Literary Theory

Oh, yeah. It’s a whole study session for the Friday films. Rest assured that there’s not Lovecraft apologetics here, either– our presenter is not afraid to call a insulated xenophobe exactly that. It’s just an excellent extended consideration of cosmic horror, using the work of the uncomfortable poster-child of the genre.

As a bonus– a cool cat!

Today’s pen: Pelikan M600
Today’s ink: Noodler’s Dumas Tulipe Noire

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Making Good

This has not been a stellar week, to be honest, although I’m pleased on the writing front. A co-worker has suddenly decided that retirement now is preferable to retirement with a full pension, causing much disruption in the daytime. I managed to actually get ink on my fingers when filling a pen, a thing I’ve managed to avoid (leaving the TWSBI Go out of it) for at least ten years. My sleep has been interrupted by terrible dreams– not like this one, which is fine, but a bleak exercise in cleaning a bed soiled by an infirm grandparent might be worse because there’s nothing in it to shock a guy awake. My computer, approaching its eleventh anniversary, is beginning to fail at last, a development which is definitely affecting updates of my site and a lot of other stuff I want to accomplish.

And yet, not only is there the writing to cling to, but I stumbled upon a delightful series of comedic shorts which (combined with Magic Brain Pills) has kept me well out of despondency. Here’s a couple of them!

Get in there before the copyright strikes start landing!

Today’s pen (also being contrary, to confirm the week): Parker 65
Today’s ink (which declines to emerge freely): Quink Turquiose (vintage)

The Light Grows Dim

That’s a rather grim title.

Well, of course, because Hallowe’en is slowly winding us in its coils, preparing to give us all a big thematic hug! HOORAH!

It is, too, the time of year when a lot of creatures start looking for places to stay warm, so be careful what you turn over when you’re out raking the leaves…

In fact, I try to leave the leaves alone entirely. It’s how you get a bonanza of ladybugs in the spring!

Today’s pen: Sheaffer Sovereign II
Today’s ink: Montblanc Royal Blue

Finding Your Voice

I’m going to mislead some people Googling for writing advice with that title. To them, I say– bang out story after story until what you’re doing reads like the whispers inside your own skull.

Now, with the first of TWO duties to assist my fellow humans out of the way, on to this week’s feature. I like doing a variety of voices when I’m reading to my son, although I have a limited repertoire (the historical portion of Red Rackham’s Treasure and its sea-farer-intensive cast is a real struggle). I thus really admire people who can shift their vocalizations around a lot:

Isn’t he a wonder? I have a second duty to a fellow human, just as self-imposed as the other. This guy, who is also adopting the voice of another, is having something of a pledge drive, and I’d like to see him prosper, so I’m boosting his signal (a very little– I’m away of my powers in this):

Today’s Pen: Montblanc 32
Today’s Ink: Diamine Oxford Blue

A Thematic Distraction

You know what’s happening right now, this very minute as I am typing these words? StokerCon!

This is not connected to my son’s still-glowing fascination with steam engines (and outside a ship they tend to be called “firemen”). No, this is a grand assembly of horror writers, and like a variety of pen shows I’ve mentioned in the past I’m not there. Since I’m not, and since I can’t revel in the fellowship of other people who strive to make the flesh of others creep and enjoy programming which caters to that kind of crowd, I’m drawing some solace from this:

For those who scrolled past with a sigh of, “Oh, not him again,” I’ll mention that I thought this wouldn’t be fodder for the Friday Films until I gave it a listen. The racism is not (entirely) ignored or glossed over.

Today’s Pen of Miserable Isolation: Montblanc 32
Today’s Ink of Overblown Self-Pity: Diamine Oxford Blue

Time for Another Story

…but not one of mine.  I happened upon a person with a very mellow voice reading one of the stories that H.P. Lovecraft wrote that isn’t tainted by racism, and I thought that would be a nice way to observe a Friday.

Note that I never said it was without problems, although it seems to me that the class and formal-education snobbery Lovecraft also dabbled in isn’t too chunky here; there’s even a bit of “experts don’t know as much as they think,” a very modern sentiment.

Today’s pen of eerily unplaceable hue: Parker Vacumatic (the shadow-wave (eek!) which as of posting time isn’t yet visible on the site)
Today’s ink, mysterious of composition: Waterman Blue, vintage

Unexpected Role Models

Today, I wasted my lunch period; rather than return the flayed flap of skin on the front of my face to the proverbial grindstone, I raced home to share the Great Eclipse(!!!) with my son.

