Writing/personal update

Wrote some more of ‘The Gaunt Infection’, specifically, extending the Rickert’s Folly story. It’s starting to turn into something quite interesting I think, developing slowly.

Also, I’ve just about finalized the first main concepts for ‘Bonecity’.  Perhaps soon I’ll post a bit of what I’ve got.

I’ve been looking back at older bits and pieces of stories I’ve written and I believe that with some work I can fit them into some of the ‘empty spaces’ that I have with some of the settings here. It will also give them an update. I’m pleased that some of them stand up quite well to a rereading, too.

A break in my studies is coming up - I’m going to motivate myself to keep this updated more than I did last break(and, indeed, more than I have lately).

As far as my studies go, they’re going well. Coming up to the end of semester, so there’s the requisite exams and assignments that must be finalized. I’ve all but completed the last two I have, and I just have three more exams and a presentation to get through. First exam is today, second is tomorrow and the third is next Monday. The presentation will be next Tuesday(which is related to one of the assignments) and I have to hand in my final assignment on the following Friday. Everything is going smoothly and I’m quite confident in regards to the assignments and exams.

What have I done?!

Recently I did a bit of writing that took me by surprise.

The inspiration came with a jolt and it continued to flow in a steady stream. After about 7.3 pages of writing I stopped and just stared. I was amazed. Usually I did not write so much so soon after a new idea had been concieved yet - there it was.

What was the most disturbing about this was the genre it was in. I had written the beginnings of a romantic story. There was no cosmic horror, no lurking creatures. And I enjoyed writing it.

This doesn’t mean I’m going to make a ‘romance’ catagory or whatnot, don’t worry. And writing romance isn’t something alien to me - but making it the sole focus of a story, making romantic goals the main motivation behind the characters - I hadn’t done that before.

I’ll be writing some more of it as time goes on. I’m still surprised at myself at this point however.

‘Strange Angles’ excerpt

 I called upon him at his house which was merely a block from the University. Upon knocking I waited for a good five minutes before he answered. I was shocked at his appearance. It seemed Alfred had not groomed himself for some time. He immediately pulled me indoors and led me upstairs, talking nonstop in a half-hysterical tone that gave me warning chills down my spine.

 

 ‘You wouldn’t believe the kind of inspiration that diagram holds! It is inconceivable the kinds of visions that run through my mind as I behold it. It is the utter otherworldliness of the design, the stark alien wonderment of it. The vistas and entire worlds that it provokes into my mind are beyond anything I have ever imagined!

 

 ‘You will need to prepare yourself before coming into the art room. The sights are frightening to an unprepared mind. I must also warn you that the style is extremely different from my previous works.’

The bubbling pot

I’ve been mulling over ideas for the Bonecity setting at the moment. I have the seeds of a story that I think will introduce the setting for what it is beautifully - yet at the same time I have other ideas that don’t fit in.

This is the bubbling pot in my head. Things come up, choice pieces, tidbits and I snatch them up. But sometimes other things come up that while nice, they do not meld with the rest of what I have gathered - so I throw them into the overflow pot to sort later. From the latest chunks I’ve thrown in there, I can see the beginnings of a story - not for any particular setting I’ve already nutted out, but a standalone piece.

Back to that in another post, however. Here I want to ramble a bit about perspectives relating to reading and watching a movie. I have come up with several ways in that people will meet an unpleasant end. The problem that arises however is that some of them simply do not work well in a litery sense. One of them involved someone being pulled inside of their fridge.

The problem that arises here though is that I don’t want to give(at this point) a definate form to what it is that ‘eliminates’ the characters. Being pulled into a fridge is all very well but unless there is another character there to give the readers a third person view of the action(so to speak) then I would need to descrive the nature of them being pulled in.

This third person would be watching the hapless character that opens the fridge, and watch as somehow they were pulled inside - the fridge door blocking the view of any sort of appendage or mystical black hole. In that case I would be able to describe it from their point of view but as it does not do for other characters to be present in the context of what the story is about, I don’t have that option.

That’s just an example of one of the things I had thought of. It seems that for some things, a third person perspective is required - be it another character or people viewing a scene of the event - to keep the air of mystery about it until it is time for it to be exposed.

