Navigation & Backstory

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Träumtrawler, Hawler, Dreamcatcher, Weirdmonger: D.F. Lewis’ Constructive Congeries of the Conceits, Coincidences and Cross-References in Imaginative Fiction.
Mnemonic: the Curator of Creators.

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“…each and every day there are things, vast and complicated things, which we miss.” — Steve Rasnic Tem (from OUTSIDE)

The Ultimate Crunch

To my amazement there sat a frog, and next to him – if it was a him – there sat an imp or, rather, the imp had by now risen faster than I possibly could write this about him – if it was a him — and he impulsively started leaping around the frog. The frog still sat still, and I wondered whether he was a statue, and if he were a statue did it matter WHAT it was, him or her? I wouldn’t be able to tell anyway, with me being so naïve. Ah, yes, there must have been someone else as a third one present, having just realised I must have been present, or actually AM there still because I am writing this about it all, with things happening faster than I can write them down on paper. The imp, indeed, was now leaping towards the garden gate, and I was following him, still AM following the imp as he tried to open the garden gate. Ah, yes, the imp now has the gate open, it being too tall to leap over, and I was worried, AM worried that the imp would now leap into the road and be killed by whatever was coming. Too late. There steaming on the road was a dead imp, its limbs limp, still-twitching in mid-leap. I looked back to see if the frog was watching from inside the garden. But he had vanished. So not a statue at all. Unless someone else had picked him up and taken him away. I am now by the plinth where the frog had sat, and read what it said: “Those who are dead are dead, and those who are living will soon be dead, no matter who or what they are.” And impetuously I Ieapfrogged into the road. “Ooops!” I croak.

Curating the Creators

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I naturally tend, where any text allows, to eschew didacticism in literature and to promote l’art pour l’art. Fabulous fantasy rather than moralising fable. I also believe in the gift, that some possess, of a preternatural instinct in curating literature rather than – or as part of – any conscious intention or design.