"The seductive music wrapped around me, and I knew that I wanted to be clothed in nothing else. Kicking off my shoes, I unzipped my trousers and let them fall to my ankles. Some kind creature helped me out of them and took my book as I began to unbutton my shirt provocatively, as though it were one of seven veils. I wished for a glass of scarlet wine to spill onto the floor, so that I could dance in its ruby pool."
--W. H. Pugmire, "A Quest of Dream"
from Bohemians of Sesqua Valley
Something unexpected is happening, and I am taken by surprise. I've been feeling the Lovecraft fever more intensely than ever before, why I'm not quite sure, although I think ye upcoming convention in Providence this August, NecronomiCon 2013, has much to do with it. I think, also, the publication of my newest book has had an effect. I've been telling myself all year that I am simply not in the mood to work on a new book. And I wasn't. I've had too many books publish'd in too short a time, written in quick succession because I thought I was gonna die of a heart attack any day now. It was like, "I can't kick-off until I've written three more books!," and so I wrote like a thing possess'd. I wore myself out. But -- but... Now that I don't have any new books forthcoming, I feel a bit lost. I've grown so used to working on a new book. I mean, it's what I do with my life, it's my full-time occupation.
Suddenly, these past couple o' days, I've been feeling an aesthetic itch. Suddenly, yesterday, an idea return'd to mind for a story I've been thinking of writing for a couple of years, a kind of sequel to "Facts Concerning the Late Arthur Jermyn and His Family." I've mention'd, in one of two of my tales set in Kingsport, that a white ape-like creature exists in the clutter of the cottage that was ye dwelling of the Terrible Old Man. Probably something he found during his journeys as a south seas captain. So I've had this budding idea of a woman who is of ye Jermyn line, whose father was the bastard child of Alfred Jermyn, who at age twenty had joined a band of music-hall performers, and at thirty-six had deserted wife and child to travel with an American circus. I feel there are many things that I can do with my idea. I can write a story with one of my favourite themes: accepting one's own Outsider nature, and I can use the story to have a strong woman character and make some semi-feminist points; & I can use the story to mock Lovecraft's grotesque racism.
But to-day, as I began to work on the story, I felt anew that burning ache to write more and more Lovecraftian weird fiction, which is always a sign that a new book of mine own is being born. So, what ye hell, I may have a new book out next year after all.
|making love to E'ch-Pi-El|