Poe Sundays

I couldn’t resist throwing in one last Poe Sunday before officially ending the Halloween 2021 season.

Poe created the modern detective story by creating many story elements that other writers would use in their own writings. He was the first author to leave clues for readers to pick up on, and the most significantly, Poe was also the first to create a recurring sleuth character in C. Auguste Dupin, a man of superior intellect and keen sense, who solves the mystery by analyzing the facts of the case through the power of observation. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle admitted to being heavily influenced by Poe, as his own masterful creation of Sherlock Holmes, shared many of the same qualities with detective Dupin.

You can learn more about the character here:
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/C._Auguste_Dupin

Poe Sundays

Happy Halloween Sunday! On this last day in October, we pay tribute to Master of Macabre, Edgar Allan Poe.

You can read the entire poem here: https://poestories.com/read/raven

Fun Fact: After being first turned down by a publisher friend, Poe sold the Raven poem to The American Review for $9. Subsequent publishings followed and even made Poe famous, but the man received little financial success.

Poe Sundays

On Sundays, we celebrate the Master of Macabre, Edgar Allan Poe

Fun Fact: Readers of the day were so horrified by the story’s violence, they complained to the editor of the Messenger, the first magazine to publish Berenice. Poe himself later removed 4 paragraphs of text, thus, many early publishings are missing the detailed heinous act of Poe’s story.

Poe was angry at being forced to self-censor his own work, believing a story should be judged solely by how many copies it sold.


You can read Berenice in its entirety here:
https://poestories.com/read/berenice

Poe Sundays

On Sundays, we celebrate the Master of Macabre, Edgar Allan Poe

Fun Facts: Poe himself had an obsessive fear of being buried alive do to catslepsy, a state where someone occasionally falls completely still and is unable to move or speak. There were a few cases of it happening during Poe’s lifetime that made the papers. No doubt those stories left a huge impression on the author.

Poe Sundays

Every Sunday, we celebrate excerpts and quotes from the works of the Master of Macabre, Edgar Allan Poe.

Fun Facts: It seems Poe was influenced by a number of other authors of his time to write a story based on the Spanish Inquisition, after reading History of the Spanish Inquisition by Juan Antonio Llorente. William Mudford’s The Iron Shroud, a short story of iron torture chamber was also an influence, as well as George Sale’s translations of the Qur’an, for which many of Poe’s works were heavily inspired by.*

Happy Halloween 2021!

Halloween is a celebration of life! By….warding…off…the dead….anyhoo, whether you like the old vintage style, cute and spooky, spine-tingling chills and thrills, or super gory to the max, Halloweentime is a magical season filled with creativity, community spirit, fun, and wonder. Every year, Halloween Haiku celebrates all month long, and while it’s gonna be challenging, this year we’re doing it again!

Our theme in October is Halloween Icons…ya know, bats, black cats, ghosts, pumpkins, etc., all those things that are known to represent Halloween. Now, I’ve come up with a bunch, but I can’t wait to hear what icons you think Halloween just wouldn’t be the same without.

This Halloween season, I’m changing up the traditional 31 days format and I plan to use social media a bit more, so please, join in the fun, and follow me @Halloweenhaiku9 on Instagram and Twitter

Here’s what’s in store for October:

3rd Annual Halloween Haiku Contest Sharpen those pencils! I want to see your most original Halloween Icons themed haiku. I’m giving away a Grand Prize Pack worth over $50!
I might even have some small prizes for runner-ups.

More details about the haiku contest will be announced on October 1st.

Halloween Icons Photo Countdown (Instagram only)
October photo countdown to Halloween. No contest, just something to do for fun Oct. 1-31st. Let’s see those pictures! Use #halloweeniconsphotochallenge

31 Days of Halloween Schedule:

Monday Macabre (website and social media)

Mondays are always dedicated to Haiku, but every Monday in October we’ll celebrate Halloween icons.

Tiny Terror Tuesdays (social media)

Sometimes little things pack a big punch. Every Tuesday, I’ll be sharing scenes from my haunted dioramas and miniatures.

Wicked Art Wednesdays (social media)

Every Wednesday, I’ll share some spooktacular Halloween art. I might even post some my own original Halloween pencil stencil art.

Throwback Thursdays (website)

Every Thursday, let’s travel back to the golden age of Vintage Halloween advertising. Some ads were amusing, and some, were downright cringeworthy. Let’s debate!