Bonecity isn’t so much about thrashing slimy tentacles and endless mouths of teeth. It’s theme is more of decay and unsettling events and sights. Of course that doesn’t count the tentacles out - I love a good tentacular monster with a gaping maw - but I think I have enough places for those without introducing them here at this point!

Realization:YouAreNotReal

Before:
Something terrible happened. 

1920:
Cityview Apartments opened.

Now:
Over the time period from when the apartments opened until now, 74  of the people who have stayed here over the years have disappeared under odd circumstances. It is believed that some of them simply wished to drop out of sight - there was no evidence of anyone having lived in the apartment they were supposed to be living in.

Reality:
I am real. I know that for a fact - but so do you. But that’s neither here nor there. You’re not real, I am. Unless you’re one of the real people - one of the 74 real people that lived here, or one of the few that are living here now.

Conclusion:
Something terrible happened here a long time ago that affects Cityview Apartments, and maybe this whole city. The real world most likely does not know anything about this whole city. Maybe they’ll find it when enough people have been lost.

It’s all working up to something - the dreams are the key.
I’m very tired, but the building doesn’t let me sleep. Damn this place. This whole damn city, damn it all to…

No, that’s no possible. This is hell.

Rickert’s Folly

 “I don’t believe in evil, I believe only in horror. In nature there is no evil, only an abundance of horror: the plagues and the blights and the ants and the maggots.”
Isak Dinesen

‘Rickert’s Folly‘ Mining Post, Carcosa Belt
0530 hours Sol Standard time, Febuary 2, 4 A.I

The rusty taint of recycled air was something John could never get used to. He scowled as he studied the layout of the small mining outpost as portayed by some old blueprints, spread out on a table in said outpost’s mess hall.

“Alright. I think we can do this.”

He looked up. Mathers, the leader of the outpost militia and the only surviving officer, gave him an expectant stare. Leanne and Belinda looked up from their hushed conversation with the tired aid personnel. Rick just kept staring blankly at the blueprints, sitting at the table. A few other attending workers moved closer to hear the plan that would hopefully save them.

“Since we’ve got the EMP cannons running again, they can’t risk an air assault on us. They can attack either from the pass towards the landing pad or at the front gates. Those routes offer the most cover from defensive fire. Given that they know they can’t breach the front gates, we can assume they will probably attack from the south.” John paused, glanced about and then continued. “This is our weak spot. We can only have approximately ten men effectively defending the entrance. There’s not enough room or cover for any more.”

“Wait.” Mathers pointed to a purple line near the door in question, struck by inspiration. “That’s a dust venting duct right there. Since we’re not operating, we can turn it off, maybe get someone in there to be a sniper?”

John shook his head slowly. “No. We need our defenders to be mobile. Remember they have at least two snipers of their own, with better weapons and better cover options. It’s too risky. Otherwise, it’s a good idea.”

“What’re we gonna do about those two bastards anyway?” queried a burly miner with a perpertual scowl. He’d watched three of his fellows be gunned down by the snipers in question and was eager for some sort of payback.

“Just keep moving. If we take enough of their assault down, the snipers aren’t going to stick around.” John gave the miner a serious look. “Don’t go running off with any heroics. You need to keep your head, take down the assault and be methodical and as calm as possible.” He paused and glanced around. “That goes for all of you.”

“What if there’s too many of them?” asked another miner.

John looked over to him grimly. “If we hold them off long enough, it doesn’t matter.”

“Ion storm reducing intensity.” declared the outpost PA system. The room galvanized into action. Rick, Leanne and Belinda hurried out together.

*

It was a constant in space – stale, recycled air. The rebreather was bulky but functional at least. John only wished there the atmosphere generators could put out more heat. Even in his deepspace jacket it was terribly cold outside the outpost.

“Remember, wait for them to reach the small crater before opening fire. We need to conserve our ammo.” reminded John as he hefted his rifle.

This entrance was but a service door to the landing pad which was currently occupied by the pirates. Fortunately they had overlooked it in their original attack on the outpost but now it was their only way in and they intended to use it. Thankfully the path was essentially a fissure in the rock. It was almost like a shooting gallery if it were not for the many outcrops that provided excellent cover for would-be attackers.

It was always agonizing waiting for the first shot. The pirates didn’t fire at first, just moving quickly from cover to cover. John threw a quick glance towards the nine others. A few showed fear, some determination – all anger. It was disgraceful, he thought, the way pirates would attack all but undefended colonies without even offering a chance to surrender.

