Ending every sentence feels like a breakup to me, because the words have become so involved with each other and have tried out so many different positions on each other and have then eventually settled down into something so permanent and independent that I can feel the sentence physically breaking away from me, breaking off from me—dumping me altogether. My reaction is equal parts sadness, grief, and, I guess, a lust for revenge on behalf of the narrator. And it’s in this rocky state that I try to get another sentence started, maybe just a ‘fuck off’ lunge of a sentence, which I guess accounts for the lack of pillowy transitions in my fiction. There’s no cradling anywhere.
The King In Yellow is in there because it’s a story about a story, one that drives people to madness. Everything in True Detective is composed of questionable narratives, inner and outer, from Cohle’s view that identity is just a story we tell ourselves, to the stories about manhood that Hart tells about himself, to the not always truthful story they tell the detectives investigating them. So it made sense – to me, at least — to allude to an external narrative that that is supposed to create insanity, or as I prefer, deranged enlightenment. When I did that, a kind of secondary language began to form in the scripts, where the notion of cosmic horror became a very real part of the environment, at least for those who know Chambers’ work.
—Nic Pizzolatto talking about The King in Yellow and True Detective. (via wildlinging)