Lucid Dreams and Saturn Skies The Life and Writing of Andrew Kincaid

Tag Archives: Fiction

Sometimes You Just Gotta Cut Back…

Lately I’ve been…discontent. it has been tough go put my finger on exactly why because it seems to be everything at once. I’ve already rambled a bit on this topic not long ago so I won’t go into much more detail here for fear of sounding whiny again (we all need to vent now and then but making it a habit isn’t a good idea!)

Recently though I did figure out one thing I can do fo help myself. My writing has been simultaneously a source of great joy and frustration for me. Lately I was having difficulty working on my projects. They just could not hold my interest, and the writing was flat and uninspired. Once I sat down and looked at what I was doing, and realized my writing lacked focus. There are a lot of people who say a writer should have one genre associated with their name. Stephen King does horror. Terry Brooks does fantasy. That’s where they stakes their claims and made there names.

But me? I wanted go write epic fantasy. And horror novels. And novellas. And nonfiction books. My mind was constantly running down different rabbit holes, switching from one thing to another. Is it any surprise that I wound up exhausted and frustrated?

So I decided to go back to my roots as it were. Meaning, I returned to some short stories I wrote for my old horror anthology, intending to rewrite them from the ground up. Something odd happened; the short stories ballooned into full blown novel ideas, but more importantly I was enjoying myself again!

It hit me that focusing my efforts into one area would be my best bet both in terms of my personal enjoyment and from a business perspective when the time comes. There is such a thing of having too many choices. Sometimes a person has to limit themselves. Paradoxically there’s a freedom in limitation, because rather than being at the whim of fancy the person who decides to limit themselves can focus all there energy on the one thing they enjoy.

Long story short, I’m a horror author. Nothing else. The choice to pursue this genre, which chose me more than I chose it, involved foregoing my childhood dream of becoming a big fantasy author. But that’s okay. I tried it, and found while some of the ideas were sound there was a lot about writing straight fantasy that just doesn’t work for me. And that’s all right. Sometimes you have to admit something isn’t working for you, even if it’s something you’ve clung to for a long time. There’s no shame in it; the only shame is in not being honest with yourself and doing something that doesn’t work for you. Life’s too short to waste time chasing after something like that; sometimes you have to figure out what really matters and cut back everything else.

Proof of Hell Under the Siberian Tundra? …or Not.

The Kola Superdeep Borehole, putative site of the gateway to hell, now welded shut due to lack of funding. Image Credit: Rakot13

The Kola Superdeep Borehole, putative site of the gateway to hell, now welded shut due to lack of funding. Image Credit: Rakot13

It was the mid-1980′s, and the Cold War was still going strong. America had won the Space Race with the triumphant moon landings of the sixties and seventies. Now the superpowers  competed to pioneer a new space — the one beneath our feet.

To achieve those ends, the Soviet Union commissioned a deep drilling project in the icy wastes of Siberia. A team of geologists drilled about 14.4 kilometers (about 9 miles) beneath the Earth’s surface, when something strange happened — the bit started to spin wildly, and temperature sensors recorded temperatures over 2,000 degrees. No doubt baffled, the scientists lowered a mic down the well shaft to get a better idea of what they were dealing with. What they heard horrified them (the sounds start at about the 2:00 mark) and confirmed people’s worst fears for centuries; that Hell was real, and it lay right beneath our feet!

…er, except not.

This one is pretty classic in terms of urban legends. It isn’t exactly certain where the story began, and it has been elaborated on extensively over time. I remember seeing lurid headlines in the Weekly World News as a kid in the 90′s talking about the Devil coming screaming out of a well to hell drilled in Alaska, incinerating all the unfortunate scientists at the site and spreading doom and gloom all around. The story freaked me out as a kid, as the one-two punch of being A) a kid and B) a Bible literalist tends to make one a bit credulous. Even as a teen, hearing the clip featured in the above video scared the crap out of me.

Evidently a lot of people feel the same way, because this one still makes the rounds on paranormal and religious sites of all kinds. And why not? If Hell really did exist in a real, physical place, that would be a really scary thing. It would confirm many people’s worst anxieties about the after life and their potential place in it. It would also raise some pretty uncomfortable moral and theological implications, which we won’t get into here. The point is that Hell is scary, and that fear is what gives this urban legend (and most others while we’re at it) its staying power.

