My Hero

My hero is an odd pick of the bunch. Usually it boils down to a pop artist that conjures up the ear rape some call “music”. But no my hero is the one and only Howard Philips Lovecraft. He is by all means disturbingly creative. I tried so hard to write like him, I can’t capture the suspense, creativity or even the title. It’s a pretty big red flag when I can’t come up with a decent title…

“Internet Critics” always pointed out the distinct lack of originality in my work.

“Take a break, like… From life”

“Whoever wrote this must’ve ‘copy and pasted’ his life itself!”

“Fukin rip-off, I can hear H. R. Gigar rolling in his grave… Kill yourself”

I brought all the hostility on myself because I kept writing.

So now comes the question, how does one become creative? How do you ignite the fuel? I tried passive stimulation involving the likes of Lego building, drawing, scary movies etc. etc. I might as well been wanking all that time cos it was a waste. Then I thought of something.

I never knew how difficult it was, I mean finding a good spot, the right tools, who to complete the cycle and especially taking notes during all the commotion! Like Jesus, they were going to snuff it anyway; I can understand the screams of pain but why scream before I’d even lay a finger on them? Oh well never mind them.

I have got to say it really helps the writer’s block and oh the stress relief is quite pleasurable. One time I got really into the mood, I did a pseudo-sacrifice with this lovely young lady I found. She stayed alive the longest; I had some time to read her ‘The Call of Cthulhu’ because she had battled for her life so good till that point. She must’ve loved it because every time I glanced at her on the floor in the middle of her sacrificial artwork she was staring at me so attentively with those gorgeous brown eyes. She left us halfway through the 4th chapter, so sad but I think she enjoyed the overall experience. Quiet one to… actually I think she was a mute. Oh so that’s how I broke her leg and no one heard. Interesting isn’t it?

Update: My stories are now respected. I honoured my hero.

“Wow this was a fucking 180 from earlier”

“Omg this was so scary!”

“How did you revive the horror in murder stories?”

I’m so excited! I’ll update if I see more development, Ciao!

Case Report #36548

I guess these memoirs were originally intended as a blog of sorts but we have classified them as memoirs due to the nature of the comments. I’m unnerved by the events detailed. An anonymous source stated that the killer has multiple mental disabilities. The killer keeps whispering the brilliance of his favourite author. He has lost all reasonable train of thought. He must not have updated his posts due to this.

Also he seems to claim that he actually managed to summon demonic beings during his rituals. The only problem I see with that is… why do his restraints always rattle of him by chance?