Why the Novella?

Novels are long works of fiction. How long depends on who you ask. Today, novels tend to be quite long on average. After all, publishers need to make a buck. As a reader, though, I find them bloated, ungainly, and filled with lots of boring stuff I usually skip over. Elmore Leonard’s rule about not putting in your novel the stuff readers skip over is routinely ignored in today’s publishing world.

However, that was not always the case. There was a time when novels topped out at 60,000-70,000 words. And most where in the 40,000 word range. For me, as a reader, that’s the length I like. Anything longer has to be super doggone good or I stop reading. Life is too short for boring.

I love short stories. They’re concise and provide bite size entertainment. Some of the most powerful pieces of fiction I’ve read are short stories. Such gems as “Silent Snow, Secret Snow” by Conrad Aiken; “Sredni Vashtar” by Saki; “Hills Like White Elephants” by Ernest Hemingway; “The Cask of Amontillado” by Edgar Allan Poe; and “The Spotted Dog” by Anthony Trollope, to name a few.

Nothing can beat the impact of a well-written short story.

On the other hand, within the last couple years I’ve come to very much appreciate those middle length forms: the novelette, and the novella.

Longer than a short story, the novelette and novella allow for more expensive treatment of the story, deeper treatment of the characters. And I find novelettes and novellas give me a more satisfying read than novels because there is no padding, no boring parts, no filler material to satisfy a publisher’s or editor’s length requirements.

As a writer, I find the novelette, running roughly between 7,000 and 20,000 words, and the novella, at 20,000 to 50,000 words, give me enough space to tell the story, flesh out the characters, and omit the parts I as a reader would probably skip over.

Certain genres, such as horror and perhaps mystery, are at their best in the novella and novelette length.

When reading a horror novel, too often I find the author incapable of maintaining the atmosphere and the suspense. The result is a roller coaster of increasing and decreasing tension, rather than slowly building suspense, tension, and terror which culminate in the climax of the story.

Mystery novels often have unnecessary filler to pad out the length. The sleuth runs here, runs there, often getting nowhere. He or she spends time navel gazing, or baking, or knitting, or we might be treated to an extended tourist guide view of the locale.

In my own writing, I’ve been gradually moving from the novel to the novella and novelette. The Justinia Wright novels are the last hold outs. Although they are relatively short novels for mysteries. They average between 49,000 and 51,000 words, with the longest being 54,000.

Nevertheless, in the future I see more novelette and novella length Justinia Wright mysteries, such as Vampire House, Genome, the novelettes comprising Trio in Death-Sharp Minor, and the forthcoming The Nine Deadly Dolls.

From the beginning, the Pierce Mostyn series has been in novella length and I have no plans to change. The novella gives me plenty of space to tell the story with satisfying pacing, tension, and atmosphere; and to give the reader good character development.

Given how busy our lives are these days, it seems to me fiction that can provide a satisfying virtual experience in one sitting, say, on the bus or train commuting to work, or listening in the car during the daily commute, or in the evening after work, or on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, such a read would be ideal. A visit to another world taking just about an hour, perhaps two. Sounds perfect to me.

The novella and the novelette: not too big and not too small. They are just right.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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Where Ideas Come From

The world is an amazing place. It is filled with unlimited stimuli for our senses and our minds.

Something so simple as the wind moving the pine tree in an impromptu dance can bring forth images from other times, other places. Or that pine in the wind can be a soothing balm for our eyes and mind.

To my way of thinking, the thing that separates a writer from a non-writer is the ability to take the thoughts, patterns, and images we experience around us and see a story in them. The non-writer simply experiences the world. The writer not only experiences, but sees the stories that are there.

For 30 years I worked in county government and hated it. Yet, that job provided me with the seed idea for my first mystery, Festival of Death, gave me experiences and information and insights that I’ve used in many poems, short stories, and novels.

One morning a sentence popped into my head: Today I killed a man and a woman. A provocative sentence that! Must’ve had a bad day at work! That sentence, though, grew into my post-apocalyptic cozy catastrophe The Rocheport Saga.

The job isn’t the only source of ideas, however. Story ideas are everywhere.

The Pierce Mostyn series has a genesis that goes back decades. In the early 70s I became a member of a Minneapolis-based horror and pulp fiction fan group. I met Donald Wandrei, Carl Jacobi, Weird Tales artist Jon Arfstrom, and Jack Koblas, who went on to became a noted regional historian and biographer.