Needless to say, it isn’t true. The recording is believed to be a looped recording of a scene from the B-grade horror flick Baron Blood. To me it almost sounds like it could be a doctored recording of any public space, looped and made to sound all sinister. There is a small kernel of truth behind this sordid tale, as is the case with most good urban legends. There really was a deep drilling well that reached close to 9 miles underground in Soviet Russia. It was located on the Kola Peninsula, not in Siberia. The drill did hit an empty pocket, but there were no hellish sounds from within. Temperatures reached a toasty 180 degrees, and the geologists found water and natural gas, among other things of scientific interest.

The truth is a whole lot less exciting than a literal gateway to hell, but being the compassionate sort I’d rather that be the fact than to have millions of people suffering and burning forever.

Thirty Years Later, and Nobody Learned Not to Open the Necronomicon: A Review of Evil Dead (2013)

Evil Dead poster, from IMDB.com. You can see the hype =P

Evil Dead poster, from IMDB.com. You can see the hype =P

I will admit it — the red band trailer has had me excited for Evil Dead for months now. Now, normally I don’t get excited about much of anything, especially a modern horror flick and ESPECIALLY a remake. but my normal guardedness fell away for some reason with Evil Dead. I really like the original trilogy (I own all three), and frankly I haven’t seen a decent horror flick in the theater for a long time.

And that was what Evil Dead shaped up to be — a decent horror flick. It really doesn’t live up to the legacy of the original Evil Dead, but that’s how it is with remakes most of the time. It was a pretty solid movie, I thought. It was very well shot, and the sound effects were done very well. It had some downright creepy scenes, and I thought it did a good job ratcheting up the tension overall.

However, despite its technical proficiency, there was something missing. Despite having a bigger budget, better special effects, and the benefit of modern film technology, it wasn’t as creepy or fun as the original. Some of it had to do with the protagonist, and the fact that he was as dense as granite. Word to the wise: when people are carving their face off with broken glass, it probably isn’t because of a virus, especially if your hippie-looking (stupidly) read from a mysterious, flesh bound book only a couple hours ago. Some of it had to do with the contrived nature of the set up — for example, I’m certified to teach high school, but nowhere in the process did they teach me to read ancient Sumerian.
Not that I would read it to myself, out loud, when the book CLEARLY SAYS NOT TO!

See, that’s what bothered me the most, I think. The original is 32 years old and shot on a quarter million dollar budget, yet the writing is tighter and it is overall a much creepier movie. I mean, look at how they got around the pretty ridiculous scene I mentioned above — in the original, they find the Necronomicon in the basement beside a recorder containing the notes of an archeologist who is studying it. They play a section of the recorder where the archeologist reads an incantation from the book out loud, and thus accidentally summon the demons that torment them that night. Much more elegant, and it has a creep-factor bonus, since a fairly innocuous action brought about horrific consequences.

It isn’t really fair to compare a remake to the original. On the other hand, Evil Dead has been remade before — Evil Dead 2 was basically a remake, despite being billed as a sequel, and many regard it as better than the original. So perhaps it is a fair comparison. Don’t get the wrong impression though — I did like the Evil Dead remake. It was gory, creepy, and generally fun to watch in a theater full of squawking teenagers. But it doesn’t hold a candle to the original.

A Note to My Loyal Subscribers: We’re Back, Baby!

Okay, so there was a mild SNAFU when I switched this beast over from wordpress.com to wordpress.org. Namely, my stats and subscribers did not make the transition with me. It took a little while for me to realize the error, and to get around to fixing it. Actually, I didn’t do much–the wonderful people at WordPress took care of things for me.

So now everyone can be up to date. The only issue is that if you followed me using your WordPress Reader, you will now no longer get updates via email. My posts will only come to your WordPress Reader. If that works for you, that works for me too. However if it doesn’t and you happen to see this post, please use the subscription widget over on the right to subscribe via email. Sorry about any inconvenience that may cause anyone!

As for the new lay out, I hope you enjoy it. I’ll be doing the same posting schedule as usual: Tuesdays are whatever days, Thursdays are about weird stuff. Thanks for making the transition with me, and I hope you continue to read and enjoy my content. I’ve got good stuff coming your way, both from the blog and from other projects I’m working on, including a fantasy series called Gods and Emperors, a nonfiction book about mass hysteria, and a possible horror anthology. So stay tuned!

