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.

A quiet drink

0120 hours local cycle time, September 15, 4 A.I. 

John Parker peered out the steelglass window, taking another sip of the bland tasting synthetic alcohol. He was lost in the stars, absently counting them in his head as he surveyed their beauty. Then a salvage junker passed by the window, obscuring his view. Leaning back in the uncomfortable seat, John scowled at the dingy bar. The alcohol was terrible and from the looks of the patrons, the company not much better. Of course, it was his own fault he’d spent all these hours here – he had been viable for a seat of honor at the wedding reception. But he couldn’t stomach it, and barely made it to the actual ceremony.

 He contemplated his drink, wondering with a surge of irritation why it had to be the dark blue colour that it was. His train of thought was interrupted by a pair of recently polished combat boots slamming onto the table, spilling some of the offending liquor. He glanced up, and was not surprised at who it was.

 ”Why aren’t  you at the reception, Leanne? I thought you liked that sort of thing.”

 Leanne Michaels, feet propped up on the table with crossed legs and her hands comfortable behind her head, smiled winningly. He returned her smile with a raised eyebrow as he leaned back in his own seat, taking his drink with him for another tentative sip.

 ”You, John, are a grumpy old bastard.”

 ”Right. So it’s over, then? The two lovebirds are on their way planetside to doubtless fuck like rabbits?”

 Leanne shook her head slightly, sighed “You know, you really could have tried to put in an appearance at the reception. He has been your friend, oh, six-odd years? Damn! Are you trying to set a new standard for antisocial gunmen?”

 ”Mmm. Look, that isn’t my kind of thing. It’s too-”

 ”Emotional.”

 ”Yeah.”

 They were both silent for a moment, Leanne regarding John thoughtfully while he stared into his drink vacently.

 ”You met before the Infection, you and Rick.” Leanne prodded.

 ”Yeah. I was fresh out of the Galactic Corp with a shiny new bounty hunter’s license and he was an impressionable young merchant who’d just gotten his first, privately owned ship. I’ll never forget the first time I saw him – getting the shit beat out of him by two heavies in a seedy dive on Mars. I helped him out, he offered me a discount on a ride and hell, we’ve stuck together ever since. We work well together, I suppose.” reminisced John, scratching his stubble as he stared out the window.

 ”What about Belinda?”

 ”We met her when the Gaunts were starting the attack. She was one of the last pilots ferrying people off Earth, stayed behind for too long and her ship was damaged. We were in the area ourselves, heard her mayday and Rick decided to go for it. I remember telling him it was insane, there was no time… But damn, the kid pulled it off. Almost got us killed, but he pulled it off. Hey,” he realized all of a sudden “You’d know all this anyway. I’m sure Belinda’s told you.”

 ”I know, I know. I just like the way you get that look in your eye when you talk about the ‘good old days’ before I came along and spoiled everything for you.” replied Leanne with a smile.

 ”Mmm. Hell, you didn’t spoil things, you just… Hell, you’re you and you’re part of the team, I suppose.” said John, shrugging his shoulders and taking another sip of his drink.

 ”I’m guessing that’s as close as you’ll ever get to complimenting someone to their face.”

 John raised an eyebrow. Leanne looked away and gazed thoughtfully out the window at the stars. Shrugging slightly, John leaned back in his seat and regarded his drink.

 ”What was it like being raised on Earth, anyway?” she asked suddenly.

 John pondered for a moment, shrugged “It was pretty damn boring, really. You were more a number than a person. Down there, they’d made sure things were that orderly, so nothing would go wrong. Troublemakers were dealt with pretty severely, so everyone kept straight. It was kind of stagnant. It was pure luck more than anything else that got me selected for the GC. Got into it when I was 16, never saw anyone I knew from Earth again. I didn’t look back. Earth… It wasn’t like living. It was more just existing.”

 ”I grew up on the Carcosa Belt, on a mineral farm.”

 Looking up, John was clearly surprised. Leanne was normally closed mouth about her past, not that he had ever made any effort to find out about it.