That fan group also introduced me to The X-Files, although many years passed before I actually watched the show.

Then sometime in 2017, after watching a few episodes of The X-Files, I got the idea for a mash-up between The X-Files and the Cthulhu Mythos. I liked the idea of an FBI agent hunting monsters and aliens. And what’s not to like about Cthulhu and his ilk?

After that idea took hold, it was a simple matter of a few broad brushstrokes to create the Mostyn world, and I was in business. But what stories would I tell about Pierce Mostyn and the Office of Unidentified Phenomena?

The first three Mostyn tales were heavily inspired by HP Lovecraft’s stories “The Shadow over Innsmouth”, “The Mound”, and “The Lurking Fear”.

The next Mostyn stories, however, drew inspiration from a variety of sources: Van Dyne’s Vampires from cryptozoology (the chupacabra and the Jersey Devil in particular); the seed idea for The Medusa Ritual came from the Heald/Lovecraft story “The Man of Stone” and the Medusa myth; Lovecraft’s “The Nameless City” and the movie The Mummy gave me the launch pad for Demons in the Dunes; and the forth coming Van Dyne’s Zuvembies makes use of Robert E Howard’s creation which appeared in his story “Pigeons from Hell”.

There is nothing new under the sun, the writer of Ecclesiastes declared. And he’s right. Everything plays off of everything else. Someone may come up with a unique and memorable way to express the thought, but most likely the thought itself is not unique. Someone said or wrote something like it before.

All one has to have are the eyes to see the stories, the many stories, that are all around us. If you have those eyes, you’re a writer. If you don’t, perhaps you can learn.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy creating!

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Valdis Damien van Dyne

Pierce Mostyn not only has Cthulhu to think about, he also has Valdis Damien van Dyne.

Sherlock Holmes had his Moriarty. Nero Wolfe had his Zeck. Nayland Smith had his Dr Fu Manchu. Hence, I think it only natural for Mostyn to have his van Dyne.

The Diabolical Mastermind trope has been around for a long time, and has served readers, moviegoers, and TV watchers quite well. The Diabolical Mastermind is the ultimate test for the hero.

A few readers have asked, “Why van Dyne, when you already have the ultimate evil in Cthulhu?” And that is a good question.

In part, I created van Dyne for a very human face to put on the evil in our world. I relish good cosmic horror. It is the ultimate expression of the objective meaninglessness of humanity. As such, cosmic horror shows us that our meaning and purpose is all inside. Who we are cannot be found out there. It can only be found within. We must discover who we are through introspection.

Nietzsche advises us to look to art for discovering who we are. What he meant was, just as the gods are all creators so are we humans creators. It is through the act of creating that we find ourselves and express who and what we are as individuals.

While cosmic horror pictures all of this for us, for many of us it is all too abstract. What does all that have to do with the day today evil I encounter?

The Diabolical Mastermind, in a way, puts a human face to the ultimate evil that causes the ultimate horror. It’s rather difficult to come to grips with Cthulhu or Azathoth. It’s much easier for us to understand a Moriarty, or a Fu Manchu, or a Valdis Damien van Dyne.

In Pierce Mostyn’s world, van Dyne is the human counterpart to Cthulhu. Both are evil. Both exert incredible and extensive influence in the affairs of the world. And both want to take over the world, caring little about the fate of the human inhabitants in the process.

If all goes well, Van Dyne’s Zuvembies will be published at the end of this month; when we will see another titanic struggle between the forces of good (Mostyn, Bardon, and the rest of the OUP gang), and the forces of evil — personified in Valdis Damien van Dyne. The fate of the world hangs in the balance!

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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Van Dyne’s Zuvembies

“When hate makes life worth living…”

Cryptozoology is the study of cryptids: those creatures of myth, folklore, legend, and imagination that science sniffs at, and yet may in fact exist. Much like the coelacanth, thought extinct for 65 million years, only to be found alive and well in 1938. Seems science doesn’t know everything.

Writers of the paranormal love cryptids. They are their stock in trade, their bread and butter. Yet, of the hundreds of cryptids available, relatively few find their way into the tales of the paranormal writers.