Forays Into Flash Fiction: VisDare 4: Steps

Visdare 4--StepsSo I’ve been meaning to try flash fiction for awhile now. For those who are wondering what in the heck I am talking about, flash fiction is a form of short story.  A REALLY short story.  As in, less than 1000 words short (usually somewhere between 100 and 200 words).  There’s not much room for character development, obviously.  Some people aren’t fond of the name “flash fiction” for whatever reason.  It’s probably called that because it’s short as, well, a flash.  But call it microfiction if you like–the name doesn’t matter.  What does is that it’s fun and I’ve found I enjoy doing it, so with the exception of today’s post I’m going to start a semi-regular Saturday installment on this blog where I showcase my flash fiction, called Forays into Flash Fiction (because alliteration!).

I can thank the lovely Angela Goff for getting me into the genre.  I’ve seen her hashtag #visdare for awhile now, and it got me curious if I could write a story like that.  You can learn more about it (and Angela) by following this link to her blog.  Now, without further ado, here is my first ever flash fiction story, “Hunger”:

***

Sound. Light.

Its sensory organs, long adapted to the absolute darkness and silence of its prison, stirred in response to the stimuli. Bit by bit, its body awakened from the long, cold, dreamless slumber that had been imposed upon it countless eons before.

The sounds coming from above, echoing down the long, grime slick tunnel leading to its tomb, were unfamiliar to it.

“Come on Gary.  Put your back into it! The gold’s so close I can smell it.”

“Smells like an outhouse in mid-summer to me,” the other voice said.

It couldn’t understand the words, but that was irrelevant. What mattered was the new sensation stirring within its slowly awakening body: hunger.

Fully awakened now, it slouched upright and watched the expanding pool of light spill across the floor.
It waited, eager to see what bounty this new age had to offer.

It didn’t wait long.

***

The Strange Story of James Worson

A portrait of Ambrose Bierce.  ...this will have more context as you read on.

A portrait of Ambrose Bierce. …this will have more context as you read on.

Long time readers know that I like me a good weird story now and again.  So when I ran across the story of James Worson, it truly fit the bill.  It goes that Worson, who was a shoe maker from Leamington Spa in Warwickshire, England, was in his cups one day when he took a bet that he could run from his hometown to neighboring Coventry, a distance of about nine miles, without stopping once.  There aren’t any details as to how exactly this bet came about, but every account I’ve come across said Worson was drunk, which for something as silly as an impromptu nine mile run is reason enough.

So Worson began his run with his fellow better, a fellow named Barnham Wise, and a photographer named Hamerson Burns, who all followed him in a wagon.  It seems things were going pretty well for awhile there, with Worson plodding along resolutely, no doubt sobering up from the exertion and wondering what exactly he’d gotten himself into, when things became plain weird.  Worson stumbled over something on the road and pitched forward.  He let out a scream, and promptly disappeared.  Nobody ever heard from him again.  The disappearance happened in front of three no doubt startled witnesses, who were acquitted of any wrong doing.  Worson was never seen again.

Now most times this is where the story ends.  Worson’s story has long been reported among the ranks of mysterious disappearances, and taken at face value it is indeed very strange and not a bit unnerving.  But this is where the story gets interesting: it never happened, as it is quite literally a story of the fictitious variety.

It turns out what I dubbed “The Strange Story of James Worson” is in reality called “An Unfinished Race” by Ambrose Bierce.  The story itself is brief, only about three paragraphs long, and was included in the collection Present at a Hanging and Other Ghost Stories.  You can read the actual story here.  You’ll notice some details differ from the version I presented–the version above is the one I found floating around the net.

The style of the story itself explains part of why it became the subject of urban legend.  It is presented almost in a perfunctory manner, like something you might read in a newspaper.  My guess is that people back in that time some people read the story and, later, misremembered where they heard the story and reported it as fact.  It sounds silly but think about it–how many times in a day do you repeat something as fact when you aren’t entirely sure of the source?  Sometimes things enter the canon of our personal knowledge without us really being able to remember where we heard it or from whom.  That’s one way stories of dubious veracity get circulated around, and eventually become urban legends and fodder for bloggers such as myself.

