A rare letter to one of Lovecraft's closest friends, collaborators, and raconteurs with a rare, original mailing envelope in Lovecraft's hand. Not many of Lovecraft's letters are published in full online. Somehow I acquired a fondness for the past as compared with the present—a fondness which had plenty of chance to reign because my semi-invalidism continued and kept me from college and business despite the most extravagant ambitions of boyhood. Howard Phillips Lovecraft was born in the late summer of 1890, to Sarah Susan Phillips Lovecraft and Winfield Scott Lovecraft, in Providence, Rhode Island. Bald news certainly needs a skilful retouching before it assorts well with the fictional atmosphere. In this way, I am confident, you could get many better things than you could by excluding all MSS. Formerly I wrote only short stories, believing that this was the ideal form for weird fiction; but perusal of certain weird novels gradually changed my point of view, until after my Houtain experiments in greater length I began to map out certain of my more involved ideas as possible novels. But I think I shall send you, unless it pans out too long, a second tale which is about ready for the actual composition. When I see a magazine tending toward the commonplace, the last people I blame are the editors and publishers; for even a cursory survey of the professional writing field shows that the trouble is something infinitely deeper and wider—something concerning no one publication, but the whole atmosphere and temperament of the American fiction business. Such, I repeat, is the inevitable condition regarding general fiction; the enormous bulk of fiction which sets the national standard and determines the type of technical training given all fictional students. Letter from H. P. Lovecraft to J. C. Henneberger, https://en.wikisource.org/w/index.php?title=Letter_from_H._P._Lovecraft_to_J._C._Henneberger&oldid=6547300, Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License. This (also provisionally) will be known as "The House of the Worm", and deal with the frantic message sent by a dying and prematurely aged father to the boy who ran away twenty years before because of a nameless dread of his new stepmother … the heiress who lived in the dark house in the swamp. When the manuscript was read among the circle of my friends in New York, Arthur Leeds—the man who conducts the "Thinks and Things" department in THE WRITER'S MONTHLY—was gratifyingly enthusiastic about it, but declared pretty dogmatically, I am told, that no American magazine would ever accept it. I know the financial end of magazine publishing must be a tremendous and often discouraging responsibility, and I have a sincere respect for the pluck and determination of anybody who undertakes such a venture. Since then AEG has put out a bunch of different games using the Love Letter engine, Lovecraft Letter … I grew up with a large family library in a big house, and browsed at random because I was too ill to attend school or even follow a tutor's course with any regularity. Indeed you can strip out the special cards and play it as such. Come to think of it, I guess atmosphere and colour mean more any day than idea or plot—this being the reason we have so few effective phantasies in these days when plot and action are played up at the expense of the more leisurely attributes of writing. Lovecraft. He can colour it to his heart's content, and inject suspicions of more than mortal motives and agencies which bring it close to the effective fictional state. Glittering tinsel reputations are built up, and dumb driven hundreds of otherwise honest plumbers take correspondence courses and try to be like these scintillant "great ones" whose achievements are really no more than mere charlatanry. Description. I have never seen a copy of "The Terrific Register", and must confess to a perfect ignorance of what it is. I honestly believe that one way to get good weird material is to tell the editor to sharpen his scent for the genuinely bizarre irrespective of technique, accept any powerful plot or atmospheric triumph irrespective of technique or even literacy—paying half the usual market price and telling the author why—and then have the raw material completely re-written "by some staff writer of competent training, who could add his name as collaborator or not, according to the amount of work he puts into it. I think, though, that with the requisite capital, a magazine could train up a group of effective weird writers by offering them a free and lucrative field, and letting some expert give them recommendations as to reading—what authors to avoid, and what ones to emulate. I keep plot ideas and skeletonic synopses recorded in a blank-book—the sort one would call a "commonplace-book" if the term did not carry a certain irony as applied to the contents of this particular one! Finally I agreed, for friendship's sake, to give Houtain what he wanted, running over a list of possible plots until he took a fancy to the notion of a grave-robbing physician who restored life to bodies and was finally snatched himself by the bodies he had resuscitated, together with certain nameless companions of theirs. In Lovecraft Letter, you are a person who has arrived in Egypt to help your cousin, only to discover they are missing. H. P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard are two of the titans of weird fiction of their era. The name of H. P. Lovecraft (ﬁgure 1) is instantly recognized by every reader of the modern horror story. As a child of three, his father suffered from a nervous breakdown and was sent to Butler Hospital, where he remained in residence for five years until his death in the summer of 1898 . Certainly, it will afford me unmeasured delight to meet this library and its versatile owner—a thing the more probable because, although not much given to long trips, it is very likely that I shall live in New York after the coming spring.