Way back in 1934, Robert E Howard wrote a story titled, “Pigeons from Hell”, which was published in the May 1938 issue of Weird Tales, two years after Howard’s death.

The story is a superb example of Southern Gothic horror, and features a creature of Howard’s invention, although drawn from Voodoo myth — the zuvembie.

Given the current zombie craze, I would’ve thought someone would’ve made use of the zuvembie before now. To my knowledge, no one has.

So you may be asking, “What the heck is a zuvembie?” That’s a good question, and I’m glad you asked. Let me satisfy your curiosity with a scene from Van Dyne’s Zuvembies:

“Can someone please tell me what the hell a zuvembie is?” NicAskill asked.

Dr Heber cleared his throat. “A zuvembie is a creature that is often classed as one of the undead.”

“You mean like zombies and vampires?” NicAskill asked.

“Yes. Although technically speaking, a zuvembie is not dead. Simply changed.” Heber paused a moment to clean his glasses. He put them back on and continued.

“In traditional voodoo, a bokor, that is, a magician, creates a zombie from someone who is already dead. A zombie is a re-animated corpse that does the bidding of the bokor. A zombie is essentially a slave.”

“So there’s no zombie virus?” Jones asked.

“No. That is the stuff of cheap pulp fiction and B-rated movies.”

“So no zombie apocalypse,” Jones said.

Heber shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“So if a zombie is a slave, what’s a zuvembie?” NicAskill asked.

“As I said,” Heber explained, “a zombie is a slave of the bokor, created by powerful spells that are cast by the bokor. A zuvembie, on the other hand, has never died. The creator of a zuvembie may or may not be a bokor. However, the creator of the zuvembie has gone through the necessary rituals and been taught the secret of making the Black Brew, which, when drunk, will turn a woman into a zuvembie.”

“Only women can become zuvembies?” Jones asked.

“That is correct,” Heber replied. “Only women.”

“Why?” The question came from NicAskill.

“Because hate and revenge are the motivators and the required emotions to become a zuvembie.” Heber shrugged. “It seems women, as a sex, have so often been viewed as inferior that they and they alone possess the necessary hatred and desire for revenge to become a zuvembie.”

NicAskill sat back in her seat. “Wow.”

Heber, a smile on his face, continued. “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The zuvembie is the personification of female hate and revenge.”

“So what’s this thing like?” Jones asked.

Heber explained, “According to the lore, ancient lore that predates voodoo and goes back to West African snake religions, once a woman drinks the Black Brew she ceases to be a human. She becomes one with the denizens of the Black World. Friends and family cease to exist. A zuvembie has command over some aspects of nature. It can control owls, snakes, bats, and werewolves to do its bidding. The creature can summon darkness in order to blot out a small amount of light.

“Unless killed by lead or steel, it lives forever. Time means nothing to the zuvembie; it exists, as it were, outside of time. It no longer eats human food, and dwells in a house or a cave much as a bat does.

“The zuvembie cannot speak, at least not as humans do, and it does not think as humans think. However, by the sound of its voice it can hypnotize the living and summon a person to his or her death. And once the thing has killed a person, it can control the lifeless corpse until the corpse grows cold and the blood ceases to flow. The corpse becomes the slave, as it were, of the zuvembie and will do whatever the zuvembie commands it to do.”

“Good night,” Jones said. “It’s a good thing women don’t know about this zuvembie thing.”

“Shut up, Jones,” NicAskill said.

“One more thing,” Dr Heber said. “The zuvembie has but one pleasure in life.”

“What’s that?” Mostyn asked.

“To kill human beings.”

So now you know what a zuvembie is. Pretty scary stuff, coming as it did from the stories REH’s grandmother told him. Nothing like folklore to scare the bejeezus out of you.

Van Dyne’s Zuvembies is at the beta readers, and I’m looking to publish it late June or early July.

In the meantime check out the other Pierce Mostyn adventures. They’re filled with monsters, daring-do, and will convince you to keep the lights on at night.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

Original illustration from Weird Tales for Pigeons from Hell
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The Empty Quarter

One of the most lonely places on the planet is the Rub’ al Khali, or the Empty Quarter — that vast expanse of towering sand dunes that has an area greater in size than the country of France.

A few Bedouin tribes live on the edge of this immensely beautiful wasteland. Virtually nothing lives in the desert interior.

