Roy M. Griffis – Storyteller

Interviews n’ stuff

The Curse of Research

The Curse of Research

As I’ve mentioned before, my research takes me in odd directions and inspires new ambitions in me.

Now I want to learn how to do this.  If only I didn’t have 15 novels to write, the day job to maintain, and various human relationships to nuture.

But, still, it’s awfully cool to watch.

Life Happens Pretty Fast


This past Sunday, I finished the first draft of the second Cthulhu, Inc.  book, The Auditors of Doom.  That clocked in at 340 pages, over 78,000 words.  I’m taking a week off to clear my head before diving into the revisions/rewrites.

In the meantime, waiting anxiously for the revised cover of Book One The Thing from HR.   Aiming to have that ready and released right around Memorial Day:  nothing says “beach reading” like the misadventures of a Shoggoth down among the Hairless Apes.

This may or may not be how our "hero" will look

And, since life has a way of happening even while I’m living among the characters in my head, I’ve been rehearsing

I am working on the new novel, I swear

Just broke 200 pages on it…getting closer to the end of the first draft. But, like I’ve said before, my research leads me down some odd side-streets.

 Like this one. You can apparently download full copies of old pulp magazines here. I haven’t done it, but the covers alone are worth a look.

“The Incense of Abomination.”  Now that is a title.



And check out some of the writers on those covers (Bradbury!! Lovecraft!! Howard!!).

I see I could spend a long time browsing these, but you get the idea.  Back to work.

A tough day

My dear high-school girlfriend, Sandy Whye, was my first fan and biggest supporter.  We were just broken kids, and our love was unable to overcome the wounds we carried with us into that relationship.  But the fondness and love remained, and we stayed in touch through the decades.

Today is the first anniversary of her sudden and unexpected death.

I was sad yesterday, and I woke up this morning kind of flat and washed out,.  Not devastated as I was when I first heard of her passing 12 months ago, and I figured this muted grayness was going to be the extent of my reaction to the date.  But as the workday went on, it felt like a cold winter …

I call myself a “Storyteller” for a reason


Re-titling my webpage as “Roy M. Griffis – Storyteller” wasn’t done lightly.  But I felt honesty demanded it.   Novelist” or “Artist” seemed kind of pretentious, like  business resumes proclaiming “Thought-leader”.

See, I have all kinds of ideas.  Some work best as novels (about 13 – 15 of those in my head), some as screenplays (two or three of those kicking around in the subconscious), some as comic strips.  I’d like to think I’m not a slave to a genre or a niche: I’ve written historical fiction and slightly satiric alternative history.  There’s the filmscript about a man hunting the seductive female vampire that slew his wife, and I’ve won some awards for my short stories and plays.  …

Departures and new realities

My mother passed away at 1240 am on Friday, April 25.

It was a mercy, as she had been struggling with dementia for years and had barely been able to recognize anyone in the final months.

Physically, she had been in good shape until the very end.  My father worked very hard to keep her in their home of over 30 years and he cared for her with great attentiveness and love.

My brother moved to within two miles of their home, and he visited her almost every day, giving my father some breaks and looking after them both.

His dedication was commendable and heroic.

I was able to be there on her last day.  She was on hospice, and …

Treasure is where you look for it

…and what is important to you.
Alisa and I finally have been able start the leveling process on “back 40” of the historic home we’ve been working on for 2 years.
There is a pond out back…likely dug to drain the water off the majority of 1.4 or so acres back there. The pond area had been so desperately overgrown she and I had been unable to walk all the way around the place.
So we took a stroll last night and marveled at pieces of land we’d never really seen before. And found two bottles in the mud by the pond.
The middle two I found last night. The outside two I uncovered in about 30 minutes of digging

Muscle memory can be a bitch…

As a fiction writer, I end up reading a lot of non-fiction. Some of it is pure research (see my By the Hands of Men series for novels that required a wide variety of source material to make the story feel real and lived-in). Often one text, or even a throwaway line on a single page, will lead me to others.
This book, by Dutch psychiatrist and early PTSD researcher Bessel van der Kolk, is one such happy (and sobering) discovery. A memoir of a woman’s recovery from alcoholism mentioned her experiences with therapeutic massage. The masseuse touched a spot on her back, saying something along the lines of “This is where we store sorrow,” and the writer reported that