That is pretty much the peak of totality where I was standing.

Wait a minute… by “wasted” I mean “utilized in the best possible manner,” because while eclipses happen regularly enough, they don’t happen here a great deal; the last one like this was in 1979.  But this is all digression, really, because it is writing I will eventually touch upon.

Today at The Regular Job has been very quiet, so much so that I have tacit dispensation to do whatever I liked so long as I was handy to the telephone; thus, I have done a little tidying of the back room of my site, soon (I hope) to appear with a shiny HTTPS in its address and prevent Google from blacklisting me.  In the course of this, I found some backtracks from this very blog hiding among the apprehended spam, and entertained myself with a bit of reading– because, once upon a time, I actually produced content on this thing, some of which was vaguely amusing.

One of the items of past glory I examined was a slightly meta examination of my own writing style, which I’ll synopsize here so you don’t actually have to click that link.  I had found a place which claimed to analyse the style of any text pasted into it, and discovered that the writing of this screed as it existed then was like David Foster Wallace, H.P. Lovecraft, Mary Shelley, Cory Docotorow, and (shudder) Dan Brown.

All of which was somewhat interesting to the current version of me.  Then-Me was about a year away from getting nearly serious about fiction writing, and somewhat further away from getting as serious about it as I am now (which some might say is still “insufficiently so” but I work with what I’ve got).  What, Current-Me wondered, would be the effect of feeding some of my fiction into that purported analysis engine.  Indeed, did it still exist?

Why, yes, it did!  And here’s me with idle hands!

The results are… interesting to me.  Certainly satisfactory, although in a head-scratching way which I’ll explain presently.  As with the last attempt, I gave thing ten samples in an effort to see if there was any consistency in it.  Whole stories, too, not just snippets.  I was told with one of them that it was stylistically like the work of Arthur C. Clarke.  That story, the only one of the bunch that has yet been shown publicly, was aiming for more of an M.R. James flavour, but I will never decline to be likened to Clarke.  Two others came up with Anne Rice as the style-mirror for me, and seven of them produced Agatha Christie.

And here I became bemused.  I understand the presence of Clarke in these estimates.  Rice and Christie confuse me.  This is not a fragile male ego baulking at being compared to women, because really, honestly, that’s not the way I roll.  The source of the confusion lies in what I know about my own reading.  I have read loads of Clarke.  His influence creeping into my own work?  Sure.  However, my reading of Anne Rice is limited to Interview with The Vampire, once, in… I think 1990.  I have read Christie more recently, but rather less of her; a single story, about two years ago.  I have watched the entire run of Poirot Mysteries, but that’s hardly like reading the books upon which they are based.  The similarity of style is unlikely to be a result of emulation, however unconscious.

Bemused, then, but not exactly put out.  No reference to Dan Brown, which pleases me greatly, however commercial his work might be.  “Commercial” is a word one might apply to any of the three this recent sampling produced; not only are they all considered good writers in the literary art sense of the word (none without debate, of course– that’s art critics for you) but they have been widely published.  I am very content to be compared to people who got publication galore.

…of course, one also say “widely published” of Edward Bulwer-Lytton, for a particular period.  Ulp.

Today’s pen: Parker Senior Duofold
Today’s ink: Waterman blue (vintage)

Blast… er… Subtle Menaces From The Past!

If you’re like me, you shouldn’t be out wandering around without a minder appreciate a carefully constructed fictional reality.  There are few more careful craftsmen of such things than the HPLHS, and this little gem is one of theirs:

If that didn’t make enough sense, or is only ringing a small and distant bell, here’s the inspiration.

Today’s pen: The Nameless One (based on past entries, it moves me toward films like that)
Today’s ink: Waterman blue-black

There’s an Old Saying…

Actually, it’s a pretty new saying: Just because there’s tentacles, it’s not necessarily Lovecraftian.

The applicability of this is open to debate on today’s little film, but it’s kind of fun, so I’m open-minded.

Probably Lovecraftian.

Today’s pen: Whatever this thing is (don’t be afraid; it’s mysterious, but it’s pretty)
Today’s ink: Waterman blue-black

Olden-Timey Entertainment

Today’s film isn’t, although it comes from the usual repository.  Rather, it’s an audio drama, which in ages past was called a radio play.

It’s also good fun, if rather steeped in pastiche.  If you want to follow it, they’ve got a web-abode of their own.

Today’s pen: Parker 65
Today’s ink: Herbin Bleu Myosotis