Category Archives: Skiffy

What’s Your Favorite Tolkien?

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By Cat Eldridge: Yes, It’s the Birthday of J.R.R. Tolkien. So I asked a lot of folks that I knew what their favorite works by him were.   

Obvious quick note — my choice is The Hobbit which I must’ve read or listened to at least a dozen times over the years.  The BBC has a stellar audio version which I have listened to several times as well.

So now let’s see what my respondents had to say.

Peter Beagle says:

“You mean my favorite writing by Tolkien? Probably the story of Beren and Luthien, which I’ve always loved – or maybe the one now published as The Children of Hurin. One or the other.”

Cora Buhlert is one of the Filers who gave an answer:

“The first Tolkien I actually read was The Hobbit, in an East German edition with the illustrations from the Soviet edition. I got it as a present from my Great-Aunt Metel from East Germany, who often sent me books for Christmas and my birthday. It’s still somewhere in a box on my parents’ attic. 

“I liked The Hobbit a lot, but I didn’t know there were more stories set in Middle Earth, until several years later, when I spotted The Lord of the Rings at a classmate’s place and borrowed it from him. As a teenager, I had a thing for mythology and read my way through the Nibelungenlied, the Odyssey and the Iliad, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, etc… Lord of the Rings fit right into that context and I enjoyed it even more than I had enjoyed The Hobbit.

“I didn’t read the essay “On Fairy Stories” until university, when I cited it in a paper I wrote for a class. Now I had been educated in an environment which considered the traditional Grimm’s fairy tales too brutal and unsuitable for children (luckily, my parents ignored that and told/read them to me anyway) and which viewed fantasy and science fiction or any kind of genre fiction as escapist trash and potentially harmful. I got regurgitated version of this from my teachers at school and in university I was exposed to the 1970s leftwing pop culture criticism where those ideas had originated. However, I didn’t believe that fairy tales were bad and that SFF was escapist trash, so I was thrilled to read “On Fairy Stories” and find that Tolkien, who surely was considered beyond reproach, agreeing with me.”

Lis Carey was our next Filer:

“I think I have to say that The Hobbit is my favorite Tolkien. I really do identify with Bilbo’s desire to stay home, and enjoy his cozy hobbit hole and its comforts, in his comfortable, familiar neighborhood. Yet, against his better judgment, he is lured into going on an adventure (always a bad idea, adventures) with the dwarves, and finds out just how resilient he is, his unexpected bravery, his ingenuity when faced with seemingly insurmountable challenges (“…he was chased by wolves, lost in the forest, escaped in a barrel from the elf-king’s hall…”) (yes, I love The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins, too.) He finds resources in himself that he never suspected–and at the end, he still goes home, to deal with his annoying relatives and enjoy his home. None of this “and now I will abandon everything I ever cared about, to be a completely different person in a different life.””

It’s been a long time for Ellen Datlow since she read any Tolkien, so she says: 

“I haven’t read him in so long I don’t remember – I loved all three of the LOTR trilogy and The Hobbit but don’t remember exactly why.”  She added in a conversation recently that “I loved his world building from what I recall, but the movies-which I saw much more recently-have overshadowed the books for me. And the movies inspired a major crush on Viggo Mortensen. :-)”

Pamela Dean says she “unreservedly loves The Lord of the Rings, the translation of ‘Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,’ and ‘On Fairy-Stories’.” 

Once again, The Hobbit proves popular as Jasper Fforde says :

“It’s The Hobbit, because it’s the only one I’ve read – I liked it a great deal but was never really into spells, wizards and trolls, so never took it any further.”

Elizabeth Hand gave a lengthy reply: 

“I’d probably have to say The Lord of the Rings, which I’ve read it countless times over the last forty years. It imprinted on me at such an early age — I had the good luck to read it as a kid in the 1960s, when it was still a cult novel, and you had a real sense that you were in some secret, marvelous group of insiders who had visited a place not everyone knew about. Maybe kids discovering it today still have that feeling, in spite of the success of the movies (which I love). I hope so. But I also find that, as I’ve gotten older, I’m far more drawn to reread other works, especially in The Complete History of Middle Earth and The Silmarillion (we have very long Tolkien shelves here). 

I love the Beren & Luthien material, and also the various accounts of Turin, which recently were republished as The Children of Hurin. The dark tone of all of it, the tragic cast and also the recurring motifs involving elves and mortal lovers — great stuff. It doesn’t serve the function of comfort reading that LOTR does, and because I’m not so familiar with the stories I can still read them with something like my original sense of discovery. 

The breadth and depth of Tolkien’s achievement really becomes apparent when one reads The Complete History — 13 volumes, including an Index. Every time I go back to them I think, I could be learning Greek, or Ancient Egyptian, something that has to do with the real world.  But then, I’m continually so amazed by what this one man came up with, the intensity and single mindedness of his obsession. And I get sucked into it all over again.”

Gwyneth Jones says her favorite work is The Lord Of The Rings: 

“Why — Because I read it when I was a child, in bed with bronchitis. My mother brought me the three big volumes, successively, from the library, I’d never met anything like it, and it was just wonderful entertainment for a sick child. I grew out of LOTR, but will never forget that thrill.  More why: I’ve never felt the slightest temptation to open the massive prequels and spin-offs of Middle Earth fantasy, I just don’t have that gene, and I feel the Tolkien industry doesn’t need my money. And the other works are either too scholarly, or everything about them is represented in LOTR anyway.  I admired ‘Tree and Leaf’ when I read it, long ago, but I’m not sure if I still would.”

Naomi Kritzer likes The Hobbit quite a bit:

“When I was thirteen, I somehow got into the habit of reading bedtime stories to my younger brother, who was seven. (I say “somehow” because my parents had previously been the ones to do this. How and why did I take over? I’m not sure. Possibly it was as simple as, “my parents went out one evening, leaving me to babysit, and that night I read my brother the first chapter of a novel, and the next night he wanted the second.”) We were living in a furnished rental house at the time (my parents were academics, and we were living in the UK that year), and one of the available books was The Hobbit. I read it to my brother. I hadn’t read it previously. I think there are a lot of people whose first exposure to Tolkien was being read to, but I’m not sure how many people my age got their first exposure by reading it to someone else. It’s a truly excellent way to be introduced to Tolkien.”

