I read story after story, but I remember I was staying with friends and family when I read THE OUTSIDER. The opening was so good, I had to read it aloud. It just oozed mystery. Here\u2019s a section from the opening that I read to my friend:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I know not where I was born, save that the castle was infinitely old and infinitely horrible; full of dark passages and having high ceilings where the eye could find only cobwebs and shadows. The stones in the crumbling corridors seemed always hideously damp, and there was an accursed smell everywhere, as of the piled-up corpses of dead generations. It was never light, so that I used sometimes to light candles and gaze steadily at them for relief; nor was there any sun outdoors, since the terrible trees grew high above the topmost accessible tower. There was one black tower which reached above the trees into the unknown outer sky, but that was partly ruined and could not be ascended save by a well-nigh impossible climb up the sheer wall, stone by stone.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I must have lived years in this place, but I cannot measure the time. Beings must have cared for my needs, yet I cannot recall any person except myself; or anything alive but the noiseless rats and bats and spiders. I think that whoever nursed me must have been shockingly aged, since my first conception of a living person was that of something mockingly like myself, yet distorted, shrivelled, and decaying like the castle. To me there was nothing grotesque in the bones and skeletons that strowed some of the stone crypts deep down among the foundations. I fantastically associated these things with every-day events, and thought them more natural than the coloured pictures of living beings which I found in many of the mouldy books. From such books I learned all that I know. No teacher urged or guided me, and I do not recall hearing any human voice in all those years\u2014not even my own; for although I had read of speech, I had never thought to try to speak aloud. My aspect was a matter equally unthought of, for there were no mirrors in the castle, and I merely regarded myself by instinct as akin to the youthful figures I saw drawn and painted in the books. I felt conscious of youth because I remembered so little.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n THE SHADOW OVER INNSMOUTH is arguably my favourite because I resonated so strongly with the character in the tale. As someone who gets a thrill from travel, when someone says don\u2019t go somewhere, I am inclined to go. And so too would I have walked into disaster whilst exploring the shunned town called Innsmouth. This tale also breaks from the static mould and has a gripping escape sequence. Like so many others that I\u2019ve skipped mentioning, this story was so enrapturing that even the archaic language was no obstacle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Having devoured these tales, I couldn\u2019t help but wonder if I could write something similar. It\u2019s not an uncommon step for a new writer to reflect the style of their favourite author, and though I did that at first, I have found more of my own style now. Nonetheless, there are a few things I do with Lovecraft\u2019s stories in mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I like having chapter titles in my books, but I strive to name my chapters such that they could be the title of an H. P. Lovecraft story. See if you can spot one of my chapter titles from H. P. Lovecraft\u2019s intriguing story names: The Haunter Of The Dark; Beyond The Wall Of Sleep; Dwellers In The Crypt; The Shadow Out Of Time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another quality I admire about H. P. Lovecraft is that his stories are as long as they need to be. He never felt like he purposefully padded out a story. He has novel-length tales and very short tales, and when I come up with an exciting idea for a story, I will simply write it. I don\u2019t intend to pad out a story to turn it into a novel. Similarly, I think short stories\u2014particularly in the horror genre\u2014are vastly underappreciated by the industry. I read a lot more short stories than novels, simply because modern life is busy and I\u2019m a slower reader.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Finally, I won\u2019t begin or continue writing a story if I don\u2019t have a beguiling fascination for the idea akin to the feeling I had when reading the stories I\u2019ve mentioned here. And to be able to sit at a dining room table and have a sense of being enthralled is really why I write.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Unlike most authors, I struggle to find books that truly excite me. Part of my desire to write stems from<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/nparrowsmith.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/07\/2023-07-18-22.08.48-1024x769.jpg\")