearing a different hat than I intended to. My main goals used to be networking and promoting my podcast. This year in particular, I would also be promoting this very site, Darker Times. While I still did those things, on a personal level, I also approached the weekend wanting to depart a better writer, a better creative. Over the last few months, I’ve been writing (some days wrestling with) a first draft of what I am hoping will become something novel-shaped. In the weeks leading up to StokerCon, I silently struggled with my identity, my place in this community, how the hell any of this will ever make sense, how to grapple with being vulnerable, and how to face others eventually consuming the thing I’ve labored over in solitude for months (even longer if we’re being honest, this thing has been knocking around in my brain for years). Sitting alone with your work is a humbling exercise, especially when your place in the world doesn’t feel fully finite or confirmed just yet. 

Back to the panel: late in the session, Andrews posed a deeply meaningful question to Harrison, one that would result in a moment of magnitude with impact beyond measure: “What would you impart to a fellow creative, a young writer, someone who is still getting their footing?” The atmosphere in the room changed as Rachel answered with such vulnerability and emotion, delving into the very sentiments that I had I grappled with for weeks: the loneliness in the creative process, the demands of the craft, and the need to be around people who understand not only you, but your work. Most importantly, she delivered more than advice or platitudes. She delivered a rallying cry, a profound promise, to keep going through all of it: the hardship, the big wins, the losses, the confusion, the clarity. It was a recognition, a celebration, and a defining moment all at once. It was vital.

There was not a dry eye in the room (myself included), and that is what an event like StokerCon means to the world of horror fiction. These moments of humanity where we connect person to person and develop an empathetic language that informs the arts––transcends them, even––that’s the stuff that grows the genre. Events like these encourage and foster so many creative minds; they open doors and windows and air vents and everything in between, revitalizing and redefining what it means to create. 

I do recognize that the defining moment of my 2026 StokerCon experience is very personal to the version of myself I was on that particular day: someone who wants to tell stories that mean something. But the beautiful thing about an event like StokerCon is that there are probably an infinite amount of experiences, big and small, for every person that ring just as true. And being an attendee means that you are privy to these experiences, to seeing all the love, the growth, the hardship, the dedication, and the triumph. People watched books and authors that they have championed for months win awards. People got to tell tales that gave them confidence in their abilities to share in the art of storytelling. People met strangers and made lifelong friends. People connected not only to the genre, but to one another. If you want proof of what it means to be brave, to be vulnerable, or to be bold, this is it. 

Sitting on the plane leaving Pittsburgh, I contemplated the whirlwind of my time there, and the emotions began to flood in. Experiences like these are overwhelming for a reason: they overwhelm us, swallow us whole, and spit us out as a new person. These defining moments are the reason that growth within the genre exists, setting fire to a new set of creative minds ready to share their stories and bring the horror landscape into new territory. These connections sustain and nourish and foster what’s needed to stay relevant, to be authentic, and most of all, to be genuine. We often talk about how horror is the genre that pushes boundaries or that asks more of us as readers, to sit in our discomfort in order to grow in our convictions. And StokerCon 2026 embodied that very idea. It stressed the importance of embracing every iteration of the creative process: the wonder, the pain, the growth, and the joy. Revel in the humanity of it all.

Long live horror, long live art. Long live connection, and keep going.