Friday Fright Nightcaps (website and social media)

Witches aren’t the only ones who drink brews!  Check-in every Friday evening to see what wild Halloween season-inspired cocktail I pull outta the cauldron.

Sinister Saturdays (website and social media)

Every Saturday, I’ll rotate between sharing one savory and one sweet recipe, all guaranteed to have you screaming for more! I may even try to make some of these myself. Now, that’s scary!

Poe Sundays (website and social media)

Just like we do every year, we’ll celebrate the gothic genius of Edgar Allan Poe, master of macabre.

Have a safe and happy Halloween season, everyone!

Poe Sunday: The Black Cat

Poe Sundays are all about honoring the works of Edgar Allan Poe. The Black Cat can be a tough read for many, as there’s quite a bit of animal cruelty, but that does play a part in the story and why it’s considered one of the most frightening short stories ever written. This blog does not condone the act of animal cruelty, nor do I believe that was the author’s intention.

The Black Cat
by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1845
)

For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not — and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified — have tortured — have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but Horror — to many they will seem less terrible than barroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the common-place — some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.

From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of animals, and was indulged by my parents with a great variety of pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, and, in my manhood, I derived from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. To those who have cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification thus derivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.

I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a disposition not uncongenial with my own. Observing my partiality for domestic pets, she lost no opportunity of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. We had birds, gold-fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and a cat.

This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise. Not that she was ever serious upon this point — and I mention the matter at all for no better reason than that it happens, just now, to be remembered.

Pluto — this was the cat’s name — was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about the house. It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him from following me through the streets.

Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for several years, during which my general temperament and character — through the instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance — had (I blush to confess it) experienced a radical alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I suffered myself to use intemperate language to my wife. At length, I even offered her personal violence. My pets, of course, were made to feel the change in my disposition. I not only neglected, but ill-used them. For Pluto, however, I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of maltreating the rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when by accident, or through affection, they came in my way. But my disease grew upon me — for what disease is like Alcohol ! — and at length even Pluto, who was now becoming old, and consequently somewhat peevish — even Pluto began to experience the effects of my ill temper.

One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him; when, in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My  original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket a pen-knife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.

When reason returned with the morning — when I had slept off the fumes of the night’s debauch — I experienced a sentiment half of horror, half of remorse, for the crime of which I had been guilty; but it was, at best, a feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained untouched. I again plunged into excess, and soon drowned in wine all memory of the deed.

Continue reading “Poe Sunday: The Black Cat”

Poe Sundays: Lenore

Lenore
by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1845)
**

Ah, broken is the golden bowl! — the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll! — a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river: —
And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear? — weep now or never more!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come, let the burial rite be read — the funeral song be sung! —
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young —
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.

“Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and ye hated her for her pride;
And, when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her — that she died: —
How shall the ritual, then, be read? — the requiem how be sung
By you — by yours, the evil eye — by yours the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence that died and died so young?”

Peccavimus; yet rave not thus! but let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!
The sweet Lenore “hath gone before,” with Hope that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride —
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair, but not within her eyes —
The life still there upon her hair — the death upon her eyes.

“Avaunt! — avaunt! from fiends below the indignant ghost is riven —
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven —
From grief and groan to a golden throne beside the King of Heaven! —

Let no bell toll, then! — lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damnéd Earth!
And I — to-night my heart is light! — no dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days!”

**Note: Poe’s first attempt to memoralize his true love came in 1831 with the poem “A Paean”. Poe revised the poem and published Lenore in 1843, and again in 1845. This revised and more widely used version ends with the line, King of Heaven! A Paean is now considered its own poem entirely.
Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lenore_(poem)

Poe Sundays: The Masque of the Red Death

Poe Sundays are all about honoring the works of Edgar Allan Poe. The Masque of the Red Death is perhaps one of my favorite stories. The visually striking story was written in such detail, it’s as if we are transported to the 14th Century Europe.

The magnificent concept artwork below was created by Sarah Kate Forstner. If you click the pic to link to Art Station, you’ll see even more stunning art that she created to accompany this beautiful masterpiece.

Masque of the Red Death by Sarah Kate Forstner

“THE “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avator and its seal — the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.

But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince’s own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death.””

The above is only an excerpt from The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe. To find out what happened next to Prince Prospero and his lavish masquerade, please visit PoeStories.com

All works by Edgar Allan Poe are widely considered to be public domain.