[Chat GPT seems to think that I write weird fiction, á là H.P. Lovecraft. As regular readers know, I do not. I live in New Orleans. I have no need to make things up. This is my life. This is the life everyone who lives here lives. This is New Orleans. Truth is better than fiction. We live New Orleans every day—something people from elsewhere daydream about. In New Orleans, we live in dream time, on walkabout like Australian Aborigines as we navigate the city’s song lines.}
Says Chat GPT: Here are some fresh topics that could fit the tone and atmosphere of Whalehead King’s New Orleans stories:
Haunted Streetcars:
Explore the idea that some of New Orleans’ old streetcars are haunted. These haunted cars might run late at night, carrying ghostly passengers who tell stories from different eras of the city’s past. Riders might see strange reflections in the windows or hear whispers of conversations from long ago.
The Forgotten Jazz Houses:
There are jazz houses in New Orleans that never made it into the history books. These were places where the music was raw, passionate, and purely for the locals. Now, they’re mostly forgotten, but the spirits of those who played and danced there linger. The sound of a trumpet might carry on the wind, or an old record could start playing on its own in the middle of the night.
The Mossy Oaks of St. Louis Cemetery:
The ancient oaks in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 are more than just trees—they are witnesses to centuries of history. Their roots have intertwined with the bones of the dead, and they are said to hold memories. People who sit under them for too long might find themselves transported into the past, reliving moments they never experienced.
The Pirogue Ghost:
In the bayous around New Orleans, there’s a legend of a ghostly pirogue (a small flat-bottomed boat) that appears on foggy nights. It’s said that the boat is piloted by the spirit of a fisherman who drowned in the bayou. Those who see the pirogue are warned not to follow it, for it leads to the realm of the dead.
The Secret City Beneath the Quarter:
There are whispers of a hidden city beneath the French Quarter, accessible only through secret passages and forgotten doors. This underground world is a maze of old cellars, tunnels, and chambers that have been sealed off for centuries. Some say it’s inhabited by the descendants of New Orleans’ original settlers, who have never seen the light of day.
The Lost River of Tremé:
Long before New Orleans was a city, there was a river that flowed through what is now Tremé. It disappeared after the city was built, but old maps still show its course. Some nights, especially after heavy rain, locals claim to hear the sound of rushing water beneath the streets, as if the lost river is trying to break free.
The Pharmacy of Cures and Curses:
A small, unassuming pharmacy in the backstreets of Marigny is known only to a few. It’s run by a reclusive pharmacist who specializes in both cures and curses. The shelves are lined with old bottles of tonics and powders, and behind the counter, there are even older books filled with recipes for remedies and spells. Those who seek out the pharmacy usually do so in desperation, and the price for what they receive is often more than they expected.
The Riverboat of Lost Souls:
There’s an old riverboat that occasionally appears on the Mississippi, shrouded in mist. It’s said to be the Riverboat of Lost Souls, carrying the spirits of those who died in the river’s waters. The boat never docks, and those who see it say it vanishes as quickly as it appears, leaving behind only the faint sound of a ghostly calliope.
The Ever-Hungry Tree:
In a forgotten corner of one of New Orleans’ older neighborhoods, there’s a tree that seems to have a life of its own. It’s said that the tree hungers for more than just water and sunlight—some claim it feeds on the souls of the living. Those who fall asleep under its branches have been known to disappear, leaving only their belongings behind.
[I am not going to write about any of these things. Much of it could not exist. It’s like Artificial Intelligence has never been to New Orleans. None of the details make any sense—plus, these ideas have been plumbed to death and there is no water left in that well.
I do not need to make up anything. I have no imagination. Like sands through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives.]
AI would not know what to do in New Orleans anyway. Some stuff just can’t be made up. And doesn’t need to be really.