256. Bill Knott } is a terrible poet.

On the back of Nights of Naomi (Barn Dream, 1971), a quote—attributed to “Bill Knott (1940 – 1966)” —declares: “I consider ‘Nights’ my first and only book. The other books (including ‘Auto-necrophilia’) with my name on them are, like the patent office, full of garbage.”

That would include The Naomi Poems, reprinted against Bill’s wishes, by Janaka Stucky’s Black Ocean.

To celebrate Janaka’s flagrant disregard for Bill’s self-loathing, he’s invited Darcie Dennigan, John Cotter, Elisa Gabbert, me, & himself to read poems from The Naomi Poems at Riff Raff this Thursday.

My copy of Nights of Naomi belonged to Paul Hannigan, who taught (briefly) w/ Bill at Emerson College. Paul’s marginalia identifies sources & typos.

Some of us knew Bill. He was my undergraduate advisor & I frequently ran into him at bookstores in Cambridge & Somerville. We’ve been invited by Janaka to share anecdotes. My favorite anecdote about Bill is so offensive, I’ll keep it to myself.

255. Great horror stories? } & Necronomicon.

 

What is Betty M. Owen’s 11 Great Horror Stories? Did human beings write the two Amazon reviews of this anthology? (“Eleven very good short stories of the horror titles which interest me” sez David from the U.K. who gives it 5 stars; “Bought this copy of book that I borrowed and it fell apart before finishing. Bought to finish the book and return a usable item to it's [sic] owner” reports Ted from the U.S.) It’s a Scholastic Book Services title—probably made for a school age market in 1969. Betty M. Owen “selected” the stories—but her choices are perplexing. Lovecraft’s “The Dunwich Horror” & Stoker’s “The Judge’s House” are good horror stories (not “great”—though both have much to recommend them); Poe’s “The Oblong Box” is wonderfully mysterious until suddenly it isn’t—Poe explains everything. I’m not sure it’s a horror story—it depends on how you interpret the last act of the artist who owns the box. John Collier’s “Thus I Refute Beelzy,” Anthony Vercoe’s “Flies,” & Fielden Hughes’ “The Mistake” are fun—B-stories, if you will (all could be made into A-stories if developed beyond the single idea that drives them). L.P. Hartley’s “W. S.” & E. Everett Evans’ “The Shed” are not good—but it’s interesting to me that both resemble (good) Stephen King stories (The Dark Half & “The Raft,” respectively). King could’ve read both when he was a boy. John Collier’s “The Love Letter” is science fiction/romance (& charming); Gerald Kersh’s “The Ape and the Mystery” is fantasy—but if you didn’t know anything about Leonardo DaVinci you might not notice. I enjoyed this story. A. E. Sandeling’s “Return of the Griffins” is also fantasy & good. I will send this book back out into the world, complete w/ my (very minimal) annotations.

I might leave it on the freebie table at Necronomicon, where I’ll be next weekend.

Friday, at 12:30pm, I’ll join a roundtable discussion w/ Mike Allen, Paula D. Ashe, Tiffany Morris & Sheree Renée Thomas about “the state of the weird”—hosted by The Outer Dark podcast. I assume the others will have a better handle on trends in the genre than I do; I look forward to their speculations re. weird fiction in the future. At 3:30 I moderate a panel on the fiction of the Joel Lane w/ Timothy Jarvis (a writer I don’t know), Billy Martin (a writer I do know), & editor Justin Steele. My prep was to reread The Lost District & some Lane miscellany—I have questions!

Saturday, at 11am, I’ll discuss Leonora Carrington w/ fellow panelists Victoria Dalpe, Anya Martin, Gabriel Mesa, & Jeff VanderMeer. Her body of work is small enough it was possible to read most of it before the con—though I’ll confess I skimmed “Little Francis” & have not read The Stone Door. A good thing about a panel: collectively, we may be able to fill in the gaps of individual panelists. At 3:30, I’m scheduled to read (from Stone Gods) w/ Khôra Martel & Paul Tremblay. My guess is you know Paul—I remember a time when he asked permission to sell copies of City Pier on the New Genre table at Boskone (sure!). I don’t know Khôra (I’m eager to!).

I’ll try to attend publisher John M. Thompson’s panels—although the first is at 8am on Friday. Scott Dwyer will be there, too. John will have copies of Mooncalves & Stone Gods for sale—I know this because two boxes of said titles currently dwell in my cellar.

254. Readercon } Horror into the Classics.

 “…pondering all this, the palsied universe lies before us a leper; and like the wilful travellers of Lapland, who refuse to wear colored glasses upon their eyes, so the wretched infidel gazes himself blind at the monumental white shroud that wraps all the prospect around him. And of all these things the Albino whale was the symbol.”