 ”That must have been rough.”

 ”It was. The mineral farming areas were made for making money. The corporations that controlled them were only interested in output so we didn’t see much in the way of luxuries. Even when we were young, we had to be in shifts manning the defense cannons in case a smaller asteroid was coming for the dome. Inside the dome, the life support was practically non-existant. You had to wear a breathing mask and warm clothes or you’d choke, freeze. Going outside the dome was deadly, because of the Gaunts. This was back when they were classed as ‘lower life forms’, so no one bothered to help us with them, until they were a threat to everyone else.”

 There was a short silence. John took a sip of his drink, shrugged.

 ”Sounds a lot more interesting than Earth.”

 Leanne looked from the window and over to John, her features twisting into anger as he took her feet off the table and sat up. He was a little surprised – Leanne was always good tempered.

 ”Interesting? INTERESTING? We risked dying every fucking day, John! We didn’t know what would happen, whether it was going to be a meteor or Gaunts breaking through or just simple life support failure! God damn it, John! You were lucky. What did you ever have to worry about? Being bored? Let me tell you, I would have welcomed a day where I was bored!”

 A few heads were turning, but Leanne took no notice, focusing on the surprised John.

 ”Why, John? You make it so hard to be your friend! You put on that bullshit tough guy facade, acting like you’re all worldly and wise. Oh, so you got to tour the universe for sixteen years! Try living in a dome on the Carcosa Belt for twenty-five fucking years! You think you’re so knowledgable about life, death and people? What would you know, really? You’re too scared to go out and really experience it! Your youth was so stale that you still don’t know how to live. Let me tell you something. On Carcosa, you live from day to day. You don’t bottle up your emotions. Happy times – times like the one you decided you were too hardcore for – were times that we treasured and made the most of!  Anyone who ever lived there, we take what happiness we can from every situation. There’s no bullshit.”

 ”Leanne, I-”

 She didn’t let him gain a foothold. “You put others down, act high and mighty, and for what? For what, John? Does that really make you so happy? Are you even happy at all? I’ve seen you mope around the way you do and it’s pathetic, to be honest. Something good happens, you brush it off as if it means nothing. John, two of your closest friends have gotten married to each other and they are the happiest I’ve ever seen them.”

 John tried again “Hey now…”

 ”Just be yourself, John. The facade you have, sure it works for you, but it’s not going to make you happy and it’s going to drive everyone away. Rick and Belinda weren’t as happy as they could have been, you know why? Because you weren’t there. As much of a prick you are, you’re also a good person, a decent, caring man. They can see that, and that’s why you’re important to them.”

 Leanne took a deep breath, staring at John with hard eyes. For once, he couldn’t hold her gaze and looked down at the table. Leanne stood.

 ”You really need to re-evaluate where you stand, or you’re going to lose everything, John. And you know what? I don’t want to see that. Because I know that you’re a decent, caring person. A good person. You just won’t show it. You won’t fucking show it, damn you.”

 With that, Leanne stalked out of the bar. John stared after her, flabbergasted, then noticed the other patrons staring. Some of them were snickering. With an angry growl John stood up and left, feeling humiliated.

 The worst of it was, he knew she was right.

Tentative steps

This is the beginning of what is going to be my “author blog”. I’ll post my thoughts on writing, my ideas and the creative process.

I will also post story fragments and excerpts, and the occasional short story.

My influences are primarily Lovecraft and his circle but also include C.S. Lewis, Christopher Lloyd and a little Tolkien. I also am influenced by several science-fiction authors - Isaac Asimov and Orson Scott Card to name a few. I’m currently reading up on Lovecraft’s own influences, starting with Arthur Machen. Last night I read The Novel of the Black Seal and found it very much to my liking. It was easy to see where Lovecraft’s ideas were seeded. I look forwards to reading more.

At this point my plans are to work on stories to submit to various magazines. While I have written a lot in my time(much juvenilia), much of that has been lost. Perhaps one day I’ll find it and post some of it here.

Well, we’ll see where we go from here then…