In any case, the story of Ambrose Bierce is at least as strange as the fictional story that overshadowed his own mysterious end.  The author of what has become an infamous disappearance himself disappeared without a trace.  Bierce was in Mexico covering the punitive expedition against Pancho Villa in 1913 when he just vanished.  Or maybe he wasn’t–there are some who don’t believe he ever went to Mexico.  All parties agree that he just up and disappeared in 1913 and was never seen again.  As for why Bierce’s very really mysterious disappearance has been overshadowed by the fictional one he created, well, that too is a mystery that won’t be answered any time soon.

Visions of Hell–The Nine Circles of Dante’s Inferno

Dante's Hell, as illustrated by Botticelli.

Dante’s Hell, as illustrated by Botticelli.

Hell.  The word conjures forth images of flames and red skinned imps with pitch forks chasing after panicking souls of the damned.  At least, it does here in the West.  You see, Hell is not a fixed concept; it changes from culture to culture and from myth system to myth system.  Even the commonly held image of Hell here in the West bears little resemblance to what the Bible has to say about the place.  The Scriptures describes the Bible as a “lake” that burns with “fire and brimstone”.  It is the place where “the worm dieth not, and there is weeping and gnashing of teeth”.  It is also described as “outer darkness”.  No demons or pitch forks in this place–the Hell of the Bible is not a place where Satan reigns, but rather a place where he is bound in torment with all the other damned souls.  No mention of Satan being a king in hell, or of demons being responsible for tormenting people is made in the Bible.  Point of fact, while hell is mentioned a fair bit in the Bible, descriptions of the place were limited to those I outlined above.

This lack of description gave room for the human imagination to run wild, which brings us to the Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri.  In his epic poem of sin and redemption, Dante took a fearsome place of torment and fire and gave it structure.  His Hell is divided into nine concentric levels of punishment.  Rather than a place of indiscriminate torment, Dante’s hell metes out specific punishments to specific sinners, according to the sins that predominated in their earthly life.  The sins are ranked according to severity, with the worst sinners being punished the most severely in the Ninth Circle, where Satan reigns in his unholy glory.

Now Dante goes into an almost neurotic level of detail about the specific punishments and who suffers them.  While this horrific imagery has penetrated the popular consciousness for centuries now, I think the actual point he was trying to make has been lost.  Dante’s motivation was less a religious one and more political.  He used his poem as both an allegorical way to represent the corrupt politics working in his beloved Florence and as a satire of said politics.  No one, from Popes to politicians to kings, was safe from Dante’s pen and his sense of divine justice.  However, it seems ole Dante really struck a chord with is vivid depiction of pain and suffering, so without further ado let us take a walk down the paths of anguish into the deepest realms of hell:

"Abandon all Hope, All ye who enter here."

“Abandon all Hope, All ye who enter here.”

Circle 1–Limbo

The first circle of Hell was reserved for the unbaptized and virtuous pagans.  These were folks who led good lives, but did not accept Christ.  This was not so much a place of suffering as a holding place for those who Dante felt didn’t deserve hellfire but who, at the same time, couldn’t justifiably make it into Heaven.  Limbo is depicted as essentially Heaven Lite; a place of green, rolling meadows and a castle where the greatest minds of antiquity (Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle among others) dwelt.  Essentially, it’s Heaven without the joy of being close to God, which is really not heaven at all.  All in all, it’s a pretty light punishment compared to the next circles, reserved for those who deliberately broke God’s Law.  The real suffering begins with…

The Lustful, driven by eternal storm winds.

The Lustful, driven by eternal storm winds.

Circle 2–Lust

Lustful folks are those who let their carnal desires overcome their reason.  They are also the least punished denizens of hell.  To Dante, the most fitting punishment for these folks was to have them blown about by a violent hurricane, buffeted by wind, rain, and hail, for all eternity.  This outer weather represented the inner weather that dominated their lives.  These were people dominated by the tempests of passions, who allowed said lust to control their lives and lead them to ruin.  I don’t know about you, but being blown around by a hurricane for all eternity would suck, but compared to some of these other folks, the lustful got off easy.  Notable sufferers include Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, and Tristan.

The Gluttons, in eternal slush and rain.

The Gluttons, in eternal slush and rain.