Friday, if I can make it, I’ll join a discussion at Readercon 33 called “Reading Horror into the Classics” (July 12, 3pm). It’s possible I’ve misinterpreted the panel—as described on the events schedule, it could be a jokey panel where any book that isn’t to our taste is recategorized as horror; it could also be about reimagining classics as horror (so, the racist, expansionist assumptions of the Ingalls family is visited upon them or they are recast as monsters). I interpret the panel’s subject to be classics that can be read (& mined) for horror—not as horror. I could easily be wrong, but that’s what I’ll bring the table. Of course, w/ a scant 60 minutes for our discussion, we may not get past the term “classics.”

At 9pm, I’ll read a story from Stone Gods.

I’m at Readercon, too, to attend the Shirley Jackson Awards. This year, NO Press’s Mooncalves is nominated for “edited anthology.” If it wins, I’ll accept on behalf of John WM Thompson. I’m glad to do this for John, but I do not look forward to the awards ceremony.

By the way, John & Glenn McDorman discuss “Distant Signals”—my contribution to Mooncalves—on the Elder Sign podcast. You can read the story for free at the NO Press site before you listen. I really enjoyed their conversation.

& an unrelated note: in a church basement I examined a copy of Robert Burns' selected poems (Penguin Classics, 1950) & found a cheerful note inscribed on the title page, “Merry Christmas, Dad! Bobbie Burns 4 life! Love, [name illegible]”—but, inscribed at the end of a short bio of Burns was another note, written in a different hand, of a decidedly different sentiment: “Feb 28 / Julian gave this to Mark on final visit to say goodbye.”

253. Libraries & } un-encampment.

 

[04–27–24] Leave the Richards Memorial Library b/c a woman, w/ a recent issue of Rolling Stone magazine, sits glowering & wheezing beside me.

Nearby, a white-haired woman walks a small white dog. Looks at her phone. She warns a family (?)—three women, one w/ a stroller—that her dog isn’t good w/ kids. Bites kids it doesn’t know.

There’s a pro-Israel rally outside the Rochambeau Library; the library’s manager is upset—she argues w/ the rally leader, asks that they not protest in the path of pedestrians. Roughly 15 protesters wave flags. The rally leader is obstinate & pleased & won’t move. Cars honk. Library staff summon the police; the police explain that the protesters can rally but can't block the sidewalk or they “could be removed.” The protesters decide to continue their rally at Brown.

[05–01–24] Brown’s encampment is gone but recalled by rectangular patches of pale grass & a fence. A group of roughly 30 faculty stand on the steps of the student union with little signs that read “Divest Now.” They listen to a speech (which I can’t hear). I approach, spot two poets I know; the group breaks up; I see a former colleague so I veer off toward the Quiet Green.

Where I speak w/ two of the student protesters I met last week at the encampment. I ask what they think of the faculty protest that just ended—it’s not clear they were aware of it at all.

When I tell them I’m a RISD professor, they ask what RISD students have been doing. I remind them of the November protest outside the Textron building, tell them about student-led protests in front of RISD buildings & point out that RISD students don’t benefit from the security a fenced-in campus provides. I show them a flier RISD students made & describe the enormous puppet a student of mine constructed to be used at protests.

At Brown’s Rockefeller Library is a very small display of “Free Mumia” posters. He’s been in prison since 1982.

Some of the notes for this post were written on my copy of Amy Herzog’s play After the Revolution.

252. Eye & } encampment.

Red “X” over “The First Baptist Meeting House”—& a red, crying eye over its spire.

Tired & jittery. Walk through Brown University encampment. Salvador Allende misquoted on the side of a tent, many bottles of Poland Spring water, many snacks—so many snacks, students discussing snacks, students urgently carry snacks—& a quarter of a watermelon, eaten w/ a white plastic spoon, vivid on the Main Green.

A woman picks up a megaphone—but the encampment is subdued. No drum, no chant. There’s a class in session on the grass nearby. Students paint signs. Students paint a map of Palestine, carefully copying a map of Palestine, circa 1945. Tupac’s “Keep Ya Head Up” misquoted on the side of a tent. On a blanket, for the moment unoccupied, are two books: Daniel Mason’s North Woods & Lizzy Goodman’s Meet Me in the Bathroom.

Students in orange vests—“marshals.” A marshal explains to me she’s not part of the protest, but there to ensure a peaceful protest. A suspicious student wants to know what I’m doing & I tell him I’m documenting the moment, ask, “How long have you been here?” “Since 6am yesterday”—he’s proud. “You slept here?” “Yes.” “Did you feel safe?” “Yes.” “When University police were here, did they bother you?” “They checked IDs, so we can be punished later.” The student with the black & white scarf in the photo below (taken by Dana Richie for the Brown Daily Herald) is the student I spoke w/.

All of a sudden, a few students start up a chant & bang on a blue, five-gallon bucket. I ask a group of four students seated on the grass why it's started up again. First I’m asked, “Can I ask why you’re asking?” Suspicious of a middle-aged man taking notes. I tell them I’m a RISD professor & I’m curious. That’s enough for them; they’re eager to tell me that the Brown University Community Council voted “to recommend that five student representatives… be allowed to present their case for divestment… before the Corporation.” & that the council also voted to recommend that charges be dropped against students arrested at the sit-in.” An empty gesture to mollify protesters?