OR Melling says for her it’s The Lord of the Rings: ‘

“As a child, I loved reading fantasy – CS Lewis, E Nesbit, JM Barrie and so on – but when the librarian offered me The Hobbit and said “it’s about little men with hairy feet” I recall giving her one of those withering looks only children can give. Why on earth would I want to read a book about men with hairy feet? I did finally read The Hobbit when I was 12, after I had read The Lord of the Rings, and discovered that my initial suspicion was correct. I did not like the book at all, particularly its depiction of the elves. This was a great surprise, of course, considering that I had absolutely fallen in love with The Lord of the Rings. It is still one of my favourite books to this day. Aside from The Silmarillion – which I endured like all faithful fans – I have not read any other of Tolkien’s works.’”

James Davis Nicoll has a confession:  

“I am very embarrassed to admit I’ve read only 2 JRRTs: LOTR and The Hobbit. LOTRs is far more ambitious and by any reasonable measure better but I enjoyed The Hobbit more. I remember as a teen being surprised that he didn’t end at what would have been the conventional ending, but rather continued on to show the aftermath of victory.”

Cat Rambo picked The Hobbit: 

“I will always love The Hobbit, because it taught me what a pleasure reading could be. My babysitter Bernadette was reading it to me, a chapter or so every time she came, and I finally started sneaking chapters because I couldn’t stand not knowing what was happening next. There were other books I loved throughout my childhood, but The Hobbit will always hold center place in that court.”

Catherynne M. Valente picked The Silmarillion:

“I love The Lord of the Rings. I was once a hardcore Sindarin-speaking LoTR geek, in the days of my misbegotten youth. It is a vast and important book. But I have to say that I feel the book is incomplete without The Silmarillion, which provides a depth and mythology, an understanding of the forces at work, a breadth and beauty that LoTR does not have on its own. I am one of the few who loves The Silmarillion for itself, devoured it in one sitting, had no trouble with the archaic language. It should get more love than it does.”

Our final Filer is Paul Weimer who states:

“I am going to go with a sidewise choice.   While LOTR and the Hobbit are some of my earliest and most beloved of all SFF that I have ever read, the piece by Tolkien that comes back to my mind again and again is the story of Beren and Luthien.  We get the story in a number of ways and forms :the small fragments we see in Lord of the Rings (or the tiny bit in the movie), the longer tale told in the Silmarillion, and the alternate and evolving versions seen in the extended histories of Middle Earth and his letters,  In the end this love story between man and elf, mortal and immortal, is in many ways the story of Tolkien, more than the story of a Hobbit, or of the One Ring. It is very telling that Tolkien and his wife’s gravestone name check themselves as Beren and Luthien.  It moved me the first time I read the full story, and it moves me still.”

And Jane Yolen finishes the choices off by saying it’s The Hobbit for her:

“While it’s true that The Lord of the Rings is his masterwork and The Hobbit his first attempt at writing (and that, some say witheringly, for children) I have to admit I adore The Hobbit. It has adventure, wonderful characters, fine pacing and spacing, some really scary bits (my daughter ran screaming from the room when the trolls grabbed the ponies, and she refused to hear the rest of it.) And if I could ever write a chapter as good as the Riddles in the Dark chapter I would never have to write again.”

Lady Mondegreen, Ann Warren, and Sylvia Wright

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By Lee Weinstein: Misheard song lyrics can be very entertaining. A very common example is people hearing “there’s a bathroom on the right” for “there’s a bad moon on the rise,” in Creedence Clearwater’s “Bad Moon Rising.” Another is “the girl with colitis goes by” for “the girl with kaleidoscope eyes” from the Beatles’s “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” Those examples are misunderstood by numerous people, while others may be misunderstood by a single individual. 

The phenomenon has to do with the way the brain processes the auditory signal from the ears, which can be affected by, among other things, clarity, inflection, context, and expectation of the listener. 

With the advent of the internet, years ago, I often liked to look up song lyrics, sometimes just for fun and sometimes to clear up questions about difficult to understand lyrics. In the process I came across several websites devoted to the subject of misheard lyrics. I discovered that misheard lyrics are often referred to as “mondegreens.” Being the curious guy I am, I did some further searching online and discovered that the term was introduced by a journalist named Sylvia Wright. I eventually found a copy of the article where she introduced the term.

Her article, titled “The Death of Lady Mondegreen” was published in Harper’s Magazine in 1954. She recounted how she had listened to a poem recited to her by her mother while she was a child. It was a popular Scottish ballad called “The Bonnie Earl o’ Moray.” As she listened, one of the lines sounded to her like “they had slain the Earl o’ Moray and Lady Mondegreen.” She then went on to explain how she had clearly visualized the body of Lady Mondegreen lying on the ground in a pool of blood. She noted that although the poor lady was never mentioned again in the ballad, it was still enough to make a lasting impression on her. Eventually, she discovered what the real lyrics were. They actually said “…they had slain the Earl o’ Moray and laid him on the green. “Lady Mondegreen,” vivid as she was, had only existed in her imagination.

But she added the word “mondegreen” to the language, and as previously noted, there are websites devoted to mondegreens. I idly wondered about Sylvia Wright, who she was, and what else she might have written, but I didn’t pursue it at the time. She was obviously a very imaginative woman and, as I found out later, she came by it quite honestly.

I’ve often misunderstood lyrics, myself. I had always thought that Del Shannon sang “I’m a- walking in the rain / to the ball and I feel the pain,” in his hit song, “Runaway,” but he was really singing, “…tears are falling and I feel the pain.” I was also surprised to find out that the line in “California Dreaming” by the Mommas and the Papas, that I thought was “I got down on my knees and I began to pray,” was actually “I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray.” Who knew?