Circle 3–Gluttony

Guarded by the three headed dog, Cerberus, the next circle contains the gluttonous, those who overindulged in sensual things in their earthly lives.  While today we tend to think of gluttony as overeating to the point of bursting on Thanksgiving, the ancients had a little different take.  It certainly could include food and drink, but it could be other addictions as well.  These gluttons are condemned to sit in cold slush under a constant driving rain for all eternity.  If that sounds a bit tame, well, they also can’t see or hear one another.  So they get to sit cold and alone, forever.  Sounds pretty bad to me, if not quite as elaborate as the next circle…

The Greedy, pushing giant money bags forever.

The Greedy, pushing giant money bags forever.

Circle 4–Greed

So this one struck me as kind of odd.  Pretty sure I don’t have to explain exactly what greed is, especially given that Black Friday was only about a week ago.  The greedy were divided into two groups: those who hoarded possessions, and those who squandered them.  These two teams of sinners were forced to go head to head in a kind of huge, eternal jousting match, but instead of spears they used massive weights which they pushed with their chests.  While the constant exertion and all that sounds unpleasant, this seems to me like an odd punishment.  They’re essentially condemned to being living bumper cars for all eternity.  Points to Dante for creativity.

Overcome by rage, the wrathful fight forever while the sullen burble and gurgle below.

Overcome by rage, the wrathful fight forever while the sullen burble and gurgle below.

Circle 5–Anger

Now we reach the last of the first five circles where the so called “self indulgent” sins are punished.  The sins in the previous circles were not so much motivated by malice as a lack of self control.  So it is pretty easy to see how Anger fits into this.  Actually both the angry and the sullen are punished here in the River Styx.  Those full of wrath ceaselessly fight one another on the water’s surface, while the sullen lie beneath the surface in cold and darkness, constantly drowning in their depression (remember, this was written before we recognized mental illness as, well, an illness.  Depression was seen as a moral failing).  From here on out, things get a lot worse as Dante and his guide Virgil approach the city of Dis, where folks who actively broke God’s laws are punished.  The worst of the worst start to be punished in…

Heretics, burning in their tombs.

Heretics, burning in their tombs.

Circle 6–Heresy

Heretics are those who spoke against God’s will (as outlined by the Church, of course).  These folks are condemned to burn forever, trapped in flaming tombs.  Apparently Dante had a hate-on for the followers of Epicurus, as he condemned many of them to hell-fire.  By the by, Epicureans back then weren’t what they are now.  Today, Epicurean societies are typically foodies who indulge in expensive and tasty meals.  That isn’t quite the case with the real Epicureans, who were materialists who believed that pleasure was the greatest good.  But they didn’t mean that in the way we would think now (which would involve a great deal of partying and drinking, more likely than not).  Instead, they believed in moderation and learning as much as you can.  Doesn’t sound too bad, except they also discounted superstition, divine intervention, and the after-life.  So you can see why in a very superstitious age they would be considered heretics.  If these guy’s lot was bad, the malicious sinners in circle seven have things much, much worse…

The violent, kept in the boiling blood by centaurs.

The violent, kept in the boiling blood by centaurs.

Circle 7–Violence

The three rings containing the violent are guarded by the minotaur.  The outer ring of the seventh circle contains those violent against people and property.  The damned here are immersed in a river of boiling fire and blood.  Centaurs patrol the banks of the river, shooting arrows into anyone who tries to climb out.  Suicides and profligates suffer in the middle circle (profligates being people who destroyed their lives by the misuse of property).  Suicides have probably the most unique torment in all of Hell.  They have been transformed into gnarled, thorny trees and bushes from which their dead bodies hang.  They are continually fed on by Harpies.  The profligates are constantly chased by rabid dogs.  They are constantly crashing through the living wood around them, bringing even more suffering to the suicides.  Not much sympathy for the dead in the 1300′s eh?  Moving on to the inner ring, we have those who did violence against God and nature (blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers, or people who charged interest).  Bankers beware, for this is your eternal fate!  They live in a desert of flaming sand with fire raining from the sky.  Some lay in the sand (blasphemers), others sit (usurers), and still others wander in groups (sodomites).  Looks like the guys who tanked the economy back in 2008 might get their just desserts at some point, at least if Dante has his way!

The Sowers of Discord and their sword-wielding tormentor.

The Sowers of Discord and their sword-wielding tormentor.

