In September’s post, I announced the sale of a new story for the Shapers of Worlds anthology Volume 5. Today, my contributor copies arrived, containing my story “The Beasts at the End of the World.” This one is a sequel to not one, but two H.G. Wells tales: The Island of Doctor Moreau, and War of the Worlds. The premise is that the Beast Folk from the infamous island of everyone’s favorite mad vivisectionist manage to escape to sea… and arrive in London just as the Martians attack.
Like much of my fiction, this one focuses on characters who feel like outsiders. Beings who can claim no tribe but their own, and belong to no world but the one they make for themselves. The Beast Folk have been taught to chant the mantra “Are we not Men?”, and yet they are not men. They are no longer beasts either. And they do not belong to the genocidal invaders from the stars. As someone who’s felt like an outsider my entire life, this story sprang from a very deep and unexpectedly emotional place… which turned out to be great fodder for getting into these characters’ heads.
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On the subject of people who don’t really fit into neat little boxes, David Lynch passed this month. I fondly remember the weird and phantasmagoric world of Twin Peaks (introduced to me by a college girlfriend who worshiped all things Lynchian), the heartbreaking saga of The Elephant Man, and the bizarre surrealistic nightmares of Eraserhead and Blue Velvet. I was hardly a fan of all his work, though there’s no denying that he was an authentic original, and a truly atmospheric myth-maker. Considering the soulless drivel leaking out of today’s Hollywood like pus from a plague sore, the loss of a unique artist like this is a loss for us all; even if not all his experiments succeeded, he had the courage and commitment to try them out, reaching into a place of dreams and trying to capture some of its gossamer. Farewell, Mr. Lynch. May fire walk with you.
One more note on films. I watched Fritz Lang’s 1946 classic Cloak and Dagger this month, and sat up straight when one of the characters says this:
“For the first time thousands of Allied scientists are working together… to make what? A bomb! But who was willing to finance science before the war, to wipe out tuberculosis? And when are we going to be given a billion dollars to wipe out cancer?”
That’s from seventy-eight years ago. The question–and the cultural indictment–is still valid.
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Why buy a new kitchen knife when you can make your own… under the tutelage of a Forged in Fire champion? I’d never attended a forging class before, and I actually did need a new knife, so here we are.
And before you ask, yes, I named it Andúril. It’s for slaying goblins. Or you know, serving charcuterie.