But Miss Wright’s “Lady Mondegreen” brought to mind a very similar misunderstanding of my own. I always liked Arlo Guthrie’s song, “Alice’s Restaurant” and listened to it numerous times over the years. Toward the end of the song, Arlo asks his audience to sing along with him on the chorus,”…when it comes around again on the guitar.” When they do sing the chorus along with him. Arlo says “That was terrible!” followed by laughter from the audience. Then he says “We don’t want Ann Warren stuff – ya gotta sing LOUD!” More laughter.

Every time I heard it, I wondered about this Ann Warren. Who was she? What songs did she perform? Evidently, from the context, she was an artist who was notable for singing in a soft, quiet manner. The audience was obviously laughing in recognition of what seemed to be a good-natured in-joke at her expense. I pictured her as a frail, soft-spoken young woman who perhaps performed at folk festivals. It was something I would wonder about each time I heard the song, but afterward it was strictly out of sight, out of mind.

That ended when the internet came into being and as a librarian I sat before a computer screen every day with access to the rapidly growing world-wide web. The next time the song came to mind, I had the means, and I did attempt to search for information on her. But as I discovered, it can be difficult to find something online when there is something else, much more well-known, sharing the same name.

Thus, not long ago, when I tried to find a locally written and produced play in Philadelphia called The Elephant Man, I could only find references to the same-named and much more famous Broadway play by Bernard Pomerance, which came out about the same time in the late 1970’s.

Another time I attempted to find information about a popular 1967 song called “Sandy,” credited to an artist named “Dawn.” Whenever I tried to find this artist online I could only come up with the later group “Dawn” who performed with Tony Orlando.

Similarly, when I tried to search for Ann Warren, all I could find were references to the actress Leslie Ann Warren. She was an actress who sometimes performed in musicals and didn’t go by just her middle name. She was a fine singer, and her voice wasn’t especially difficult to hear. I concluded she was not the person I was looking for.

It was sometime in the 1990’s that I found the answer. It had never occurred to me to look for the actual words to “Alice’s Restaurant.” When I found them online I was surprised, and perhaps a little disappointed, that “Ann Warren” was quite literally a mondegreen. What Arlo was actually saying was “…if you want to end war and stuff, ya gotta sing loud!” Like Lady Mondegreen, she suddenly ceased to exist. I felt a moment of disorientation.  Huh? There was no Ann Warren? No one else I know had ever misheard it that way, but she had been real to me.

I eventually found out, quite recently, about the locally produced Elephant Man play, when by sheer happenstance, I met the playwright, one Tom Gibbons. Among other things, he told me the play had later been retitled “The Exhibition.” If only I had known that …  

After several years of diligent, if desultory, searching I was able to find out that the first “Dawn” was a young Philadelphia singer whose real name was Joan Capetola. She and her family had given permission to Orlando to use the name for his group.

But I never found Ann Warren, because, like Lady Mondegreen, there was nothing to find. However, when I listened again to “Alice’s Restaurant,” it still sounded like “Ann Warren” to me. Sometimes it’s difficult to unhear these things. Admittedly, I still kind of wish there had been an Ann Warren.

As previously noted, where a sound is unclear, the brain often fills in the information, colored by expectations of the listener. In this case,“want to end war and stuff” does sound like “want Ann Warren stuff.” But the “we don’t…” had been filled in by my brain. It was created by what I was expecting to hear.

One day, recently, while thinking about the subject, I decided out of curiosity to look up information on Sylvia Wright, herself, to see what else she had written. I was surprised to learn that she was closely related to several people well-known in the fantasy and horror genres. Her father, I discovered, was Austin Tappan Wright, the author of the classic cult novel, Islandia. Her sister, Phyllis, was the mother of Tappan Wright King, who served as editor of both Twilight Zone magazine and Night Cry magazine. In 1978 King married Beth Meacham, since a notable editor for Tor Books

Wright, who had created Islandia as a hobby, died tragically in an automobile accident in 1931. He had spent many years creating this fictitious country, with detailed information about the history, language, population, mapping, and even the geology of the Karain subcontinent where Islandia was. It was all as meticulously thought out as Tolkien’s Middle Earth.

Among his papers was a thick, 600,000 word manuscript, written in longhand, telling the story of young John Lang, appointed as American consul to Islandia, and his travels and observations. It was far too long to publish, but his widow, Margaret Stone, began the task of editing the mammoth manuscript down to a publishable length. When she passed away in 1937, the remainder of the job fell to Sylvia, and when she had reduced it to 400,000 words, it was published in 1942 by Farrar and Rinehart, with an introduction by Leonard Bacon, poet, critic and friend of the author. It also contained a short note at the end by Sylvia about the editing process.

Then, in 1958, a new edition was published, for which she wrote a long introduction about her father, replacing Bacon’s. She mentions, among other things, that he had first conceived of Islandia as a child. His younger brother and their father, Sylvia’s grandfather, had also created and mapped imaginary places. At the end of the edition she added an afterword, giving a synoptic history of the imaginary country as told by an Islandian historian.

The novel, a fantasy only by setting, with no supernatural elements, is classified as a utopia. It developed a following and spawned three sequels written by Mark Saxton, who had also helped with the editing.

As for Sylvia, sadly she passed away in 1981 at the age of 64. She had worked as a features editor for Harper’s Bazaar Magazine and is remembered mainly as a humorist. Her best-known book was a collection of humorous essays called Get Away From Me with those Christmas Gifts and Other Reactions (1957). This collection contains, in addition to her essay on the death of Lady Mondegreen, a short, whimsical tale, “The Quest for Lady Mondegreen”, set in its own universe, more akin to Alice in Wonderland than to Islandia. In it, the character Lady Mondegreen goes on a quest to find the Earl o’ Moray, accompanied by people mentioned in her original essay: Good Mrs. Murphy (“Surely Good Mrs. Murphy shall follow me all the days of my life…) Harold (Harold be thy name), and other such — mondegreens.

As for Ann Warren, I’m afraid she will never achieve such literary immortality, if it can be called that, but nevertheless, I continue to remember her fondly.