Circle 8–Fraud

The eighth circle is divided into ten “bolgia” or pockets.  The first contains panderers and seducers, who march in lines in opposite directions, constantly whipped and driven by demons.  The second bolgia contains flatterers, who are condemned to sit forever in human excrement.  No doubt many a used car salesman and lawyer ends up in this particular pocket.  Bolgia 3 is home of people who committed simony, a sin named after Simon Magus, who offered  money in exchange for the holy powers Saint Peter wielded in Acts.  These folks are stuffed head first into holes in the rock, with flames continually burning the soles of their feet. Next come sorcerers, astrologers, and false prophets, who walk around with their heads twisted around backwards.  That really sounds more inconvenient than anything else, especially after the last couple, but whatever.  In bolgia 5, corrupt politicians are finally punished by being immersed in a pit of boiling pitch, whose shore is patrolled by devils called Malabranche’s who like to fish out a sinner now and then and “toy” with them.  Moving on, next we find the hypocrites, who have a comparatively mild punishment of being forced to walk around in gilded lead cloaks.  As if he realized how lame the last one was, Dante devised a particularly gruesome fate for thieves, who are constantly attacked by snakes and lizards.  The animal’s venom makes them undergo various transformations; sometimes they merge with other sinners, while others take on aspects of the monsters that bit them.  Fraudulent advisers in the next bolgia burn in individual flames, while in bolgia 9 a sword wielding demon hacks the sowers of discord to bits.  Their bodies heal, only to have the process begin again.  Finally, the falsifiers are beset by disease even as they were diseases on society.  Moving on, we reach some of the most famous imagery in the entire Inferno…

Satan, encased in ice.

Satan, encased in ice.

Circle 9–The Traitors.

The greatest traitors in history lay encased in ice in the earth’s core.  Satan himself reigns here.  He is encased up to the waist in ice.  He weeps constantly in the cold, and struggles in vain to be free from his prison, his great wings blowing cold winds across the icy lake, simultaneously trapping himself worse by accumulating more ice and increasing the torment of those encased with the Fallen One.  There are four levels to this particular prison, but there isn’t as much variety here–just people frozen in various positions. Oh and one part where a guy is munching on another guy’s head, zombie style.  But anyway, the worst torments in hell lay with Satan himself.  The Great Betrayer is portrayed as a monstrous, three faced demon.  Each face gnaws continually on history’s greatest traitors–Brutus and Cassius, who betrayed Caesar, and Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Christ himself.  Judas’ torment is the worst in hell, as his head is gnawed on by Satan’s central mouth and his body is continually ripped to shreds by the Devil’s claws.

…still with me?  I know, that one was sort of long.  I didn’t originally want it to run this long, but with the level of detail involved here, I couldn’t really help it.  Future posts in this series will hopefully come in at a bit more reasonable length.  Stick around, as we’re going to look at Hell from various cultures and time periods.  People are endlessly inventive when it comes to conceiving imaginary punishments for society’s ne’er-do-wells, so be ready for a wild, at times disturbing, ride!

Can Gaming Help Your Writing? Yes, Yes It Can!

I’m a gamer from way back.  My dad brought home the original NES one day about twenty some years ago, and since them I’ve been hooked.  In the early days, my brother and I played out our on screen adventures on a little black and white television as my parents were afraid that hooking the system to the living room TV would ruin it in short order, under the possibly dubious assumption that game systems were bad for televisions.  We upgraded when my parents bought a new TV and allowed us to use their hand me down TV.  Let me tell you, that was a huge improvement!

My brother and I spent hours and hours lost in the gaming world.  Legend of Zelda, Mario, Metroid, Final Fantasy, and many, many more games.  Eventually, when we got a computer, we got games for that as well.  Point being, I’ve played a LOT of video games in my time.  And I think that it has made me a better writer.  That might seem like a funny thing to say, given gaming’s reputation for rotting the minds of the younger generation, but really when you look at the medium closely it becomes obvious it isn’t so strange at all.

The key is that games are interactive.  Certainly, a book puts you in a character’s head and lets you see the world through their eyes.  A movie does the same, although in a different way.  But in a game, you get to control the story!  Sure there are set points for advancement through every story, but you have to figure out how to get there.  Even if it’s a simple platformer like Mario, you still have to figure out how to get through the level to get to the castle at the end (only to inevitably find the princess isn’t there!).  Games allow you to explore, to play, in a way that books and movies never can.  They actually encourage creativity and a sense of curiosity, especially adventures and RPGs.