All those thoughts immediately were screwed up into a tiny little ball and thrown into the back of his brain when the first shots were fired. Immediately the pirates went for cover but several went down in the initial confusion. John counted three motionless bodies.

They returned fire, causing the miners to duck behind the rock. John waited a moment then peered out and sent several slugs into the chest of an appoaching enemy. From the sheer volume of black-clad pirates, it didn’t look very hopeful.

“They must have gotten reinforcements!” hollered Mathers as he fired a quick burst from his aging ex-GDC issue rifle. John was about to reply when there was a shout over the small local comnet.

“This is Keller, we’ve got an assault on the front gate! They’ve got a fucking bazooka!”

“Shit! Mathers, hold the line here.” Without further ado, John rushed back through the damaged airlock. He ushered a man out to replace himself. “Six of you, with me.” He then moved rapidly through the base towards the front gate.

A resounding explosion and following shudder indicated that there’d been some heavy weapons firing. “Front, what’s the situation?” bawled John into the headset.

“They’ve breached the door, charg-aaarh!” The transmission was cut off in a flurry of gunfire.

“Dammit! Come on, move!” roared John.

The door to the entrance hall swished open in front of John, revealing one of the pirates standing right there. John immediately swung his rifle, cracking the man’s jaw with the butt and them firing upon the others behind him before dodging back to avoid a hail of gunfire.

One of the miners rolled a grenade through the door. It went off with a ‘thwud’ and men screamed and died. John led the charge into the room and rushed toward the breached gate. “Set up defensive positions and let ‘em have it!”

He gasped suddenly as a bullet skimmed his shoulder, tearing his coat. Cold knifed into the wound immediately and John turned in time to see another man finish off the badly wounded pirate that had tried one last shot.

“You alright, Parker?”

“I’m fine.” he waved off their concern and peered through the breach. “Looks clear, unless they have more ammo for that rocket launcher. Someone go take Keller’s place and keep this place buttoned up tight.”

He ran into Leanne on the way back to the first entry point. He grabbed her arm, fixing her with an intent gaze. “Yes, no?” She nodded and grinned. John took a deep breath. “Excellent. Come with me.”

Back at the airlock near the service entrance, John was dismayed to see eleven wounded men with what appeared to be quite serious injuries being tended to as best as the medics could do. He rushed outside and into cover, following by Leanne(just fixing her rebreather into place). He cursed when he saw Mathers lying with half of his head messing, his brains leaking onto the uncaring rock and already starting to freeze. Another glance confirmed seven other men still fighting.

The pirates had attempted several charges, owing to the amount of bodies littered on the ground. An uneasy thought struck John – why were they so desperate to take this outpost? This was quickly removed from his mind when a sniper bolt exploded into the rock behind him.

“Dammit, no wonder we’ve got so many casulties – they’re halfway up the damn cliff and can see right into half of our damn cover!” John added a few other choice words.

“Don’t worry.” said Leanne, shouldering her rifle and firing towards the cliffs. Glancing upwards John made out a figure falling downwards. He smiled inwardly as he renewed the attack on the invaders. He tried not to look at how many had already fallen.

A loud metallic moaning suddenly filled the thin air, and John let out a breath of relief. The inner hanger door in the roof of the outpost was opening, and Rick and Belinda would be providing air support.

Were they actually going to win, John wondered.

A scream distracted him. A young miner had been hit and had fallen out of cover, the body of one of his comrades saving him from being immediately shredded with bullets. Cursing wildly John rushed out of cover and grabbed the man, practically flinging him behind an outcrop. He rushed after him hurriedly, feeling several bullets whip by rapidly.

From above there was a loud whine of engines followed by nearly deafening volley of laser fire. Fire from the enemies immediately halted as the powerful lasers ate through with explosive effectiveness, blasting hideous chunks out of the unfortunates caught in the path of the volley.

Suddenly there was a shuddering underfoot. It seemed like the entire asteroid was quaking. A sense of extreme nausea and irrational panic and fear went over John – then that was it. All was silent back from the soft whine of the engines of Rick’s ship.

“We did it.”

*

He patiently sat on the administrator’s desk as Belinda meticulously bandaged his shoulder after extracting the bullet, cleaning the wound and applying disinfectant. He nodded thanks as she tucked it in, then looked over to Rick and Leanne.