[Lee Weinstein’s website is: https://leestein2003.wordpress.com/]

Trigger Snowflake and the Convention Reports

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By Ingvar: Trigger Snowflake walked through the doors to the Coffee Emporium, it was definitely time for a lunch cuppa. He’d been amply assisted by Drip-Matic 3000 in getting his morning cup of coffee, but now it was time for something delicious, from the makers and machines skillfully tended by Mx. Ologist.

“Sheriff Snowflake!”

“Ah, Mx. Ologist. Good day to you!”

“I have prepared a special blend for you to try, today. It is a mix of dark-roast High Plains Martian, and a small amount of blond-roast Swedish coffee, from Earth. Should pair well with one of Barbara’s special danishes, with the chocolate on.”

“Thank you, Mx. Ologist, that does indeed sound delightful. Could I have a copy of the Systems Literature Letters of Comment, as well?”

“Certainly, it will be with you in a few minutes.”

:::

> Overheard in a hotel near LunaCon — by Q. Ravenform
> 
> It is said that not only did Javier Finch go to Luna, despite his
> dis-invitation, he was also spotted in the foyer of a nearby hotel.
> 
> As rumours have it, he was approached by a woman, wearing a fabulous
> fascinator, who had a multitude of things to say to him, none of them
> good.
> 
> Apparently, one of the things she wished for him was a long life,
> mostly interrupted by stepping on Brio-Mek.
> 
> No actual report of the woman’s identity is forthcoming.

:::

“Sheriff Snowflake!”

“Good day, Ms. Dimatis.”

“I see you are perusing the Letters of Comment?”

“Yes, I think yourself and beloved Coraline have finally gotten me into the habit.”

“Did you see the LoC from Q. Ravenform?”

“Oh, yes, apparently Javier Finch was spotted on Luna, during LunaCon.”

“I have heard, but I am not sure it is true, that the lady with the fabulous fascinator was actually Jill Werner.”

“But? Doesn’t she LoC as Q. Ravenform?”

“She does, indeed.”

“How curious. One wonders why she didn’t just say she wore the fabulous fascinator?”

“Oh, you know Lunarian libel laws. They’re all over the place.”

“Can’t say I do, I have only had to bring one suit of law to Luna, and that was plenty for me.”

“Well, at least some seem to have had, on the balance, a good time there.”

:::

> My SysLiCon adventure — by Morrigan ni Leabhar
> 
> Luna is far from Mars, where I live. But, SysLiCon is such an event
> that now that it was closer than last year, I felt I had to go.
> 
> I started my travels on the interplanetary liner “Drag Betty II”,
> boarding at Phobos, and offboarding at Luna City. I had booked a cabin
> in “steersperson” class, but actually got upgraded to “gentles” class
> (not quite as good as the first class cabins, but it was still pretty
> good). My upgrade also gave me access to the “gentles and scholars”
> mess hall, where three buffets were served every daycycle, one for
> breaking fast, one for mids, and one for lates. The food was very very
> good.
> 
> Other than having a lot of time to read and write, the travel was
> pretty uneventful. I did complete a minor poetic cycle, which should
> now be available on POAOU, for those that partake in non-commercial,
> for-the-love-of-poetry, commentary and poetry.
> 
> When I arrived at LunaCon, I was overwhelmed, this was after all my
> first SysLiCon. So many people! So many fabulous clothes! Such a long
> queue to registration!
> 
> The queue was surprisingly quick, though. And gave rise to many an
> interesting conversation. One of those who joined the queue when I did
> was a lawyer, there on Luna. Emmanuel, if you read this, ‘Hi!’.
> 
> I went to many panel discussions, which were all very interesting. I
> cannot possibly do them justice in this short a form. But rest assured
> that I am more than happy to have been to every single one of them.
> 
> While I was there, I did observe one curious incident. A woman,
> wearing a wondrous small hat was yelling a stream of creative insults
> at a man. That, in and of itself, was not too surprising. What was,
> was that she kept it up for three, maybe four, minutes, without once
> repeating herself. Such a masterful command of Common is seldom seen,
> and even more rarely demonstrated in such a fashion. Brava!
> 
> Unfortunately, on the way back, I (as many others) ended up testing
> positive for SOVID, this somewhat annoying disease that has been going
> around this last half-decade. But, it was a mild case, and I could
> self-isolate in my cabin on the way back. And the purser kindly
> brought me three meals per day, after I’d selected what I wanted from
> a video feed of the buffet.

:::

“Well,” said Trigger, “this all seems quite exciting.”

“Yes, I have tickets to the next SysLiCon, the one on Rhea.”

“I should inquire if beloved Coraline would be interested.”

“Oh, I am sure she would be.”

“Well, as usual, Ms. Dimatis, thank you for the chat. But, alas, I need to return to my patrolling.”

Trigger Snowflake and the Categories

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By Ingvar: Trigger Snowflake was, as was his late morning habit, strolling down Main Street in his beloved Fort Corallium, nodding hello to shop keepers starting their day and to other citizens, who happened to stroll by. It was a glorious day, the Jupiter-shine bright and clear in the sky.

Towards the end of his morning patrol, Trigger stopped, as usual, by the Coffee Emporium, for a quick bite and a cup of delicious coffee. He’d been a regular at the Emporium under its prior proprietor, now his wife, and had with her blessing continued his custom under its new management.

“Ms Dimatis, Mx Ologist, a glorious morning to both of you. If I could bother you for the Cafe du Jour, and if possible, a cheese sandwich on sourdough?”

“Certainly,” said Barbara, “Anthrop, would you make Sheriff Snowflake a cuppa, and bring a sandwich? I’ll take proprietor’s privilege and have a chat. If you don’t mind?”

“By no means, Ms Dimatis, it is as ever pleasant to engage with you in conversation.”

“So, have you seen the weird constitutional changes for the Systems Literature Society? I mean, that had its first reading at LunaCon?”

“Ms Dimatis, you know as well as I do, that SysLiSoc is more beloved Coraline’s domain than mine.”

“I know, but I need an outside perspective. So, what the proposal is, is to change the definitions of the Genre Singer categories, both Fan Singer and Pro Singer.”

“Oh? Well, doesn’t sound too controversial, so far.”

