“THERE are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but which are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction.”-The Premature Burial, Edgar Allan Poe
“I cannot, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely where, I first became acquainted with the lady Ligeia.”-Ligeia, Edgar Allan Poe
“For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief.”-The Black Cat, Edgar Allan Poe
“The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.”-The Cask of Amontillado, Edgar Allan Poe
“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary”-The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe
“During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singular dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher.”-The Fall of the House of Usher, Edgar Allan Poe
“True!-nervous-very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?”-The Tell-Tale Heart, Edgar Allan Poe
An excerpt of Flannery O’Connor reading A Good Man is Hard to Find, 1959.
Her reading is brilliant.
Anton Chekhov was born on 29 January 1860. In addition to being quite the looker…
…he ranks as one of my favourite writers.
QUOTE: “There is nothing new in art except talent.”
SOME WORKS: The Bear; The Seagull; Uncle Vanya; Three Sisters; The Cherry Orchard; The Death of a Government Clerk; The Huntsman; At the Mill; Easter Eve; Grisha; The Bet; The Darling; The Bishop.
When I snapped this image in October, I wasn’t too impressed with the result. It didn’t spark my imagination, which is always a bad sign. I was in a hurry and used my camera phone, which was zoomed in a bit too much. Even though this house has stories to tell, I didn’t feel any of them that day. My creativity felt closed off. Since I’m a writer, and not a photographer, it’s normal if I am not immediately able to capture a visual; I tuck everything away until the time is right. I’m familiar enough with this house, which is in my home city, to know that the intuitive call to my creative process would happen, eventually and beautifully.
After a conversation with Jennifer from Quirk’n It, I decided to wade through the 1300+ photos on my phone. When I saw this one, it struck me differently than it did two months ago. I was playing around with some effects, when it hit me: for the last few months, I’ve been writing a short story featuring this house in triplicate. The house is not the star, nor was it the impetus for the piece, but it’s there just the same: altered, transformed, re-imagined into something else. All before I took the photograph. Remembered from previous glimpses, from some unremembered or unnoticed tucking away.
*”Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”-Edgar Allan Poe
**This is an excerpt from my short story, The Brothers’ Boneyard. No stealing, please.