The Empty Quarter is part of the greater Arabian desert, which is the eastward continuation of the Sahara. And it is the setting for the newest Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigation adventure.

For quite some time now I’ve been fascinated with the Empty Quarter. I’ve never been there, and at my age may never get there. But I have been to a place that will give you a little taste of the Rub’ al Khali. And that place is Great Sand Dunes National Park in Colorado.

The dunes look like a great big pile of sand that some giant left behind. The sand covers about 30 square miles and are the tallest dunes in North America, towering upwards of 750 feet. They give one a hint as to what’s in store for them should they visit the Empty Quarter.

In writing Demons in the Dunes, I tried to give the reader a picture and feel for what it is like in the Empty Quarter. My main source book was Arabian Sands by Wilfred Thesiger, who crossed the area twice in the late 1940s.

Of course, Demons in the Dunes is fiction. A Lovecraftian-flavored adventure yarn that is perhaps closer to something Robert E Howard might have written than HPL. Regardless of influence, the story draws upon the legend and mystery of the lost city of Iram, adds a dollop of the Cthulhu Mythos, a bit of seasoning from The Mummy, and a whole lot of sauce from my overactive imagination.

You can get Demons in the Dunes here — and I truly hope you enjoy it. I’ve been told it’s the best Mostyn yet, and that makes me very happy.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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Demons in the Dunes

Next week Pierce Mostyn and the OUP gang ride again, in another terrifyingly action-packed tale of cosmic horror.

The Rub’ al Khali, or the Empty Quarter, is a fascinating place. I find it almost as intriguing as Antarctica.

What makes the Rub’ al Khali so interesting? It is the largest sand desert in the world. It covers some 250,000 square miles of the southern Arabian Peninsula. The desert is larger than France and somewhat smaller than Texas.

This vast expanse of sand is home to the lost city of Iram, which is mentioned in the Qur’an, and may have been an important city in the ancient frankincense trade.

The Empty Quarter is the setting for Lovecraft’s story “The Nameless City”, and is also the setting for Demons in the Dunes, Pierce Mostyn’s newest adventure.

Did Lovecraft’s story play any part in the origin of Demons in the Dunes? It did. HPL’s story gave me the idea to set an adventure in the Empty Quarter, with Iram as the focal point.

However, the Nameless City of Lovecraft’s story is clearly not Iram. Consequently, the story line of Demons has no direct influence from Lovecraft. Although it is Lovecraftian to a degree.

Little is known about the actual city of Iram. It may have been located on the frankincense caravan route. Legend has it that it was built by giants to challenge God by creating a paradise on earth greater then God’s paradise. God, of course, destroyed the giants and the city.

Iram is called Iram of the Pillars, but we don’t know why. One Internet source, attributed mystical connections to the city. According to this view, Iram actually occupies several planes of existence, and, in accordance with the mystical position, an alternate reading of the city’s title is Iram of the Old Ones. No self-respecting Cthulhu Mythos aficionado can walk away from that tidbit of info and not have the cogs whirring in his brain!

Out of those seeds, Demons in the Dunes grew. I had great fun writing it. I hope you have great fun reading it.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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Pierce Mostyn Continues

In two weeks, the sixth Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigation, Demons in the Dunes, will hit the virtual bookshelves. And the word is that it’s the best Pierce Mostyn thus far. Which has me quite jazzed. I enjoy writing the Pierce Mostyn books and it’s good to know they are getting better and better.

I follow the school of thought that says don’t fully define your characters. Just start with a brief sketch and let them grow from story to story.

In practice, this means the characters may not come across as fully developed in the first book or two. Personally, I’m okay with that. I like to see a series character grow. And if what my advance readers are telling me is true, the characters are growing. Which means I am becoming more and more comfortable with them. And that is a very good thing.

Demons in the Dunes is also a bit different from the other books in the series in that the setting is not in the United States, but in the Empty Quarter of the Arabian Peninsula. There is nothing like an exotic location to spice a read!

For me, one of the most interesting things to watch in the series is the development of Dr. Rafe Bardon. And Demons reveals yet another side of the good doctor that we haven’t seen before. He is truly one enigmatic fellow!

You can find the entire series here. If you become a VIP reader, you’ll get the novelette “The Feeder” as a gift. It’s another rousing paranormal tale of adventure, and it’s not available in stores.