“But that’s just it. Since time immemorial, the definition of a Pro Singer has been that of one who records title songs for dramatizations of poetic cycles.”

“Again, doesn’t sound too weird.”

“But, under the new definition, if I were to record a song, and put it out for sale, I would be classed as a professional!”

“Again, doesn’t sound too weird. You would be recording something that is for sale. Sounds like a professional activity to me.”

“But I would not be recording enough to make a living from it?”

“Well… Under the old definition, would it be classed as professional?”

“No, since it’s not been commissioned by a publisher, as a title song for a dramatisation.”

“And, perchance, would Urbel’s sideline of singing and recording the songs of other people, at a steady hourly rate count as professional?”

“Under the proposed new rules, sure. Under the old rules, that we are all familiar with, no. They’re clearly not commissioned by a publisher, for the purpose of using as a title song.”

“Dear Ms Dimatis, based only on what you have said, it sounds to me as if the old rules were circumscribing ‘professional’ too narrowly. It may be that the new ones cirumscribe it too widely, though.”

“I can get you the written forms of both old and new, if that would help?”

“I strongly suspect that both will be waiting for me, at the dinner table. But, thank you.”

:::

At home, Coraline was busy preparing dinner, mulling over the recently-adopted first reading for the new definition of pro and fan singers, for the SysLiCon Prizes.

She was not entirely sure what she thought of the proposed changes. At a first glance, the new definitions felt more correct, but she had listened to her dear friend, Barbara, arguing against the change, saying how unfair it was to those who only made a small amount of money from selling recordings that had previously not landed them in the “pro” category.

Ah, well, Trigger would soon be home and be delighted to act as a sounding board for her, as she verbally explored these ideas.

:::

As Trigger was walking home, how wearable communicator beeped.

“Sheriff Snowflake, how can I help?”

“Hiya Trigger, Urbel here.”

“Oh, hi. What’s up?”

“I know this is a bit out of the blue, and borderline misusing official communicators. But, I have a thing I need to talk through with you. And if Coraline wants to chip in, I think that would be useful, this is all Systems Literature stuff, you know.”

“I’ve just finished patrolling for the day, why don’t you come over? I think tonight is Synthechicken a la Mare Silentium. I’ll ask Coraline to set a third set. I even have a few bottles of Martian Inter-Planetary Ale, if you would like some?”

“Sounds great, Trigger. I’ll be at yours in half an hour.”

:::

As Trigger walked up the stairs, to the Snowflake apartment over the Sheriff’s Office, he called up.

“Beloved Coraline! I spoke to Urbel, he wants a chinwag. He’s on his way over!”

“Oh, thank you! I wanted to talk to him as well. I will set a third place!”

He sat down, to take his boots off and hang his gun belt in the vault by the stairs. He gave Coraline a hug, then sat down in the sofa, waiting for Urbel to arrive. Not ten minutes later, there was a loud knock on the front door.

He headed down the stairs, opened the small hatch in the door, to see who was waiting outside.

“Hello, Urbel. Dinner is almost ready, feel free to hang your laser revolver in the office vault, my beloved Coraline is not entirely fond of having firearms at the dinner table.”

“No problem, Trigger. I guess it’s the standard Sheriff lock?”

“Sure is. Coraline, darling! Urbel’s here!”

Laser revolver safely stored, they both headed up the stairs, greetings exchanged, and dinner eaten in silence.

“So, Sheriff Scrogginski, you wanted to talk?”, Coraline said.

“Yes, it’s this whole re-arrangement of the singer categories. As you know, I have been a finalist for fan singer a few years, now. And as far as I can tell, if this change goes through, I will be classed as a pro?”

“That is my understanding. Trigger, do you know?”

“Well, I was speaking to Ms Dimatis about this very thing, earlier today. And the conclusion we reached is that, since Urbel is paid for his recordings, yes, he would now fall under the professional category.”

“Thanks, Trigger. Well, Urbel, as you can hear, we both believe that to be true.”

“Yeah. That is what I thought. I am not sure how I feel about this. I mean, clearly, it will make it less likely for me to win. But, also, it is a bit of an ego boost, realising there are rules that makes me a professional singer.”

At this point, Drip-O-Matic 3000 beeped, signaling that the after-dinner coffee was ready.

With a cup of coffee in hand, Urbel leaned back in the recliner, while Trigger and Coraline sat side by side in the sofa.

“Thank you both, after some consideration, I think I am more flattered by being considered a professional, even if that means my competition for the Systems Literature Prize for Best Singer will be slightly harder. It will, if nothing else, mean that even getting to be a finalist will mean so much more.”

Trigger Snowflake and the Con Guests

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By Ingvar.

Don JT Michaels woke up, to see that the annual Systems Literature Convention would be held at Luna, this upcoming year. Being the successful poet that he was, he was definitely planning to attend. If nothing else, the membership and travel could of course be taken as a business expense.

He wrote a note to his assistant, to ensure that membership tickets were sorted, for everyone, had breakfast, then pondered the next poem in his epic cycle.

:::

With Trigger safely at home, doing whatever sheriffs do when they’re not patrolling, Coraline Snowflake was relaxing at her former establishment, sipping a cup of quite excellent dark roast from the Martian highlands. Opposite her was Barbara Dimatis, her former protégé and current owner of the Coffee Emporium, Fort Corallium’s premier coffee house and poetry salon.

“What do you think, Barbara?” “About?” “Oh, you haven’t read? It seems Javier Finch has been dis-invited from SysLiCon on Luna” “Really? Well, I am not entirely surprised after how the SysLiCon Awards were handled last year.” “No, but it is quite unprecedented.” “That it is, Coraline. Would you like another danish, these have chocolate in the middle? Anthrop, would you fetch us two danishes?” “Oh? Is he a new employee?”

“They. Yes, Anthrop started two days ago, working primarily as a coffee extractor, but we’re also considering starting serving bespoke cocktails, as they are a well-known bartender.”

:::

Later in the evening, Coraline came home, to a freshly arrived edition of “The Systems Literature Society’s Letters of Comment” and started reading.

