To me, H.P. Lovecraft falls into the stilted, archaic category. Ever since trying to read “The Dunwich Horror” back in the ’70s, I’ve found his writing to be ponderous. More recently, I slogged my way through “At the Mountains of Madness” during a trip. I’m impressed with his concepts and plots, but find myself struggling to get through his prose.
Nonetheless, you, too, can write like H.P. Lovecraft. Or at least benefit from the tips he offers in “Literary Composition,” an article Lovecraft wrote for The United Amateur, the publication of the United Amateur Press Association. (He also served a term as the organization’s president.)
He offers 10 areas for study by the aspiring fictioneer, including grammar tips, reading for inspiration, vocabulary, description and narration.
Regarding fictional narration, Lovecraft writes (bolding his):
The essential point of fictional narration is plot, which may be defined as a sequence of incidents designed to awaken the reader’s interest and curiosity as to the result. Plots may be simple or complex; but suspense, and climactic progress from one incident to another, are essential. Every incident in a fictional work should have some bearing on the climax or denouement, and any denouement which is not the inevitable result of the preceding incidents is awkward and unliterary. No formal course in fiction-writing can equal a close and observant perusal of the stories of Edgar Allan Poe or Ambrose Bierce. In these masterpieces one may find that unbroken sequence and linkage of incident and result which mark the ideal tale. Observe how, in “The Fall of the House of Usher,” each separate event foreshadows and leads up to the tremendous catastrophe and its hideous suggestion. Poe was an absolute master of the mechanics of his craft. Observe also how Bierce can attain the most stirring denouements from a few simple happenings; denouements which develop purely from these preceding circumstances.
In fictional narration, verisimilitude is absolutely essential. A story must be consistent and must contain no event glaringly removed from the usual order of things, unless that event is the main incident, and is approached with the most careful preparation. In real life, odd and erratic things do occasionally happen; but they are out of place in an ordinary story, since fiction is a sort of idealization of the average. Development should be as lifelike as possible, and a weak, trickling conclusion should be assiduously avoided. The end of a story must be stronger rather than weaker than the beginning; since it is the end which contains the denouement or culmination, and which will leave the strongest impression upon the reader. It would not be amiss for the novice to write the last paragraph of his story first, once a synopsis of the plot has been carefully prepared—as it always should be. In this way he will be able to concentrate his freshest mental vigour upon the most important part of his narrative; and if any changes be later found needful, they can easily be made. In no part of a narrative should a grand or emphatic thought or passage be followed by one of tame or prosaic quality. This is anticlimax, and exposes a writer to much ridicule. Notice the absurd effect of the following couplet—which was, however, written by no less a person than (Edmund) Waller:
“Under the tropic is our language spoke,
And part of Flanders hath receiv’d our yoke.“
Read his complete article, and his other contributions to The United Amateur at Project Gutenberg.
(A tip of the slouch hat to Mental Floss’ Erin McCarthy for the source of this post.)
