Machen, Blackwood, and the Curse of Roc-Thalian

So, I've been reading up on my authors of strange, grim, and otherwise cosmically disturbing fiction, and stumbled into H.P. Lovecraft's intense devotion to two authors outside my ken. Their names (respectively) are Algernon Blackwood and Arthur Machen. Blackwood, it seems, was an isolate bachelor, schooled in various modes of esoteric thought, who pioneered a new avenue of 'awe fiction' that encompassed the perfection of the post-gothic ghost story. Machen was a man of many tastes, an occultist and fantasist who is famous for many things, notably his debut novel The Great God Pan (oh, how I yearn for a copy of this). So, freshly informed and inflamed, I went looking around at local used bookstores for any traces of these heretofore unknown masters of the weird. I scoured and I quested and I dug in many a moldering corner (ended up finding an omnibus edition of Ambrose Bierce's writing in the process, which was a major joy), but nothing could I find of Blackwood or Machen.

Saddened, I wandered into one final shadowed corner (there's always one more) before going home, and discovered (drumroll) an original 1924 edition of Dog and Duck by Arthur Machen. A weathered copy, with some considerable discoloring, but definitely a Machen book. Amusing bit is, Dog and Duck is far out in the Machen esoterica, a collection of droll essays about how strange it is to be British. It seems to have little relation to his many fantastical works (none of which I've yet experienced), but in reading it I've caught glimpses of the glory of which he's capable. Of course (funds allowing) I'll probably have to resort to Amazon to settle my cravings, especially for Blackwood (who seems as scarce as a heavy, consistent rainfall in these parts). In the meanwhile I'll indulge in the whimsical abstractions of Dog and Duck, reflecting on the finer peculiarities of life all-the-while.

Also, wanted to announce that the name for the upcoming Kelrob and Jacobson book has been changed. Due to fluctuations in the plot that I hope will sincerely amuse, the story has warped into a slightly larger framework (oh, is this how Robert Jordan first talked of the growthlike swell of his series?). Kelrob and Jacobson have the adventure that finally pulls them together lock stock and barrel, all the while hurtling towards a much broader, stranger, indeterminate fate. The new name for the book is The Curse of Roc-Thalian, to be followed in relatively short order by The Quest of the Aleph.

That is all for now. Want to thank everybody who is tuned in to my microscopic-macroscopic broadcast.

Report from the Pulp Mines of Septimus 7-A

Well well well. What can I say on this most auspicious day of pi?

I'm sitting in a trailer in the depths of the desert listening to Gaucho by Steely Dan. Loved the band for years, but somehow I was daunted by Aja, and stopped there for an inordinately long time. Very pleased to have this new unplumbed album to explore...and here come those Santa Ana winds again. I've been reading extensively about the developing drought conditions in the Southwest (particularly California - New Mexico actually graduated out of a few layers of drought in the last year, owing to a surprising amount of rainfall). To summarize, there is officially one year of water remaining to the most populous state. Alteration, change, mutation and entropy are the dishes of the day - or perhaps I should say century. The species is definitely plunging into a reality heretofore theoretical, predicted by mystics and science-fiction prophets for decades (or millennia, in the case of the mystics). I stand in awe before the changing of the guard.

As for personal projects...writing continues unabated. I've dug up an old piece of pseudo-juvenilia, a massive comedic fantasy novel I completed back in 2002 while still preparing to go to college. The story concerns Duncan Qweegmire, a backwater farmer who has been determined by the gods to be the single least important person on the planet. Due to his immense unimportance, he's the ideal candidate to try and foil the diabolic machinations of the archwizard Raltishar, who has challenged the gods for supremacy of heaven and hell. The book was lost for many many years, but recent excavations of an old hard drive revealed the work in its entirety. I've started revising it, with the intent of releasing it in 15,000-20,000 word segments over roughly a year. There is currently a major uptick in people's appreciation of serialized narrative; indeed, it appears to be the way of the future for self-publishing. This excites me, as much of my favorite writing was produced in the pulp-mines of the early-to-mid twentieth century, not to mention the Victorian penchant for releasing massive (and massively influential) novels over a period of months or years. Thus, Duncan is rocketing into full production. I hope to have the first five segments completed in a month or so, with subsequent segments released on a bi-weekly or monthly basis (NOTE 1/28/16: Project long-abandoned due to unexpectedly sheer demands of revision. Good ideas tied together by longwinded youthful rambling, needing much work to cohere...something might still come it, but not in the foreseeable future).

As for Kelrob and Jacobson, their adventure is hurtling forward in many bewildering and delightful ways. I've received quite a few inquiries from friends and readers, wondering when Quest of the Aleph will be completed, and can only tentatively announce a release this autumn. It's been a very interesting experiment thus far: though Mask of Tamrel and Heretia were written completely fresh, without any reference to previous drafts, the story had existed in various permutations for nearly a decade. Writing from a blank slate has proven both daunting and enlivening. Expect familial drama, vampire hunts, and wanderings into strange misbegotten landscapes. The quest (as always) is on.