> From the desk of Don JT Michaels

> Greetings, as you are probably all aware, LunaCon, the SysLiCon on
> Luna, is coming upon us. I have, of course, secured a convention
> membership, back when memberships opened. As I wanted to finalise my
> schedule, I reached out to the convention organisers, to ask what
> panels I had been assigned.

> You would not believe the reply I got back! A form, to fill out, to
> signal my areas of interest, my previous panel experience, and the
> like. Me? Why would they need that information? They know who I am.
> And clearly SysLiCons have, multiple times, managed to put me on
> panels without this.

> I am not sure what has happened here. But I am disappointed. I am a
> poet, writing epic poem cycles, to the adulations of all. Why would
> they not want me on panels? I do not understand.

Coraline scratched her head in confusion. She had attempted to be a panelist at the Luna SysLiCon and while a somewhat cumbersome process, it was pretty straight-forward. You told the conference organisers what you were willing to speak on, any panels you could propose, and eventually listed your (ranked) interest in the panels that they’d decided on.

Surely DJTM was capable of doing that? Or at least had an administrative assistant that could?

:::

The following day, Coraline was back at the Coffee Emporium, talking to Barbara, as she did almost every day.

“Well, this is leading up to be an interesting SysLiCon. We have the whole disinviting of Javier Finch. Then this weird thing from Don JT Michaels. And rumours have it that the Systems Literature Association’s annual meeting is going to have an agenda of hereto unseen proportions.”

“Yes, dear Coraline. You are entirely correct. I am actually sad that I will not be able to attend. The Emporium takes its tender care, as you well know.” “Yes, me and Trigger actually have memberships, but it seems he’s needing to stay behind, here in Fort Corallium.” “It is never easy. Although, I did speak to Anthrop this morning, and it seems they have a newly composed tipple for us to try. Would you like a taste?” “I would. May I?” “Go ahead.” “Mx Ologist, if you would please delight the palates of me and Barbara with you new creation?”

Phantom Faceoff Challenge

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By Daniel Dern: Having periodically done a web search for a comparison (usually for two competing products I’m considering buying), ITEM (5) in Pixel Scroll 5/18/24, “BWAH! Gizmodo’s James Whitbrook contends there are ‘25 Great Things About The Phantom Menace’” started me thinking about, of course, The Phantom Tollbooth. So here, off the top of my happily-haired-with-a-bald-spot head, and, having seen The Phantom Menace at least 1x but probably not more than 2.5x, and having reread The Phantom Tollbooth dozens of times (and a quick one-item lookup just now), we go (with, in some cases, allowing stuff in other Star Wars films to count):

WHATTHE PHANTOM MENACETHE PHANTOM TOLLBOOTH
Weapons/toolsLight-saber(Mathemagian’s) Pencil
Untall characters   YodaOfficer Short Shrift
Princess(es)Amidala, LeiaSweet Rhyme, Pure Reason
PunishmentCarbonite“I am” (shortest sentence from the judge)
Odd Food(s)Blue milkSubtraction Stew
Challenging RoutesKessel RunThe Doldrums
Talking charactersC3PO, R2D2Tick (watchdog); Spelling Bee
Powers of mindForce stuffCar that goes without saying

On the Avenue I’m Taking Who To, Forty-Second Street

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Moshe Feder knew it was “pics or it never happened” when he encountered these Doctor Who-wrapped subway cars on the 42nd St. Shuttle between Grand Central and Times Square.

He says, “I saw them last Saturday night after returning from Naugatuck to Grand Central and then heading across town for an uptown train to Carnegie Hall.”

Thank you, Moshe, for letting me repost your photos!

Trigger Snowflake and the Quicksilver Fallout

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By Ingvar.

Trigger stretched his legs out, under the table.

“Ms. Dimatis, thank you for the cuppa. It smells absolutely delicious.”

“Thank you, Trigger. It is the new house blend and roast.” “Thankfully, all things Mercury should now be well behind us.” “Yes, it is such a relief that SysLiCon is back on track.”

With a wide and determined stride, Coraline entered the Coffee Emporium.

“Trigger! Barbara! You will ṉot believe what I just got my hands on!”

“Darling Coraline,” Trigger said, “what could you possibly mean?” “This! This here document. I have had it fast-translated from Mercurian, so it is not fully accurate.” “Could you summarize it for us?” asked Barbara.

“Well. Let me sit down and have a few sips of that delicious-smelling coffee first.”

Barbara waved her hand in a complicated gesture and Svein, the new server, quickly brought a fresh cup over and placed it in front of Coraline, who took a cautious sip of the hot liquid, then let a quiet sigh of pleasure escape over her lips.

“Summarize? Yes. You know how SysLiCon was held on Mercury last year? To the great consternation of many. But, this here document is possibly even worse than that whole debacle. The document I showed you? Well, it is from the Quicksilver City Business Committee, detailing a plan for how Mercury in general and Quicksilver City specifically will become system leaders in poetry, using the intellectual property of SysLiCon, the SysLiCon Awards and the new Poetry Centre that was built for last year’s SysLiCon.”

“But,” said Barbara, “Can they do that?”

“Well,” answered Trigger, “It’s not entirely clear, one way or the other. Mercury have always had a loose observation of the trademark, copyright, and patent laws of other countries. So from that perspective, it’s understandable that they would try something like this.”

“But,” said Coraline, “What can we do?”

“I don’t know,” Barabara said. “There may be something in the SysLiCon statutes to block them? And they did mention that they’ll try to get SysLiCon back to Mercury in five years. This means they’ll need to put a bid in for the planet selection, in three years. So, if we can fast-track some language around eligibility for planet to host SysLiCon, before that, we may at least stop that.”

The three of them slowly sipped their coffee, eyes downcast.

“Aha!” exclaimed Trigger. “If we require planets to have elections that feature more than a single party for at least five out of the last six, national elections? That should in the general case make sure SysLiCon only takes place on democratic planets. Let me draft a motion for the Annual Meeting at the next SysLiCon!”

Trigger Snowflake and the Dequalifications

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By Ingvar.

Trigger Snowflake and his wife Coraline were taking brunch at the Coffee Emporium when Barbara Dimatis, the proprietor, came over.

