Kent Knowles: Quahaug

A self‑conscious narrator with a flair for the flamboyant finds himself stuck at the very first page of his own tale. Once a prolific crafter of swash‑buckling romances, he now turns the lens on himself—Hosea Kent Knowles of Bayport, a man the locals have dubbed “The Quahaug” for his stubborn, closed‑off nature. His voice is wry and full of gentle mock‑self‑deprecation, setting a tone that feels like a conversation over a weather‑worn dock rather than a grand adventure.

The real hurdle isn’t a stormy night or a mysterious stranger, but a simple choice of where to start. Between Hephzy’s cryptic circular, a puzzling transatlantic letter, and the absurd request of Captain Darius for a henhouse topped with a mansard roof and cupola, the narrator wrestles with both his own creative block and the eccentricities of his small‑town community. As he grapples with these quirky dilemmas, the story promises a humorous glimpse into everyday heroism and the art of beginning when every option seems oddly tangled.