2015 is, truly, the Future. I'm hoping to get out at least two books this year, thus riding the crest of the wave rather than being subsumed; one way lies madness, the other revelation. Personally I'm fond of both. As Judee Sill stated so elegantly: "Bless the ridge rider, the ridge he's ridin' is mighty thin."

2015! Blast the Horns and Spank the Strumpets!

And so the New Year is upon us! With all sorts of chills and spills, trepidations and worries, possible revelations lurking in every shadow...there seems to be a new Cold War brewing, which is of course irritating, and then there's burbling about fresh conflict over the Falklands. Politicians are still corrupt and the entire fabric of our reality is being revealed as a byproduct of the oil industry. I am a mere writer, a spinner of notions, but for heaven's sake and land's end there seems to be some silliness pervading our watering hole!

But then that isn't new. There's plenty to anticipate in 2015 - the Year of the Sheep, or at least it will be after February 19th. I've been hammering away at the mass of primeval forces that is taking shape as The Quest of the Aleph; reading Robert Anton Wilson and Michael Moorcock (managed to squeeze in four more Moorcock books before the end of the year); there was snow here several days past, along with some truly astonishing atmospheric phenomena that manifested as mutating mist-dragons raging along the bowl of the Mesilla valley. It was nice to have a true taste of winter; a crust of snow yet lingers on the shadowed side of the trailer. But the forecast is for sunny days without limit, so I must savor the brief upwelling of my Nordic blood and let it slide.

I have been watching the slow, ponderous growth of The Mask of Tamrel across the internet; like a creeping but potent fungus, if one chooses to favor Lovecraftian imagery. I was delighted to put it up for free on most formats (Amazon was supposed to price-match, but they haven't yet), and even more delighted when it started materializing on pirate sites. There seems to be a gradually growing interest, though it's difficult to gauge such things. At the moment I am content that my work is out there in the world, no matter how sporadically.

(Spore. Fungus. I love it when puns materialize from the aether.)

As for promotion, I admit I let myself go slightly over the holidays, which were very hearty and merry and laden with good cheer. I need to be setting up further promotions, submitting to more journals etc, and that work begins now. Progress was also hampered by an ill (or perhaps serendipitously) timed coffee spill on my keyboard, which has since thankfully been remedied. I hint at serendipity because the scene I was hacking through was not manifesting properly, and it was only later that I was able to write it to my satisfaction. It's the ol' zen parable, about the horse trampling the farmer's fields (how terrible! We'll see, says the farmer) only to return and become the best draft horse the farmer's ever had (how wonderful! We'll see, says the farmer). Then the horse dies and brings plague to the village, and it's damn unfortunate...then fortunate, and onwards ad infinitum. First there is a mountain then there's not then there is.

All Donovan reverence aside, I feel very blessed at the beginning of this new unplumbed year. Perhaps this post started off on a too-overtly negative message, but then it could simply be viewed as a venting of the humours. There is much darkness in the world, all of our own harebrained manufacture; there is much stupidity in the world, fostered by the masters of war and media. But in the midst of it all we can escape, slip through the confining nets of complacency, transcend our conditioning and have new unimagined visions. They are all around us, preserved in the hallowed spectrum of art; the past and the future and worlds beyond the petty confines of dimension wait for us to merely open a book or concoct a story or listen to a song or see or movie or speak to another human being. It's an arch-blessing and doom-laden curse to be human; thankfully we need not be confined to ourselves, but can transport OUT, beyond the mortal woes of the Form Destroyer (Thank you Philip K. Dick)!

So that is that and this is this. I hope the New Year brings an ever-increasing expansion of human sensation. I hope to read many more delicious books and interact with many incredible people. I hope that my friends and loved ones and allies across the paltry limits of space-time advance, live, create, and experience. This is life, my friends and foes. Let's swallow it all until we drown (and yes, that's a James Blunt quote). Peace.

The Mask of Tamrel now available for free at the following reputable distributors!

In a world of plummeting oil prices and ever-devaluing concepts of currency, it gives me exceedingly great pleasure to announce that The Mask of Tamrel is now available for free across the length and breadth of this strange techno-psychic projection called the Internet! You can follow the links below for free downloads, or even pop over to Wattpad and read it sans the pesky transference of bytes:


The Mask of Tamrel free on Nook!

The Mask of Tamrel free on Smashwords!

The Mask of Tamrel free on Kobo!

The Mask of Tamrel free on Wattpad!

Once again, thanks to everyone for the continued support. Viva la fantasy!