“I am so sad!” Barbara said. “Why is that, dear?” Coraline replied. “The finalists for the SysLiCon Award for Best Poetry Salon have been announced. And I had really hoped that the Emporium would have made it on this year.” “What? But? I know at least two dozen people who said they nominated the Emporium for the Salon category!” “I know. Well, we may see it in the data, once the Mercury SysLiCon is done.”

Nine months later, again during brunch, Barbara Dimatis approached the Snowflake table.

“You remember, a last year, when I was surprised that the Emporium was not a finalist for Best Salon?” “Yes, you were quite upset. Wasn’t she, Trigger?” “Well, the nomination statistics were just published.” “What? SysLiCon was over months ago! Aren’t the statistics usually available right at the end?” “Normally, yes. But, this time it took months. And looking through them, I noticed that The Coffee Emporium was explicitly disqualified from the Best Salon category!” “Oh, no! That must feel horrible for you!”

A few months before SysLiCon, on Mars.

Olaus Frond started to open the package he had just received. It should be the nominations for some of the SysLiCon award categories. As he flipped the first tab, with a hand trembling from anticipation and eagerness, he had a sinking feeling in the stomach. As the package opened, a small cloud of very small paper confetti puffed out of the box. He quickly peered inside, hoping this was only the normal detritus that paper collects.

His stomach now having the same feeling as unexpected free-fall, he saw that there was no such luck. A small portion, maybe a tenth, maybe a sixteenth, of the ballots has simply fallen apart during interplanetary transport.

Not knowing what to do about this novel situation, Olaus simply sighed and started normalizing and tabulating the nominations within the categories he were responsible for.

Around the same time, Luna Javier Finch was having an early dinner, when there was a knock on his door. He sighed, stood up and walked to the door.

“Who is it?” “Mr Finch? There is a hypercom for you.” “Hypercom? Who?” “They did not say. Please open.”

Incredibly perplexed, he opened the door. A courier extended a pad.

“Please sign here, Mr Finch”

Once he’d signed, he was handed a box, with an attached handset. He closed the door, brought the box to his kitchen table, then spoke into the handset.

“Javier Finch, to whom am I speaking?” “Ah, Mr Finch. A delight. I am Felix, the mayor of Sunspinner City, the host city for QuicksilverCon. I understand you are the function head for awards?” “Ah… Felix… Yes, that is correct.” “Good, good. Well, it so happens that, as you know, we have promised to provide interplanetary transport for every finalist, for every award.” “Yes, I am aware.” “Good, good. Now, there are some issues here. You see, some of the people we suspect may end up as finalists are on the No Land list here on Mercury. And you can see that this puts us in a bit of a pickle?” “It sounds problematic, yes.” “So, it would be good if none of them end up as finalists. It’d be SUCH a shame if they fly all the way to Mercury, just to have continue inwards, wouldn’t you say?” “Er, well, the integrity of the voting process…” “We here on Mercury are well aware of voting processes. How do you think I have won the mayoral election the last six times?” “But…” “Good, we understand each other. The hypercom will print the No Land list when we hang up. Bye!”

As Javier slowly placed the handset back in its cradle, the box buzzed, and several sheets of paper came out of a slot.

“Hmm”, Javier thought, “let me have a quick look… Barbara Dimatis?”

Barbara Dimatis sat down after a long week of working and answering the question ‘but why were you disqualified’ with ‘I have no idea’. She opened her copy of “The Solar System Times”, one of the system’s premier news sources.

System Literature Convention Awards Cloaked in Scandal!

The annual System Literature Convention, an event belowed by poetry afficionados throughout the system, has been rocked by a substantial scandal. This was revealed due to a careful study of the statistics required to be published for the awards process.

Among those wronged were Barbara Dimatis, of Fort Corallium, in Jupiter orbit. Ms Dimatis is the proprietor of the Coffee Emporium, a venue that has been holding celebrated poetry salons for the last few years.

Ms Dimatis has been somewhat controversial, in that she has a strict ban on Sulphur artists attending her salon. We have not been able to reach Ms Dimatis for a comment. Other artists who have spoken out include Gail Newman, who was nominated both in both Best Poem and Best Epic Cycle.

Mx Newman says that their poem “Dark and Stormy” was nominated for Best Poem, but is also part of their poetry collection “Nights”, was excluded from the Best Poem category and then the collection failed to get to finalist status in Best Epic Cycle. “It is a shame”, they said, “that they didn’t ask me, I would have preferred Dark and Stormy stand on its own, leaving Best Epic Cycle to other worthy contenders”.

When asked about what happened, the person if charge of the awards process, Javier Finch, only said “We have only applied the rules and laws under which we had to operate.”

Future developments will be reported by “The Times”, as they unfold and are verified.

Trigger picked up the latest dispatches from the Snowflake mailbox, before setting off to the Coffee Emporium, where his beloved Coraline would be engaged in conversation with Ms Dimatis.

He walked through the swinging doors, saw his wife and Barbara at a table, walked over and sat down.

“I brought the latest Comments. Let me hand them round, so we can read and react.”

Not three minutes later, Trigger was distracted from his reading by Ms Dimatis loudly inhaling. He looked up at her.

“Hmm?” “Oh, Trigger, this is astounding!” “What? What?” inquired Coraline. “Here! See! It is a Letter of Comment from the SysLiCon Brand Office. It seems that they have admonished and dismissed both Olaus Frond and Javier Finch, for their involvement with the Awards debacle at QuicksilverCon.” “Hm, well, that is well-deserved”, said Trigger, before taking a sip of quite excellent coffee.

Dern Grim Bedtime Tales

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By Daniel P. Dern: As you may or may not (more likely, may not) know, I have, over the past decade or so, written, aside from File770 scrolls and items, and other stuff, a bunch (a few dozen) stories for kids (and their adults), under the umbrella name of Dern Grim Bedtime Tales, Few Of Which End Well. They are intended to be Morally Instructive To The Listener, and Therapeutically Cathartic For the Reader (and The Writer).