“Think they’ll forgive us for the late shipment?” he asked with a smirk.

“Something tells me that’s the last thing on their mind.” replied Rick with a grin.

“There was something fishy about that attack…” mumbled Leanne thoughtfully. “…they can’t have been normal pirates. There had to have been more than plunder for them here… But what?”

Belinda rolled her eyes as she sat down next to Rick. “They’re pirates.” she sniffed. “Graceless and boorish. Much like our Mr. Parker.” She replied to his glower with a sweet smile, Leanne and Rick laughing.

John would have chuckled wryly, but he had just remembered the odd feeling after the inexplicable ‘earthquake’.

Planning images

At the moment the banner at the top is admittedly drab. This is going to change in time(fingers crossed). I’m going to have some pictures taken to make it up. The subject will chiefly be some kind of hapless investigator in some kind of eerie surrounds.

The ‘hapless investigator’ is going to be myself. As for the eerie surrounds, living near the bush gives me an excellent selection of them. There’s some odd stone blocks of some kind in some parts of the bush - seemingly a part of the rock they’re resting on, some with a metal bar sticking up from them. There’s also a few caves and a valley full of rocks, and a creek further down. On a cloudy, drizzly day these all can look quite forboding.

I’m going to have some kind of ‘ancient documents’ to use as a prop, mostly referring to them as I inspect something odd. But I’m going to take care that I am not the central subject of the photo - merely a part of a scene. I have faith in my chosen photographer that he will be able to do such a thing perfectly.

Is what I want to write what people want to read?

Harry Potter. A tale of magic and adventure, where friendship and love help the heroes through the tribulations that assail them.

The Cthulhu Mythos. Humanity isn’t even destined to be a footnote in the history of the cold, uncaring universe. Concepts such as love and hope mean nothing and are just illusions put in place so that humanity does not have to face the fact that they are a fleeting and hopeless race.

Part of the reason people want to read stories like Harry Potter is because of the lift it gives them. Everyone likes a happy ending - even I do. The heroes might suffer, some of them may even meet their end(however untimely) but in the end the good guys win through. The relationships the characters have with each other are meaningful and heart-warming - the conflicts that are there are generally fleeting. This sort of story sells.

Do I want to write that kind of story? Not really. Most of my writing has a gloomy theme lurking somewhere if not overtly in the foreground. I might have these seperate settings, but they are united by the thread of horror that is in them all. Limiting myself? Perhaps. But I should write what I want to write. If I write what I don’t want to, it’s going to turn out to be a pretty poor piece, isn’t it?

In the end what do I want to do with my writing? Make a living out of it maybe, recieve some recognition? If I want to write for money then it’s an obvious choice what to write. The Harry Potter fans are more than ready to pick up some more of the same themes and heroes, I’m sure. But in the end that’s not what I want to write about.

What is being a ’successful writer’, really? Is it making a living off your writing, having it paying the bills? Or is it simply getting something out there? Is the success that comes from writing in essence a personal success that only matters to the writer?

I ask myself, why do you want to write, really? I know that I’d like to make a living out of writing, acting too(a pipe dream of course). But is it possible to ‘make a living’ and still write what you want to write? If I wrote a book that everyone loved, had the critics calling me “the next J.K. Rowling”… Would I regard that as a success personally?

At this point(having not sold any of my writing), I don’t think so. The kind of themes that people want to read aren’t what I want to convey within my writing. The themes prelavant in the Cthulhu Mythos generally are what you would call ‘negative’. And that’s just not the kind of fantasy people want to immerse themselves into.

Guillermo Del Toro is in the role of writer and director for the movie adaption of H.P. Lovecraft’s “At the Mountains of Madness”. He says, regarding his attempts at convincing Warner Bros to back his film: “The studio is very nervous about the cost and it not having a love story or a happy ending, but it’s impossible to do either in the Lovecraft universe.”

If it had a love story and/or a happy ending, I’m fairly sure the cost would be a little less of an issue. Maybe not much, but a little. And that’s because that’s what people want - they want to see love and happiness. But why? I’m sure there’s some people out there who have such a bad go of things that when it comes to their entertainment, they don’t want to be bogged down with anything depressing but them aside… People say they like to be scared, right? Wrong. They like to have something leap out and make them jump. That’s not horror. Seeing a body get chopped up by a madman, that’s not horror anymore.