Marketing: The Author's Strange Double-Life

Wanted to offer the curious a few updates on my quest to properly market The Magistricide. Self-publishing, it seems, is not the instantaneous pot of gold that it is often advertised to be...thankfully this comes as little surprise to me. I was expecting strenuous work and years of self-promotion before (if ever) striking my collective audience. As I have been numinously advised by both my editor and various self-publishing websites, the important thing to do is to continue working. This I am ready and able to do. Of course, the ideal situation would include me eventually being supported by my art (sounds like such a pipe dream, but it shouldn't); in quest of this I've worked on a range of self-promotion, submitting my book to online review journals, hosting giveaways, taking out freebooksy features, trying to sink into communities on goodreads, fiddling with search terms and backcopy and author bio etc. The permutations of self promotion are many, and they can take up a good many hours. I'm currently working on submitting free files of Tamrel to all prominent ebook hosting sites on the internet; with any luck the right people will find it, download it, enjoy it, tell their friends. The overwhelmingly positive response I've gotten to The Mask of Tamrel has been both humbling and reinforcing. I am confident that it is, if nothing else, an entertaining read.

So how have all these methods panned out? I submitted Tamrel to several hundred online review journals and received only two responses in the affirmative. To date neither of the journals have written reviews. I hate to say that this mode is a dead end, but the vast number of sites were either closed due to overwhelming submissions or carried a disclaimer saying that their backlogs were massive and nigh-indigestible. So who knows? Perhaps a year from now a bunch of reviews will suddenly pop up; all you can do is sow the seeds.

As for giveaways and freebooksy ads, I can't recommend them highly enough. Most of the copies of The Mask of Tamrel that I've moved in the last half-year have been dispensed for free, and it has proven a solid means of both sharing my work and building up reviews, though BE WARNED: this process occurs like gum running from a tree. Patience is definitely required, and not letting the review-trickle get you down is a major part of surviving creatively. I'm excited that The Mask of Tamrel will soon be available for free across a wide spectrum of distribution channels, accompanied by a series of freebooksy ads - freebooksy is a great way to put your work in the limelight and share thousands of copies in a mere matter of days. Again, can't recommend their services highly enough, though their ads do come with the not-inconsiderable expense of $100 each.

As for goodreads, I'll be honest. I've often found cultivating connections in online communities a somewhat daunting affair. The site could definitely work as a potent promotion tool for the writer willing to put in the time and energy (read other author's books and review them, forge a collective, find various groups that reflect your interests and post often), but generally if I'm writing I'm either working on a book or this blog. I have undertaken to read some of the fantasy currently getting self-published, and was surprised and pleased by the quality. There is definitely a churning genre market in existence, and it seems that authors intent on writing fantasy not concerned with urban environments, vampires or Harry Potteresque tropes are finding a vibrant home in the self-publishing world. This is heartening, and I maintain hope that a bunch of us will eventually band together and form an intellectual commune of the fantastic and bizarre, though I unfortunately lack HP Lovecraft's networking ability. So goodreads = definitely good, but its usefulness varies depending on your personality type and time constraints.

As for tinkering with backcopy, author bio, keywords etc...it all seems so open to interpretation that I'm never certain if I'm advancing my cause or shooting myself in the foot. Should I use 'wizard,' 'dystopia,' 'magic,' what? Does the backcopy tell too much or too little, or is it just the right level of enticing? What the heck constitutes a 'relateable' author bio, anyways? All these things swirl in my head, and it took me several months of modifications before I arrived at backcopy that pleased me. All I can say is that shifting up your approaches and mutating seems to be a viable course, though who knows? The thing that you're altering might be the thing that would have connected you to your audience. In the utterly subjective realm of such things, the artist can only be precise and beguiling. Whether the artist's idea of precise and beguiling manages to arouse any kind of mass interest, well.....again, it's a subjective world always.

One final thing I can strongly suggest: get physical copies of your book in any bookstore near you. Have an author signing. Carry around business cards and dispense them. Talk to people and try to get a story about yourself in the paper. Interest is interest, whether local or in some remote village in Belgium. Keep in mind that people do truly love physical objects, despite the constant mournful tolling of the bells marking the death of the printed page. If all else fails, dress up as a high elf, drop acid and attack cars with a broadsword. It worked for a guy in Portland and it can work for you.

High Elf, High on Acid, Attacks Woman's BMW With a Sword!

the fate of a retired writer

in the sun

skin blistered with the accumulation of accomplishments

the liver shot, the eye turned gray

the hair a metallic halo

declaring perpetual sainthood -

what strange gods has that atrophied

tongue tasted?

What ecstasies the withered body

sampled in the catacombs of cell

and sentence?

Surely the retired writer has descended

to the deep grottos

where the mysteries of the flesh

and spirit are celebrated

smelled the burning stench of herbs

and seen the mutating shadows

of the gods at war & play -

This goes without saying.

But the particular archaic vintage

of the wine consumed

and the particular orifices delved

in the sacral grove

and the certain stone upon which the sacrifices

were slaughtered

to summon the ghosts of past and future

The flail of the knife and the

sprig of the blessed tree

all of these

all of these

were different.

Are different.

So sit there, aging husk.

Your diseased bones reek of light.

You stare at the sea, the dun earth,

the wild circumnavigation of seasons

& humanity's unbounded sway -

you taste and you glut on the taste

for the transmission is done

for the retired writer sitting

in the sun.


Copyright Scott J. Couturier 2014