For example:

  • “The Girl Who Never Cut Her Hair”
  • “The Boy Who Would Not Brush His Teeth”
  • “The Girl Whose Friends Did Not Want To Play With Her”
  • “The Boy Who Stuck His Elbow In His Ear”
  • “The Boy Who Didn’t Want His Food Touching Each Other”
  • “The Children Who Did Not Like Gilbert And Sullivan”
  • “The Girl Who Loved Animals, Especially Dragons”

Some include SFnal memes and themes, e.g. robots, dragons, aliens. Also, unsurprisingly (to those who know me), the occasional pun.

Most are short enough (flash length) to be read aloud (and heard) in a few minutes – some in under a minute! So I can do a reading of half a dozen pieces in ten to fifteen minutes (depending on whether I’m also doing magic tricks in the same session) — which makes them ideal for short/shared/group program items.

I’ve done readings at dozens of cons (Arisia, Boskone, WorldCons mostly) in DragonsLair (kids  programming) and in main program readings, and also in some mundane places (libraries and schools). (They aren’t, mea culpa, yet available via any of the usual outlets. To say I’m interested and/but embarrassingly behind in that goes, like Milo’s car in The Phantom Tollbooth, without saying.)

Mike Glyer has graciously agreed to run my Halloween one, “The Children Who Ate All Their Halloween Candy Too Soon”, as a scroll. (I’ve done a quick update on some of the Internet/technology bits.)

Enjoy!

THE CHILDREN WHO ATE ALL THEIR HALLOWEEN CANDY TOO SOON

(A Dern Grim Bedtime Tale)

by Daniel P. Dern

©2023 Daniel P. Dern

There once was a boy and a girl who ate all their Halloween candy too soon.

And they had a lot.

They had carefully compared notes with their friends of all the best places to go Trick-or-Treating, and checked the lists they had kept from last year.

They used their phones to update their maps, and tag each house with what they knew, with special Halloween emojis including some they’d created. They made spreadsheets, and charts, and more maps, and then planned their routes based on what they wanted most, and which houses started being available first, and which ones went latest, and which houses tended to run out first. They added in weather and road condition feeds, and alerts from all their social media accounts.

They organized with some of their friends, and set up groups, with several kids having extra bags “for my little sister who’s sick.”

They set up lists and chats and a Discord server real-time “who’s where” maps so they could communicate as the night went on. Of course, including pictures of new or interesting houses, costumes and candy.

They made sure they had flashlights that worked, and extra batteries, plus ‘flashlight’ apps on their phones.  They convinced some of their parents to give them rides, either to other areas of town, or so they could start at the right places.  It was like planning for a day at Disney World, except with even more to do, and much less time – although fewer and much shorter lines.

They carefully selected costumes that they could walk quickly in, and that were easy to tell what they were, so they didn’t have to waste time explaining.  They practiced walking around and up and down stairs with their costumes on, and made sure they had bags that opened easily and let stuff be dropped in.  They practiced walking in groups that could go quickly along the sidewalk, and forming lines at the door that could be ‘treated’ quickly.  They got one of their older siblings to pretend being an adult at a door, and practiced saying “Trick or treat!” and “Boo” and even “Thank you very much!” — because they had learned that sometimes saying “Thank you” got them extra candy from a house.

They had chosen and designed their costumes so they could wear their old backpacks, to periodically unload what they had already gotten from the bags they were holding out, so that those bags would look emptier.  They got extra bags, with their names on them, to leave in the car or have one of the adults carry.  And they got pouches they could carry, to quickly put in the things they didn’t want their parents to see, either because it was something they weren’t allowed to have, or because it was something they didn’t want to have to “share” with their parents. Or just because they could.

One or two kids even got extra masks and capes, so they could go back to a house that gave good stuff and pretend they were somebody else.

And so, of course, they ended up with a lot of candy.

A lot. 

Their parents, of course, didn’t let them keep it all.  “Junk.”  “Sugar.”  “Junk.” “You don’t need five of these.” “Junk.” “Yuck.” “Sorry, your allergies. ” And there was a lot that they didn’t want, and even after they traded among themselves, there was still a bunch that nobody wanted.

But even after all that, they still had a lot.

But a week later — a week! — it was all gone!  All the candy, that is.  They still had lots of little boxes of raisins and tiny bags of pretzels and some mini-fruit roll-ups, but the candy was all gone — eaten, that is.

Somehow, the boy and the girl who had eaten all their Halloween candy had not gotten sick — or caught.

One afternoon, the day after the boy and the girl had eaten the last of their Halloween candy, the doorbell rang, and when the boy and the girl went to the door — which they were not supposed to do without an adult in the room, but their big brother was in the bathroom — they saw a small green creature.

It had scaly, slimy skin and cool waving purple tentacles all over its head, and had three eyes as big as fried eggs, and was wearing what looked like a shirt made of old DVDs and soup-can lids.

The creature held up four arms — or armlike tentacles, it was hard to tell — and said “Wuggereet!”

“What?” said the boy politely.

“Wuggereet!” repeated the creature.

“Trick-or-Treat?” said the girl.

The creature nodded, making all its tentacles wobble and the shiny disks on its clothes clatter.

The boy and the girl looked at each other.  “Halloween was last week,” said the boy.

“Wuggereet!” repeated the creature.

“Wait here,” said the girl.  She ran back to her room, and came back with a handful of boxes of raisins and two fruit roll-ups.  “This is all we have left.”

“Zhacklaw,” said the creature.  “Endee.”

“I’m sorry,” said the boy.  “We don’t have any left.”

The creature shook again, set down its bags, and reached its four arm-tentacles through the shiny disks at its sides, and pulled out what looked like a ray gun, a blaster, a disintegrator, and a space disrupter, and pointed them at the boy and the girl.

“Zhacklaw,” said the creature.  “Endee.”

“We don’t have any,” said the girl, who was still holding the raisins and fruit roll-ups.  “This is all we’ve got.”

“Dreet!” said the creature, and pointed its weapons at the boy and the girl. “Zhacklaw!”

“I’m sorry,” the boy said. “We ate all the good stuff already.”

Zzzzppppp!

– END –