Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!

The stars are right.

Ancient doom stirs in the depths, plotting, planning, preparing for his return.

Unknowable and ancient, he desires, but one thing.

To make a video on cosmic horror and get that sweet sweet YouTube ad revenue.

Cosmic horror, or also commonly called Lovecraftian Horror is a genre of horror popularized by

the works of HP Lovecraft.

As Halloween draws near it presents a prime opportunity to explore this genre and to give

thanks to the Great Old Ones for not devouring mankind until my check clears and I’ve had

some time to enjoy my YouTube success.

So let us dive into the forbidden knowledge of how to write Cosmic Horror and then go

mad from the revelation.

We should start at the top by constructing our own pantheon of eldritch god like beings.

Given the alien nature of many of members of Lovecraft’s pantheon, this means that

a writer can come up all manner of strange and creative all powerful cosmic entities

to populate their very own mythos.

A universe of possibilities exists.

What name shall I call my version of Lovercraft’s Great Old Ones?

I know.

I call them the Great Old Ones.

I’m sure a one to one copy won’t dilute the horror too much.

Not enough creativity to come up with new eldritch gods?

Too lazy to even copy Lovecraft’s pantheon?

That’s 100% fine.

Just leave the cast of ancient gods vaguely defined and eternally in the background of

the story.

Oh they are there being dark and unknowable.

I assure you because the characters refer to them all the time as though they are a

great threat.

Will they ever show up?

I mean, if the book sells enough for a sequel maybe?

Otherwise I’m not putting effort into that!

Besides, the ancient gods can’t show up because the world would end along with any

series potential.

Instead, we should now shift our focus to the servitors of the ancient deities.

That’s right.

It’s my favorite part!

Designing monsters!

Unlike a lot of genres, Cosmic Horror writers are free to dive deep into their imaginations

and create truly twisted and alien creatures.

Wow.

This creature sure looks cool in my imagination, but um… how do I describe it?

Crap.

That’s kind of hard and I’ve got a better idea.

You see, I don’t have give my monsters cool descriptions because it is so alien that it

is indescribable.

The main characters can’t get a good look at it because I don’t want to write descriptive

prose... uh I mean it would drive them mad to look upon it!

If a writer does want to try their hand at describing their very own ancient horror then

just combine one or more tentacles, mouths, and/or eyes.

Make it semi formless too.

Basically just make varying sizes of wannabe Shoggoths.

That’s the standard issue cosmic horror monster or some of the things I found under

the sink in my old apartment.

But how do these monsters cross over onto Earth?

Minus the odd cosmic weak point in the veil that separates our world from the beyond,

one method is through a book of DOOM or as I like to call them the Not Necronomicon.

These books are usually authored by mad men of one variety or another and contain terrible,

ancient, and forbidden knowledge and I am assuming they get poor reviews on Amazon as

well.

The Not Necronomicon frequently ends up in the hands of dangerous and mysterious cults

who use the rites and rituals within to summon horrible horrific horrors to harry and hound

helpless humans.

You know, I always wondered what the cults got out of this?

I mean, most of these ancient entities are planning to end the world and its not like

the average eldritch god typically offers a good retirement package or anything.

I guess the cultists are just insane, but not so insane that they can’t manage the

logistics necessary for nightly human sacrifices while maintaining a huge informant network

and infiltrating the regional government so their activities continued ignored.

These cultists should be presented as faceless drones so they can be used as cheap disposable

bag guys for the main characters to fight.

I mean, we wouldn’t want to dig into how real life cults work because that crap is

a 1000 times more terrifying than any story I have ever read.

Yikes.

Let’s move on to something more pleasant in our Lovecraft ripoff checklist.

Let’s see what’s next?

I better copy everything Lovecraft did in his works and make no alterations to any aspect

of his writing and…

Yeah.

Gonna sweep that one under the rug there.

Maybe taking everything from Lovecraft wasn’t such a good idea.

That’s fine.

The best thing about Cosmic Horror is that it fits great into most science fiction or

fantasy settings.

Mostly.

There is the small chance that suddenly adding cosmic horror into a fairly pedestrian, upbeat

fantasy or science fiction story without any foreshadowing might completely ruin the light

tone.

I mean, watching your typical upbeat, plucky fantasy party suddenly get ripped limb from

limb by horrors from beyond time and space at the plot’s halfway point with the only

survivors being driven mad will certainly leave an impression on the reader.

Should I have a dark undercurrent run through the first part of the story while laying clues

for the reader to speculate at the universe’s darker nature before eviscerating my main

characters?

Of course not.

We want to maximize the impact of the cosmic horror and probably the impact of our book

as it is thrown across the room by our reader.

Hmm.

Why our book is leaving an impact, it’s not exactly the impact I wanted.

Perhaps I should consider the core elements that make cosmic horror so effective?

Is it the impossible architecture of the strange and alien civilizations that inhabit the cosmos

or their mysterious obelisks engraved with ancient runic writing?

It is strange and sinister, maybe even unsettling, but doesn’t quite instill the horror that

I am aiming for.

Maybe the real horror of Cosmic Horror is fear of the unknown, that the vast universe

is full of that which can never be fully understood without taking a terrible toll.

Maybe it isn’t the visceral fear of dripping fangs, but the misshapen otherness of the

shuffling horrors in the dark whose alien mind and intentions are truly unfathomable.

That the universe is an empty void, uncaring of our very existence and so vast that our

eyes can only see faint the outlines of the true horrors lurking in the dark.

Nah.

That can’t be it.

All I know is that I am tired of this.

No more hiding in the dark!

I’m sick of being pushed around by ancient cosmic entities!

Grab a weapon and a torch.

We are going to face those eldritch horrors!

That’s right.

This isn’t cosmic horror anymore.

This is Lovecraft Light!

The monsters in the dark can be beaten, they can be pushed back!

Maybe the universe is cold and pitiless, but we will face it none the less because in this

universe, we have something far stronger than ancient unknowable alien gods on our side,

authorial bias!

That’s right.

Just cherry pick the parts of cosmic horror you like and ditch the rest.

Finding a balance and reinterpreting the elements of Lovecraftian horror can produce some amazing

fiction, which is why you should keep chipping away at it until all that is left is a couple

of strange monsters for the heroes to fight.

Just water down the horror until the only fear left is that the ancient abomination

won’t drop any good loot after its killed by the main characters.

Eh.

I guess that wouldn’t really ever happen.

Human beings are mere insects compared to the eldritch gods much like how humans are

to ants.

By the way, did you know that 20 to 50 humans a year are killed by ants.

Isn’t that an interesting statistic, Cthulhu?