Above is me in the Dutch churchyard in Brooklyn that inspir'd Lovecraft to write "The Hound."  While roaming the site, HPL chipped off a bit off tombstone from one of ye markers, and fantasized about how the dweller interred beneath the stone would haunt Grandpa for this desecration.  My being there was part of a three-week tour during which my patrons took me to New England and New York, ending our tour at WFC in Saratoga, during which Joe Pulver took us too visit the tomb of Robert W. Chamber.  It was amazing, that tour.  During our four days in Providence, S. T. Joshi, who was doing work on the Collected Poetry of Clark Ashton Smith at John Hay Library, took us on an exhaustive tour of Lovecraftian sites.  I was carrying all three of S. T.'s Penguin Classics editions of Lovecraft's tale, and my battered old pb edition of Fungi from Yuggoth.  The greatest, moft overwhelming experience of my life as a Lovecraft came when I went up and touched 10 Barnes Street, where Grandpa penned so many of his classics.

I know it's a fantastic thing to say, but I did sense Lovecraft's spirit there, and my soul connection with him.  It was the moment when I felt so amazingly thankful to be a Lovecraftian writer, the thing that has blessed me with keenest joy.

I have been extremely ill for over a month, and it doesn't seem like I'm gonna get better any time soon.  Tonight has been one of the worst nights.  I think my ailments are a combination of heart disease and lingering bronchitis.  One of my ailments is coranary arterial spasms, which happens usually when I recline in bed and try to sleep--they jerk my body and produce a little yelp, making sleep impossible so that I am a zombie moft of ye time.  I've not seen my heart doctor at Swedish or taken my meds for almoft half a year, stupid, I know.  I shall correct that.  The bronchitis has been severe.  Speaking and breathing is, at times, almoft impossible.  (I spell "most" as "moft" cos HPL did so in his correspondence--he is utterly under me skin...)  Writing is impossible, and because I'm a Drama Queen, honey, I am convic'd that I shall never get better, that this illness is my final trial.  The wretched health is combined with my task as my mother's live-in caregiver.  She has sunk into rich senility and almoft never stops yelling, screaming, howling.  I need silence in order to write.  But also, being down here in the basement, bent over the keyboard, completely wears me out after half an hour.   Thus I spend almoft all of my time in my deathbed--I mean my sickbed, where I have gather'd pens and pads.  I thought maybe I could spend day after day jotting down notes, inspir'd by ye books I read, recording little germs or titles for potential future tales, perhaps even plot outlines or rough drafts in longhand.  Ain't happening.

So. I herewith announce my Retirement from Writing.  Maybe after three or four years of trying to rest, I shall recover and be able to work.  Maybe I need only wait until Spring's warmer weather to nourish my body with a semblance of restored health.  Maybe not.  This is a real ripoff, a cruel cosmic jest, because I am at ye height of my abilities as an author.  Girlfriends, I have so many ideas for future books whirling within my wither'd brain, books I ache to write.

If this is the end of my career, that's cool.  I've accomplished far more than I ever thought I would.  I still have four books forthcoming!  My thanks to all of you who have supported me as an author.  I wrote those books for you.  I love you.
I'll still come here to chat about weird literature and promote books by my chums and new cds from Boy George and Barbra Streisand.  And I'm staying on Facebook, where I usually post the vlogs I record at YouTube.

Be well, kind hearts.  Thank you for following my blog.  I hope to keep it worthwhile.


  1. I find this so hard to believe and hold that your time to write shall return.

  2. .

    Let's call it a sabbatical. Which implies some sort of holy rest to which I am certain you are entitled.

    Btw, I'm reading the copy of SV&OH you sent me and am enjoying it immensely. It was misplaced for some months after being packed up for a painting project and I'm glad to have it back.

  3. That's a great story, Wil. I'd love to take that tour one day as well!

    It's enthralling, the idea of releasing books AFTER retirement and even after "the other". Not only that, Wil, but also you have the artist's blessing of immortality to breathe in every word you've ever written, just as H.P. and Poe and many others have; words which will breathe until we all meet again.

    But that's just as a back-up. See professionals, get fixed up (I was about to say "get FUCKED up" then), and then come back and make more babies.

    PS: Your old lady sounds like quite the character.

  4. I am sorry for your troubles and hope that resuming your medication gives you some relief. I just wanted to say that in the last few months I stumbled on some of your online writings and videos, and then read your cheerful and informative reviews on Amazon.

    Your luminous online presence reinvigorated a decades long-dormant interest in Lovecraft and have inspired me to buy new works (most recently The Book of Cthulhu, with a story you wrote in it, which has just arrived).

    I do hope the spirit of Lovecraft, which is strong in you, does not so manifest that your health goes the way of his... Rest as best you can, and get well.


  5. Get well soon Brother Wilum, my darkest prayers for your swift recovery.

  6. I am so sorry to hear of your poor health and your troubles while caring for your mum. I know that caring full-time for a parent is utterly draining even for those in the best of health.

    I am also a huge fan of HPL, and I have been following your blog quietly for a while now (having found out about your work through Ashleigh Talbot).

    I hope your health returns again soon and allows you to go back to the writing you love.

    Sincere and best regards,



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