The title is inspired by Alex Kurtagic’s brilliant introduction to Supernatural Horror in Literature by H.P. Lovecraft.

Last week a fellow writer who works on video game design began asking me questions about the Greek period 750-650 B.C. in support of his latest project. [After checking my notes I amended this to 650-590.] Seeing quickly that I could save this guy a year’s research by taking but a portion of two weeks of my time, I wanted to help. Based on the number of online readers that read the ancient combat page I hit on writing a sourcebook and posting it a chapter at a time. I would then be providing free content for our supporters and helping him at the same time.

More importantly I would be generating a companion to the Triumph RPG, which was written in 2012, but due to the fact that I have my faithful sidekick Charles scouring the bars and fitness clubs for nubile virgins upon which I might slack my barbaric thirsts, we are still behind on the project and it would be nice to come up with a sourcebook right out of the gate.

Most importantly, even though such a product as my friend would write would, if successful, be emasculated and debased, I feel I owe it to the ancient warriors who built the society that we call Western Civilization to represent them authentically, hoping that at least an iota of truth might squeak through the Mangina Matrix.

From the beginning my friend, who I will call TNUC, was thrilled that I was helping him, but equally panicked about the prospect of what he had selected as a fairly uninformed random date turning out to be the next big thing in sword and sandals fiction. Below is a progression of our two phone conversations had while I was walking to the market on two different days.

Sensing his paranoia early on about his big idea just being taken away from him like a toddler having his stick of cotton candy snatched by a Goth teen, I disguised the identity and the nature of the project, declaring it a novel. My first inclination was that this man either had no faith in his art, or no faith that art was worth anything in his field of writing.

“I cannot believe you are just throwing this research out there for free after all the work you did. How are you going to make ends meet?”

“Look, I have 26 novels outlined, none of them for this period. Besides, I don’t own history. There are also my readers to consider, who like this material and who support the site.”

“But with all the writers that come to your site aren’t you afraid that they’ll just take something you did and remold it and make it theirs?”

“I don’t get your concern. I’d be perfectly okay with a contest whereby I and another author write the same subject at the same time. I don’t understand fearing other writers—they inspire me.”

“Okay James, you are on board; consider yourself a member of the team. You will be on the credits. Do you want to hear the ending?”

“No, I’m just providing research and have no interest in your storyline.”

“But we need to discuss the project as we go.”

“It’s not my project. My part will be over in mere weeks. I am providing you a generic sourcebook that you might make of what you will.”

“Okay then, let me ask you, what about possible female characters—a lead. I know it is the most outworn trope in fiction, but if I’m going to sell this there has to be a violent female lead.”

“I figured so much considering your market. That is why I selected 650 B.C. as that year Sappho of Lesbos was alive and she is virtually the only name female between the mythic Gods, a queen, and a few fictional characters in plays. Also, if there ever were Amazons, they were around at this period, from 700 to 600.” [This statement was incorrect, with Sappho living from about 630 to sometime after 590. Her admirer, Alceus, who was a generation older when he wrote about her beauty, is generally dated at 650, and this date seemingly transposed itself in my mind as her's.]

“Amazons! Are you sure? That could mean bank!”

“Look Amazons were mythic—I’m talking about the cultic basis for the tribal myth. They have been done extensively in fiction for the Classical period, which is totally off base, as they would have been Archaic and possibly late Geometric. I’m giving you the most realistic interpretation in Chapter 5.”

“This is marvelous—please, name the lead character. I can’t thank you enough. And we have to have regular discussions.”

“I will send you the glossary for generating names. I write in a trance and cannot use the phone. As soon as I pick up the phone and have a conversation, the writing day is done. There will not be discussions. I’m writing you a book.”

“The online sources say the Amazons were gone by 700 B.C.”

“The online sources are not reliable. There were no Amazons. They were only a possibility between 700 and perhaps 550.”

“Okay, I trust you. You can’t publish anything pertaining to my storyline.”

“That is why I don’t know the storyline—did not want to know. I am providing a distillation of available data for the period and locale, for you and my readers.”

“You must not publish anything on [names five mythic figures] or the period I am writing in until this project is done. Do not post anything that could be used as research by another writer before running it by me.”

So there we stand; another soul that sold itself to the God of Things; a soul that demands I ride to hell with it on the back of its stillborn god in pursuit of an increased share of some thief’s debased promise.

So, I close here, letting my readers know that 14 days of my work free of charge, is not enough for a priest of the God of Things, for he must own my soul too, must make claim to a mean-spirited attempt to hide what has been from others so that he might have the flavor of the week on his particular cotton candy stick, and might be envied by the other children that now piss in a sewer for money and call it art.

I have decided to illuminate a tiny corner of the past in a certain light for the interest and enjoyment of those who care. I have no desire to help a sell-out for whom the suffering of countless souls and the triumph of a handful over a hundred year period is nothing but a quarter to be slid into a media approval slot machine.

TNUC did do me a favor, sparking an interest in something I had worked over for years and had set aside.

So TNUC, I owe you an inspirational debt—and fuck you! Don’t ever tell me what I can publish. I’d murder your masters for saying that to me. Say it to my face at your peril.

Amazons go up today, as promised.