I’ll have more next week, so stay tuned!

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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A Possible New Series

The Medusa Ritual (Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigations, Book 5) is available on Amazon. You can buy the book here.

Books 6, 7, and 8 in the series are written. I’m currently proofreading and line editing Book 6 and typing Book 7, doing an initial line edit while typing the handwritten manuscript.

The Pierce Mostyn series is loads of fun to write, and doing so has introduced me to the fascinating sub-genre of the occult detective.

The occult detective sub-genre has been around since the mid-1800s. Being largely a fusion of the detective story and the Gothic horror tale. It came into being as the form we recognize today through the Flaxman Low stories by E. & E. Heron. They were first published in Pearson’s Magazine in 1898 and 1899.

The most famous occult detectives are probably Thomas Carnacki, created by William Hope Hodgson, and Jules de Grandin, created by Seabury Quinn.

I very much like detective mysteries, and I very much like supernatural horror — which makes the occult detective pretty close to perfection.

For some time now, simmering on the back burner, has been a contemporary occult detective series of my own. I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but I’m getting there.

The series would be something of a companion piece for Pierce Mostyn — readers of one series crossing over and reading the other. At least I hope they will!

There will be more on this in the coming months, as I get additional details of this new fictional world established.

If you haven’t tried Pierce Mostyn, take a peek. The series is on Amazon. Mostyn won’t bite, but the monsters might!

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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The Real Mountains of Madness

I’ve had a love affair with Antarctica since I was around 11 or 12. Someone gave my mom a number of National Geographic magazines and one of them contained a map of Antarctica. I devoured the information on that map. And before that Shackleton had become something of a hero for me.

So it’s only natural that I found myself drawn to Lovecraft’s At The Mountains Of Madness. And recently reread the novel for background information as I researched my eighth Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigation, which takes Mostyn and friends to the bottom of the world.

Of course today we know there are no massive mountain ranges as Lovecraft described in his book, and there’s no sacred city of the Elder Things nestled in the foothills and valley of the smaller of those great ranges.

That is the stuff of fiction. When an unexplored continent provided plenty of room for the imagination to take flight.

However, one aspect of Lovecraft’s tale is at least partially true: there are indeed freshwater lakes beneath the Antarctic ice sheet. Whether or not they are inhabited by Elder Things and shoggoths remains to be seen.

Of interest, ironically so, the coordinates Lovecraft gave for the Mountains of Madness are not far off from the location of the great sub-glacial Gamburtsev Mountain range, also known as the Ghost Mountains.

The mountain range, however, is not visible. It is entirely below the surface of the ice. Exploration is being carried out by modern technology. What a wonderful world in which we live where we can go where no one has gone before without actually going there!

The Gamburtsev Mountains are the real Mountains of Madness. But will we find the caves and strange cube-like structures that Lovecraft described on the mountains? Will we find on the eastern side, nestled in the foothills, an enormous metropolis preserved by the ice as Pompeii and Herculaneum were preserved by Vesuvius? Will we find a tunnel leading to the sub-glacial lakes, occupied by those blasphemously hideous agglutinations of protoplasmic bubbles?

Who knows? Perhaps Lovecraft was right after all. Dr Rafe Bardon, Director of the Office of Unidentified Phenomena, has his own ideas, and the Russian drilling into and possible contamination of Lake Vostok might have greater consequences of dire import than we could ever imagine, or Lovecraft either, for that matter.

What I do know is that Pierce Mostyn… Wait a minute. Is that a knocking at my door I hear? Let me see who it is. I won’t be long.

As Mr Hawes hasn’t returned, I, his VA, will end the post as he usually does. Hopefully he’ll be back in time for next week’s post. 

Comments are always welcome! And until next time (if there is a next time), happy reading!

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The Facing of the Eagle

The insignia of the Office of Unidentified Phenomena

 

The other week someone asked me about the symbolism behind the emblem of the Office of Unidentified Phenomena (OUP). The fictional agency for which my paranormal investigator Pierce Mostyn works to save America and the world from those things that make big bumps in the night. It’s a good question, because the design wasn’t haphazard.

The creator of the design was none other than Crispian Thurlborn, who is no stranger to you if you are a reader of this blog. He’s a fabulous writer. In addition, he’s a superb book cover designer, and  trailer maker. He designed all of the promo materials I use for the Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigation books.