When I leave the campus, I walk in front of the sole news camera there—WPRI Channel 12.

251. A peach-colored jumpsuit } & a bundle of rags.

 

After the reading I went to a house in Providence where a woman said she was going to tell us a story about a serial murderer. She told us what the murderer did with the skin & genitalia of his victims & that he carried a human skull in a lunchbox & brought it with him to work. She was excited to tell these anecdotes; she believed she would enthrall us—but her anecdotes were poorly told & pointless.

The reading: I read w/ K.H. Vaughan & Jeffrey Thomas. Vaughan sipped Maker’s Mark from a plastic cup. Wore a beautiful shirt with paisley cuffs. He read his story from Scott Dwyer’s anthology The Pinworm Factory. Jeffrey Thomas read two stories from Scenes from a Village, a slim volume from the press Oddness. A head appeared at the window. We took a break. We sang Happy Birthday to the Horror Depot. I read “The Great Blind God Passed Through Us” from Stone Gods. Cover artist Anna MacLeod came, & discussed political puppet-making. Is it possible to have a conversation with a puppet-maker & not mention Sesame Street? It should be.

Our host was Lovecraft Arts & Sciences; s. j. bagley our master of ceremonies. Stone Gods, Worse Than Myself, & issues of New Genre are all available at the shop.

After the reading, I gave a ghost a ride home.

250. Livia Llewellyn’s last } post / publication.

Livia Llewellyn writes,

Going forward, I’m going to continue to write and submit stories, but all of that other stuff—trying to find an agent, trying to get a book deal, networking… will end. I don’t need to do it, it makes me miserable… and while I’ve appreciated the “you can do it” cheers from all of the writers I’ve met over the years, at some point we’ve all come to realize that, no, I in fact cannot do it. And honestly, it’s become exhausting and cruel to everyone to make everyone keep up the pretense. You’ve all done so well, and it’s been amazing being allowed to hang out with so many writers who’ve achieved so many incredible things. It’s been a privilege and a joy to know all of you—you know who you all are, and I will miss your company. But I’ve been stuck in this fork of the road for two decades, and now it’s time to move on, down a different path from everyone else.

That’s how I read Llewellyn's “Allochthon”—we gotta murder our way out of our canyon-deep rut.

Word Horde published Furnace, Llewellyn’s second collection; the sight of it used to make me jealous—the buzz around it, the terrific cover—Word Horde expressed interest in Stone Gods, but publisher Ross E. Lockhart & I never managed to connect (that’s OK!)—but now Llewellyn’s done with publishing altogether. 

I wouldn’t write “I’m done”—I don’t think I would. Is it a strategy? Is the next post, “Hey! AGENT reached out. I’ve made it!!!” I hope so.

Llewellyn’s announcement hit me funny. Last month I finally began to read her work. Taken w/ it, I visited her website—& “The Final Missive.” It troubles me.

Particularly, “You’ve all done so well, and it’s been amazing being allowed to hang out with so many writers who’ve achieved so many incredible things.” What does Llewellyn mean by “achieved” & what does she mean by “allowed to”? She’s no imposter, agent or no, book deal or no.

She reassures us—& this is good—, “The writing will continue. The publications will continue. Occasionally a story in an anthology will appear. Hopefully an occasional collection or short book might appear.” That’s my plan, too.

Stone Gods is published. By a brand-new & very small press: NO. A handful of bookstores will stock copies—as of today they are Lovecraft Arts & Sciences in Providence, The Last Bookstore in Los Angeles, & Bucket O’ Blood in Chicago. The writing will continue.

249. “Can we talk about…? } “(Rabbit).”

 

Last month I wrote an essay for David Surface’s Strange Little Stories. Roughly monthly, David’s newsletter features true strange stories, one by David & another written by a guest—plus news about David’s work, other writers’ work, &, in this issue, an interview w/ me.

David writes (about me),

 …he said some very nice things on his blog about a story of mine he’d read…. I reached out to thank him, and that started an on-again off-again correspondence that I enjoyed very much. So, I was very glad when I got the chance to pick up our conversation again.

I praised David’s story “Terrible Things”; it became the title story of his first collection, available from Black Shuck Books. In the interview, David & I discussed my brief correspondences w/ Mark Samuels (who died early Dec.), my upcoming collection Stone Gods, the essay I wrote for David, & the term “weird” as it’s used today. Among other things. I’m sure that if you’re interested, you can join the other 200 (or so) subscribers to Strange Little Stories by contacting David through his website; ask to start w/ Strange Little Stories #23. Nay, insist!

Stone Gods can be pre-ordered from NO Press & will be published (I’m told) this month.

[ The above image is a still from David Lynch's short film Rabbits or maybe from his long film Inland Empire. I mention Inland Empire in this post about David Cronenberg's Fast Company. ]