Unexpected Connections
When I wrote House of Fate, I wasn’t thinking about Algernon Blackwood. I had already written and published the novel before I even knew he existed. I first learned of Blackwood after a friend read my book and said, “This reminds me of The Damned.” When I admitted I had never heard of it, he seemed surprised; he thought I must have drawn ideas from it. Instead, he described Blackwood as some writer from a million years ago and told me the basic premise. That was enough to make me curious.
I ordered a copy. I could have just read it online, but if you’ve followed this blog, you know I prefer print to digital. The edition that arrived was one of those poorly assembled public-domain paperbacks. Whoever put it together paid little attention to formatting and simply threw the text on paper. It was nothing like the carefully formatted works produced through the AZ Classics imprint.
The presentation sucked, but the story didn’t. I loved it, and I immediately saw what my friend meant. Blackwood wrote about a house with a presence. His story was a slow drawing-in, with an atmosphere that lingered. My novel differs in plot and direction, but the resemblance in spirit was unmistakable.
The seeds of House of Fate actually came from a dream. If you’re interested in how I think dreams reflect life, you can read my earlier post, “Dreams as Windows.” The finished novel turned out differently from that dream in many respects, yet its essence remained intact. Reading Blackwood didn’t feel like discovering an influence; it felt like discovering a kindred spirit. He was someone who also cared about mood, character, and the quiet unease that seeps in rather than explodes.
It’s no surprise I loved this old story. I’ve always loved old things: old houses, old records played on a Victrola, sometimes even typing on a 1930s Remington. I still watch VHS tapes and film reels on old 8mm projectors. There’s something about older things and technology that the new rarely captures. Blackwood understood that quality, especially when it came to houses. There’s a timelessness to the work.
Blackwood’s The Damned now sits in the Free Library alongside an excerpt from my novel. If you read them back to back, you may notice the similarities. Or maybe you’ll need to get a copy and read the whole thing (wink wink).
We writers like to think that the things we write are original, but truly, there is nothing new under the sun. We subconsciously rehash and filter things through different dreams, and we tell ourselves it’s something original. It’s something to ponder when the power goes out. And afterward, read something by candlelight.