Plus, games can give you a basic idea of how to put a story together.  Usually the story line in a game leaves a lot to be desired in terms of depth and content (especially older games, with some notable exceptions such as Chrono Trigger and Final Fantasy 6), but in a very basic sense they illustrate what a plot ought to be.  Take Super Mario Bros, for example.  The story problem is that Bowser has kidnapped the Princess.  Mario has to go on a journey to save her, fighting through Bowser’s minions the whole way, until the final confrontation and the resolution, where our plucky plumber hits a switch and dumps the fiendish Bowser into a pool of lava.

Notice how Bowser is the engine of the story’s conflict.  He wants to keep the princess, and Mario wants to save her.  This basic conflict drives the entire game, just as the basic conflict between your protagonist and Final Boss in a story should drive the story conflict.  Also, as Mario approaches his objective, the obstacles in front of him become increasingly difficult to surmount.  Believe me, the last few levels of SMB get pretty hairy!

Then comes the climactic confrontation with Bowser, where we learn how NOT to tell a story.  You see, it is rare for a boss fight in a video game to live up to the hype; the Big Baddie usually turns out to be a Big Wuss.  Take Mario, for example.  Sure there is more stuff flying around and what not, but really the battle with Bowser is no different than the battle with the bosses at the end of every level previous.  In a book, you can’t let the climactic battle flop.  It has to be gloves off, no holds barred, and mind blowing.  You’ve ratcheted up the tension and hopefully have your reader with a white knuckle grip on your book, feverishly turning the pages to see what happens next.  Make the release of tension explosive!

Once the battle with Bowser is over, the resolution comes.  You finally find the princess and credits roll.  Now the ending of a book has to be a bit more emotionally satisfying than that, but the principle remains.  You have to tie up the loose ends and satisfactorily end the story conflict.  Games have an edge over books in this department, as the pay off comes from the conquest.  You fought HARD to get to the end, and even if its just a cheesy line of dialog from a pixelated lady then credits, it feels really good to see that.  However, an author can simulate this feeling of payoff by really toying with their readers, by making them sweat for the protagonist all through the story.  If you do your job right, the reader should be really anxious by the time the climax roles around, feeling like they’ve been through the ringer right along with the character.  It might not be the same as battling through the mayhem with a digital avatar, but it’s close!

So, writers, don’t feel bad when you indulge your gaming habit.  You’re making yourself a better writer, and having a blast doing it.

Why I Write Horror and Fantasy

PET image of a brain

Today you get to peek inside my brain! …okay this isn’t a picture of MY brain, just A brain. I don’t have a photo of my brain laying around.

As long time readers of this blog may know, it is a bit of a strange mash up.  I go from writing about spirituality to brutal serial killers to strange psychological diseases.  The genres that chose me might seem no less strange to an outsider looking in.  In college I majored in biology, and I love all the sciences; they  have a huge influence on how I think, and I believe they are very important to our collective welfare as a species.  While I am open to the paranormal, and enjoy writing about it, I do not actively believe in it.  Put short, I’m a very rational person (sometimes too much so!).  On the other side of the coin, I am a very spiritual person.  I am a practicing Buddhist, and I believe in peace, love, and kindness.  While I do have a temper, I have never been in a physical fight and I would never deliberately harm someone with my words or actions.  But yet I turn around and write about gruesome killers and monsters and battles.

Now, all of that might seem contradictory.  And it is, to some extent.  At the very least, it is unconventional.  I was musing over this topic the other day and came to a couple of conclusions.  One reason I write what I do is because I’ve always had morbid fascinations.  Ever since I was a kid I’ve been into this stuff.  A second is that it acts as kind of a release valve, a way to express more negative emotions in a safe way.  But the primary reason I write what I do is the personal quality that led me to both science and Buddhism: curiosity.

I am an avid learner.  I want to know as much as I can about this crazy world before I leave it.  How we got here, why we are here, and why things are the way they are.  Spirituality and science are two ways of knowing that, contrary to popular belief, do not have to be mutually exclusive.  One explains why, the other how.  You can do both at once–I am living proof of that.

But while that might explain the content of my blog, you might be asking how curiosity has anything to do with writing horror and fantasy.  That is because curiosity comes hand in hand with another quality: imagination.  The two are inseparable because curiosity inevitably leads you to ask questions about the world around you, and to question in the first place takes imagination.  But eventually it takes you further than that–you begin to ask not about what is, but what could be.  Could there really be a world where humans can fling fireballs and dragons take wing?  If so, what would that be like?  Or, what if ghosts were really real?  What would be the implications?  What if corpses could walk again?

