In those earliest days, I dreamt up many a horror which has since become real, and by real, I mean it has been published. Now when I began this little adventure of mine, I had no thought of publishing. I was writing strictly for myself because I, for one, felt a need to write, to have an escape from the business of my day and relax with a hobby of creative means, and I had no idea what I was doing. Also, by this point, with having now at last submitted something, felt I should have something to offer beyond a half dozen stories. I mean, I thought that if I sold one, I should have another already ready if I was seriously thinking about this beyond amusing myself and concerning my close family (you know, 'cause I can't think or speak of anything else... yes, it had finally consumed me).
Then I submitted my little witch story to Weirdbook and though it did not make the cut, I believe because I, in my excitement at being on a "short list", very poorly described the final actions. Either that or it was well described enough to render what was taking place visible in a different light, one with a cheap bass riff playing in the background. This I was not going to know though for many months and when I did, it was with a request to send some more stories. That would not be until the end of the year though. I had just e-mailed that submission when I began on what my working notes called "Heart of Gold"... and yes, I heard Blondie every time that phrase passed by and now you will here it in your head too. Enjoy the really nice ear-worm. You'll be humming it all day.
At this point, March of 2017, I was still very rough around the edges with what I was doing. My process was not sharp, but the words were there, influenced heavily by my poetic past and the ideas were horrifying. While I had written a few stories back in the college days, my work was primarily in verse with a lifelong habit of reading. I think of this work as one I'm proud of though I do acknowledge it is not the quickest of paces. A quick pace though is not my intent nor should that be a standard or goal. I wanted to get to know Samuel Delrosa and I wanted my readers to get a sense of his irony.
I also wanted to get him out of my head. Delrosa was one of my earliest visitors. His story I used to help establish the earliest depictions of the town, a template I've expanded on since. The only other hints at this age of the town were in "Where Lies Hope" and "In A Meadow". Having the later in mind as I worked on this story whose title no longer felt like the "Heart of Gold", a title I knew I was going to change 'cause that is just an awful title to use but a decent place-mark with a needed hint for me to follow should I forget my inspiration. I had a hint of inspiration.
In this story I traced a geographical path, one I spent quite some time researching. Where did the Chisolm run and how long did the did it take to ride the Midnight-Loving. There is care in this. The path is laid out, the locations ensured by date and the rifle he cradles in his arms on the trail will satisfy those who know. With Voodoo under my belt from "The Witch of Pitt's Junction", I was determined at this point to make sure I didn't screw up simple historical details. This had been made apparent to me as I had, in a writers group on facebook, joined a very soon abandoned group of people who knew nothing. The first story I beta-read for one of them included zero knowledge of basic 20th Century events, such as backing the World Wars within a decade of each other. The couple others I read all held the same and it hurt... as a reader of Turtledove, I wept.
I am happily nebulous on any specific dates for at least one event which takes place in this story. I know what day one of those occurred on now but I had no idea then. As well, a hint dropped in "In A Meadow" would, by Christmas Day 2019, connect these two stories in a web that by then had grown quite intricate. Suffice it to say, the mention of a small rat-faced man and his big lug buddy in a back alley brawl, along with that hint dropped in the first story, finally came full circle... but I knew none of this at the time beyond the unnamed mentions of Leo Tarkenfeld and "Dickie" Donnely.
To be honest, I am very pleased with the horror within this story. It is, as my friend who has beta-read these for me, possibly the most horrid thing I've recorded to have happened to any character who has offered me their story. Even now as I look back on all the corpses strewn behind my pen, this one does stand out. Besides, I'm proud of the drum and this story, its construction, has served as a template since.
This was not the first story I sold. This was the 4th, and it was to Weirdbook Magazine. It is in the Weirdbook Annual #2, the Cthulhu issue, under the title "Mercy Holds No Measure : A Tale of the Bajazid" at 6,090 words. Now, do note, there is no direct reference here to the Mythos, no hints in this story of a place far away or of elder things from cosmic shores. Not here, but as those who have read even a few of these Tales know, there are connections and the occurrence is surely of the such in that nature of horror conceived. I do not ever intend to write a story with any of Lovecraft's Gods or even his creatures... mainly 'cause aquatic folk really wouldn't do well in the deserts of Arizona. I do not want to play in another's sandbox, but I want to acknowledge it is there and shares this world with my little, tiny corner of it. Weirdbook understood these tenuous connections, enough to honor me so.
Oh, also, on a really excited note, I think I figured out how to do links! Yippee!
No comments:
Post a Comment