So what does all that stuff on the above emblem mean? Let’s take a look at the symbolism.

The red triangle on which the circle is placed represents the depth of the OUP. It is in the background of our daily lives and it’s reach is very deep. It is behind everything.

The shield covering the eagle’s body represents defense in the air (the stars), on the land (the mountain), and on the sea (the waves). There is also a Lovecraftian dimension to those three aspects in addition to the normal heraldic symbolism. The OUP protects us from all things deep under the sea (where Cthulhu sleeps), in space and beyond (where the Great Old Ones originated), and under the earth (where Tsathoggua sleeps).

The all-seeing eye in the pyramid on the shield symbolizes the ever vigilant nature of the OUP.

The eagle itself is a bird of prey, but has for a very long time symbolized nobility, strength, and bravery. The wings in the displayed position symbolize protection. And the rays, or rayonnee emanating from the eagle’s head symbolize intelligence and enlightenment.

The olive branch and the arrows show that all of the traits are present in both peace and war.

And now to the eagle’s head. Why is it facing to the eagle’s left? If you notice any symbolism which uses an eagle the head is usually turned to the eagle’s right. The right hand symbolizing honor and nobility. At least most of the time.

But what does it mean when the head faces to the left? That is an excellent question. Our word “sinister” comes from the Latin word for left. Hm. Gives one pause to think, doesn’t it?

Does the eagle’s head facing left mean the OUP is a sinister organization, one that actually doesn’t do good? Well, the eagle on the US President’s seal faced left until President Truman changed it to the right. More food for thought.

For the OUP, the left facing eagle symbolizes the fine line the agency walks in protecting us from that of which we aren’t aware. The all-seeing eye, the rays of enlightenment and intelligence, and the sinister facing eagle together imply the danger of the OUP’s mission and methodology and the wisdom needed to thread a very fine needle, or walk a very fine line.

It is a case of fighting fire with fire. Of fighting the forces of darkness with darkness. Of using the two-edged sword which can cut both ways. Fighting evil by frequently having to resort to using evil.

All of this is, of course, perfectly in line with the Lovecraftian base underlying the Pierce Mostyn stories.

The Great Old Ones, while appearing evil to us because they mean the end of the world as we know it, are not intrinsically evil. They simply exist as we exist. They appear evil to us because they are unlike us and appear to be at cross purposes with us. They are aliens, foreigners to our universe. And by nature we tend to feel uncomfortable with what we do not know or understand. But perhaps most damning from our perspective is that we are to them as ants are to us. Nothing. A mere nuisance.

If ants bug us, we exterminate them. The same with the Great Old Ones. To them we are pests.

For Lovecraft, human beings are not the apex of all creation. We are essentially nothing in the face of the great cosmos. We are a highly developed primate, having evolved on a tiny speck of rock and dirt, orbiting a star of no particular significance. Our position in the universe is so infinitesimally tiny, we are in essence insignificant.

Prior to Lovecraft, Nietzsche posited our essential meaninglessness.  He cites, in The Birth of Tragedy, the story of Midas and Silenus. Midas asks the god what is the best thing for us. And Silenus answers him by saying that the best thing for us humans is to never be born. Otherwise our best course is to die soon.

Nietzsche goes on to posit that when we gaze into the deep black abyss and come away knowing our insignificance, our meaninglessness, our essential lack of any objective purpose — it is then the words of Silenus come home to us.

However, Nietzsche didn’t leave us in the depths of despair and nihilism. It is why he advocated we must create our own purpose. We are the creators. We are the gods. Not the beings we fashioned in our own image. We must embrace our senses and emotions, we must resort to art to find our own meaning and purpose. If left to our rational nature alone, we will sink into despair. We will go insane.

The Great Old Ones are not rational by our standards, which is perhaps why so many go insane immediately upon seeing them.

Dr Rafe Bardon, the OUP’s director, and Pierce Mostyn have gazed into the abyss and survived. They realize that the eagle facing to the right will not save the planet from the roiling insane chaos (at least by our standards) threatening to over take it.

Only by facing the sinister is there any hope for survival.

Stop by this Friday for the fourth installment of The Medusa Ritual. Lovecraftian adventure coming your way, as Pierce Mostyn and the OUP battle a nemesis hellbent on opening the gate for the Great Old Ones. 

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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