In today’s fast paced world, I suppose the slow, lurking horror that is the realization of one’s true position in an uncaring universe just can’t catch up. It’s a concept that perhaps a lot of people would have trouble grasping. But then, that’s the point of it in the end.

*”The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.”

Maybe it’s for the best.

*’The Call of Cthulhu’, H.P. Lovecraft

‘He was destined to be a hero…’

 Teren gripped his sword determinedly, staring across the ash-covered town square at his foes. Berliana, the necromancer’s daughter, laughed as she made a languid gesture. The shambling corpses that had once been Teren’s fellow villagers - friends, family and fiance included - advanced towards him.

 ”I am surprised that you have survived this long - but it matters not. It has merely been additional entertainment for me. I think that you will make an excellent Doom Knight, young swordsman.”

 Teren didn’t answer. He could not afford to as the undead enclosed in on him, tightening in a circle. The ash from the bonfires that surrounded the now-ruined village clogged in his throat and stung his nostrils. His leather jerkin was ripped and tattered from the ghouls he had dispatched in the town hall earlier, and his sword arm ached.

 The first of the creatures lunged. With a roar, Teren swung his razor sharp sword in vicious arcs, the metal singing as it cut through air, dead flesh and bone alike. He spun and kicked an approaching creature in the chest, knocking it backwards into its fellows. He turned and struck the head off another one, recognizing it in an instant as Corval, the blacksmith.

 Having watched the ghouls feast on the children of the village earlier, Teren felt absolutely nothing.

 Gripping the sword with both hands, he cut through the mass of undead, bursting out of the crowd and making for the collapsed fountain, towards Berliana. Smiling, she pointed towards him with a slender finger. A dark purplish ray shot forth. Teren dodged to the side, then dived forward to avoid the next one. As he came up in a roll, another hit him square in the chest.

 Berliana laughed, watching the magic jolt through the man. He doubled over, gasping in agony… Then stood, the last vestiges of the death spell running off his body. Berliana gasped. A young man, a swordsman from a nothing village, had resisted a horrific death spell.

 She screamed as he thrust his sword into her, through her thin silks and deep into her black heart. The dying woman tried to shout out a curse, but was cut off by Teren viciously punching her in the face with his free hand, breaking her nose with a crunch. He twisted the blade as he pulled it out, a thin smile of satisfaction touching his lips at her agony-contorted features.

 ”When your father brings you back, tell him that the time of his doom has come. I will find him, and I will send him to the Abyss where you can both stay for the rest of eternity. Tell him that the name of his doom is Teren Thatchwood.”

 He pulled the sword out from her chest, and before she slumped to the ground he swung his sword again, lopping off her head. Behind him, the undead fell lifelessly, the magic spell that animated them broken. Wiping the blood and gristle from his sword, Teren went about piling the bodies together. They would burn with the village. But they would not be forgotten.

 They would be avenged.

Story settings

I have a number of different settings that I write in. I was going to make a post about one of them in particular when I realized I didn’t have anything to call it. Just referring to it as ‘the one in the story I posted last’ or ‘the one with X in it’ doesn’t do. So, I’m going to give each of my settings different names.

Most of the ones here I haven’t put anything in on yet, being as I’ve only put one story fragment in as it is. I’ll name it and give a brief rundown on it.

Dwynwald - Fantasy - An idyllic land is thrown into war when invaders attack from the sea and vicious creatures emerge from the mountains and mines. Many leagues away such a war has been raging for some time in another land where the plans of the invaders are all too obvious.

The Gaunt Infection - Science Fiction - Humanity has expanded to the galaxy and beyond, but Earth has been infested with insect-like aliens from deep space. And there are still horrors to be found lurking on the borderworlds…

Working for the Government - Horror/Drama - A man works for a covert operations group that specializes in neutralizing threats in Australia. His mind permenantly damaged by the terrors he has witnessed, can he love someone without that love being tainted by his own battered psyche?

Bonecity - Horror - In the not too distant future, the decaying heart of the city has sucked up so much sadness, violence and terror that it has awoken - a malignant entity that preys on the alone and the weak.

The C’thulhu Mythos - Horror - Not my own setting of course, but it is one that I do write in.