Doing Nano this year because I can. One idea that’s sticking with me is this concept of the rustbelt gothic, an idea I toyed with before (but called post-industrial fantasy over at Behind the Wainscot). It was interesting seeing these posts on rustbelt gothic poetry. And it seems like they’re putting into words the same thoughts I was toying with- the idea of ruins of industrial complexes, ideas about haunted abandoned homes, Woods obscuring everything, towns existing like they are nestled between autumn trees.
And in the distance a train howls. A world that already experienced an apocalypse. I read somewhere that they wanted to film part of The Road around Erie, PA because it had the right “end of the world” look, and I can see that. It’s visible in every face.
Of course, I’ve explored this sort of thing before in lots of shortstories. Most of Glass Coffin Girls could be considered rustbelt gothic. It’s interesting because we’re not talking about horror per se. It’s not. It may contain some supernatural, maybe. But it’s about a tone. It’s about how haunted the rust belt feels these days.
Musically it’s like the Swans are the soundtrack to this haunted landscape.
There is also maybe a mystery here. Or maybe something mysterious. I know I want to evoke powerful symbols. I want to draw on myths and folklore and push it inside. I want it to feel like a modern day gothic. The tone will be autumn and black dresses. The tone will be a man on fire in a burnt out shell. The tone will be whispers into mirrors. The tone will be the floating ghosts in the lake, calling you towards them.
I’m also thinking about my childhood here. I’m back in some small town and I remember going to the library every day and reading the Man, Myth & Magick series. I remember being pulled to those books. The symbols speaking to me. The concepts burning holes in my memories the shapes of these images.
I also remember watching Hammer Horror films on tv, and watching Folk Horror stuff, and I remember all of this on television. Maybe Big Chuck and Little John?Or maybe it was Ghoulardi? I don’t know. I just remember these movies holding me in rapt attention and then later in life hunting them down, trying to find them.
And somehow this is all going to fit together. In a book of all things.
I’m also probably going to post here nanothings daily or so, and maybe litpunch it all over the place. Something like that.