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Almost done with this anthology of Lovecraftian short stories…

Yesterday I read one where, I swear, the author was channeling the same writing personality that I’d tap into when I did stuff for my creative nonfiction class. So many ridiculous asides and nonsense to create the illusion that things are happening. And that, while horrifying, they’re also pretty funny.

It was a weird story to read.

The other one…was longish…and probably the only time so far where I have almost cried over a weird tale. I think that at some point in my life, perhaps I will stop getting sentimental over characters who I perceive as “being me”. I have not arrived at that point yet, it seems.

And lastly…it occurred to me–while I was supposed to be at a training class on how to properly manage food and beverage, but was thinking about Cthulhu instead–that although I’ve read SO MANY stories from other authors who used Lovecraft’s ideas…I think the only story I’ve ever read by him is The Call of Cthulhu. Nothing else comes to mind.

Sure, I know about his stories…but all that knowledge is secondhand, from authors who’ve spun it into all kinds of things…WWII Nazi stories, noir-type spy stories, Doctor Who adventures, Woodstock-type stories laced with all kinds of drugs, Star Trek-inspired voyages…but I’ve never read any but that one of the original set.

Weird.

I have two collections of Lovecraft stories lines up to read this fall when I might have time…but…I feel weird now. What if I don’t even like them?

Hmm.

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