With a head full of questions like that, the next natural progression is to go about answering them.  For me that was a combination of reading stories in the fantasy and horror genres, and of course writing my own stories.  Really, writing fiction is an act of discovery, another way that the human mind strives to understand both the world without and the world within.  Careful though.  This way, there be monsters.

Life in a Lovecraftian Universe

The Father of Modern Horror himself, H.P. Lovecraft, circa 1934.

It occurred to me the other day that, in many ways, H.P. Lovecraft was spot on in his description of the universe.  For those unfamiliar with early 20th century American horror authors, Lovecraft is widely regarded as the father of modern horror.  His stories concerned a vast, unfeeling universe populated by superhuman beings who regarded us much like we regard ants.  Now we know this as cosmic horror, a subgenre characterized by a strange world that lives just out of our normal sight and senses, that only an unfortunate few brush up against.

Now, when I say that Lovecraft’s universe is a lot like ours, I’m not saying that Cthulhu is sleeping under the depths of the Pacific Ocean, waiting for the stars to align right for his awakening.  So far as we know there are no Elder Gods or Great Old Ones.  No, what Lovecraft got right was that the Universe is vaster and stranger than humans could ever conceive of up until now.  Keep in mind that in his day, we were only just discovering that there were other galaxies than the Milky Way.  Up until that point, it was believed that the entire universe was contained just within our galaxy.  Now we know that the distance from our Earth to the edge of the universe is about 13.7 billion light years (as opposed to the width of the Milky Way, about 100,000 light years across).

A light year is the distance it takes light to travel in a year.  For my American readers, that is about 6 trillion miles (10 trillion kilometers for my foreign friends).  To put that in perspective, it takes the light from out sun 8 minutes to travel 93 million miles.  Now, from here to the edge of the visible universe is 13.7 billion light years, approximately.  As for the width of the universe, that is less well defined.  That depends on the shape of the universe, and other factors.  Also, we believe that the universe itself stretches well beyond the visible edge of the universe, as the universe is continually expanding, faster and faster.  One estimate I saw put the width of the universe, including what we can’t see presumably, at about 78 billion light years.  Let that sink in a moment.

…ready?  Okay.  Now astronomers believe that the universe itself is 13.7 billion years old.  The earth is 4.5 billion years old.  Life on Earth is 3.8 billion years old.  Modern humans have existed about 200,000 years.  Human civilization is only about 5,000 years old.  We’ve been shooting things into space about 50 years now.

It’s easy to see how Lovecraft was right.  Science has shown us that the universe and time itself are vast almost beyond the ability for our minds to grasp them.  Earlier I said that humans were ants to the dark gods of Lovecraft’s imagination, but in terms of the sheer scale of our own universe we are smaller still, more like atoms than ants.

But it doesn’t end with size and age.  While so far as we know Earth is the only planet with life, that doesn’t mean there aren’t really bizarre and monstrous non-living things out there.  Black holes come to mind, those infinite wells of gravity from which even light cannot escape (stranger still, some believe they harbor universes within their depths, and that our own universe may lay within a black hole.  Weird huh?).  Then there are neutron stars, which are basically failed black holes that result from stars that didn’t quite have the mass to give birth to a singularity when they died.  Neutron star material is so densely packed that one teaspoon of it would weigh almost 900 times as much as the Great Pyramid.  A neutron star is, on average, approximately the size of New York City.  They are the lighthouses of the universe, beaming light in the form of x-rays and radio waves from their poles.  Astronomers on the hunt for neutron stars look for tell-tale flashing, so regular you could literally use it to keep time.  Stranger still, neutron stars are the universe’s musicians.

There’s all that and more.  Super Earths, twice the mass of our own.  Stars with masses 150 times that of our own sun.  Giant clouds of ethyl alcohol.  Dust particles in nebular clouds that mimic DNA helices.  Rogue stars, shot loose from their orbits by black holes, flying through the cosmos at a million miles an hour.  And, at least in one corner of the universe that we know of, beings with consciousness able to appreciate all the terrible wonder around them.  A Lovecraftian universe indeed.

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