Quote of the Day

Posted August 23, 2015 By John C Wright

There are times when a man grows breathless at the sheer dizzying artistry of a genius of poetry.

This is from a commenter named Steve over at the Vox Day website:


If we were to erect a monument to the spirit of our age, it wouldn’t be something sublime like the Eiffel Tower, St. Peter’s Basilica or the Empire State Building. No grandiose frescos would decorate it. No wondrous ostentations in gold leaf and lapis lazuli would adorn it. No clean-limbed marble statuary would guard it.

No, it’d be a squat, ugly thing, like a paleolithic fertility fetish or a Morlock or typical WorldCon polyamory enthusiast. It would be sexless, androgynous and gendernonconforming all at the same time, and rendered in drab wattle and daub. Its most striking feature would be a great big mealy mouth, from which would drip liquid bromides and taurine fecal matter. Hordes of hooting crypto-humanoids in their mobility scooters would gather under this toxic shower to pray for equality and more all-you-can-eat buffets.

I am so putting that Morlock statue in my next book, somehow. Damn that is a fine bit of imagery.

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Shanghaied Again

Posted August 20, 2015 By John C Wright

So, on Tuesday, I was woken up again by the Cherubim saying gruffly: “Mom, Mom. Go to store. Buy some milk!” (Teenage boys. Lots of milk use here.)

And this time, thanks to you, I was able to get up and buy milk and a number of other things that we needed.

In fact, thanks to the astonishing generosity of John’s wonderful, wonderful readers we were able to pay all our bills in August. And with the help of two gracious and amazing friends, we have our mortgage for September covered.

The manna in the desert was not more miraculous. ;-)

God bless you guys!

(And prayers for a peaceful, harmonious Hugos weekend are most welcome!)

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Time and Lies Wait for no Man

Posted August 19, 2015 By John C Wright

I just got an email from an SJW theologian telling me that it is impossible to hate a sin while loving a sinner whose sins are corrupting, lobotomizing, torturing, and killing him. His logic seemed to be that it is hypocrisy to love someone and yet to hate what hurts him.

Of course, being self-lobotomized with modern education and an industrial sized sense of his own self righteousness, the SJW theologian believes that the word ‘sin’ is another word for ‘fun’ — in which case, he thinks I am advocating loving the funster while hating his fun which would be a paradox.

I hate my sins because they hurt me and damn me and darken my intellect. I love myself just fine, perhaps too much.  I do not see how it is hypocritical to treat others with the same standard with which I regard myself. Indeed, to a non-SJW, treating others as you treat yourself is not hypocrisy, but the very opposite.

I hate lies, and there is no time to battle them. I wrote another chapter of my juvenile today, and I want to get it finished as quickly as time allows. Hence, like Vox Day, I have no time to waste writing letters to idiot SJW theologians, or to the lying vermin at NPR.

For I see the following at the Vox Day website:

A Latino, an Indian, and a White man

Walk into a room. How does NPR describe them? As three white men. Because badthink:

The prestigious Hugo Awards, which honor science fiction and fantasy writing, will be held Saturday. Lately, they have been given to more and more women and writers of color as the world of sci-fi opens up — and that’s prompted a backlash from a group of mostly white male writers who call themselves the “Sad Puppies.”

Listen to the rest of it here if you like, I’m not going to bother.

What a boatload of maroons.

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Keep Recruiting

Posted August 17, 2015 By John C Wright

More lies.

The Morlocks seem not to realize that everyone not of their particular camp is repelled rather than attracted to stupid lies. Intelligent people are repelled because of the stupidity and honest people are repelled because of the dishonesty.

Of course, I may be too optimistic. For what if this behavior is purposeful, not the product of incompetence? It takes a particularly neurotic, morbid, and cynical sort of self-hatred to voice a lie one knows has no chance to be believed, but to utter it anyway, knowing your fellow neurotics will be attracted to the siren song of morbid cynicism. If they are doing such a thing on purpose, one wonders at the psychology.


I am on chapter one of my next novel, which I hope to finish rapidly. I have not the time to fisk the article line by line.

I invite the readers to list the half-truths and full out lies involved here.

I will mention only one:

The sociopolitical conservatism of the Puppies’ leaders and their highest-profile nominees is not inherently a problem; Orson Scott Card is merely one name in a long line of right-wingers who have written phenomenal speculative fiction and been honored at the Hugos accordingly. But John C. Wright and Theodore Beale go well beyond the pale when it comes to their views on women, people of color, and homosexuals. That’s the point. In championing Wright and Beale, the Puppies are taking the Hugo Awards out of the realm of literary appreciation and into the new culture war that has arisen in the age of #GamerGate.

Note the gratuitous and pointless insertion of a reference to Gamergate. As far as I know, the only gamer who has ever read my SF space opera was Daddy Warpig. To him I give thanks and praise: he apparently by himself, merely by liking my space stories, can overturn all of human history.


I am sorry now that I am not a pagan, for otherwise I would erect a suitable shrine to Daddy Warpig, a stepped pyramid rising from the steaming jungles of Mexico, adorned with larger-than-life marble statues of raging boars coated with hammered gold, on which to sacrifice captive foes, and offer their still beating hearts to his glory!

Hm. On second thought, paganism is over-rated. But I like and note that fact that Gamergate has the same enemies I do, merely because we do not share the philosophy of self-loathing and hellish hatred of love, life, and truth known as Political Correctness.

As for the sentence quoted in the hit piece, let me say a word or three:

I have no views on People of Color and have never written a single word on the topic. Baptism is not a racial characteristic but a spiritual one. Sainthood is not an inherited characteristic.

My views on woman are those of a dyed-in-the-wool romantic of the chivalrous Christian school, who adores both Saint Mary and Saint Mary Magdalen as saints. I also have a healthy fascination with the character of Nausicaa from Miyazaki’s VALLEY OF THE WIND (see below) and an unhealthy fascination for the character of the Catwoman. And this is being condemned, why, again exactly? Because I respect both saints and sinners of the fair sex, both princesses and cat-burglars? Why is having contempt for woman a sign of Political Correctness, again, exactly, please?

My views, to the best of my knowledge, and have no point of overlap with the dour cynicism of my publisher and friend Theodore Beale, so the sentence as it stands is meaningless. It is like saying, “The views of the Easter Bunny and Count Dracula on avoiding the drinking human blood during Lent go beyond the pale.” But there is no view the Bunny and the Count share on this point.

My views on homosexuals are the views of the Roman Catholic Church, which is to say, the views of Western Civilization since the time of Constantine onward. Those views are ones of love and respect, more respect indeed by far than felt by those who would encourage the sexual desecration of the human person. Why is pitiless contempt for those suffering sexual aberration a sign of Political Correctness, again, exactly, please?

The phrase ‘beyond the pale’ refers to the boundary between civilization and barbarism. Originally, this was said to be the Wall of Hadrian, which held the Picts back from the civilization of Roman Britain.

Which of the two of us, me (the champion of civilization, Christ and Rome) or Mr. Miles Schneiderman (a pathological liar and libeler, champion of ignorance, barbarism, confusion, untruths, and hate-mongering) is beyond the pale?

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Posted August 14, 2015 By John C Wright

Reviewer praise for SOMEWHITHER:

Perhaps my only criticism of this book is that these two characters are reminiscent of each other with the bravado and inventive cursing. At first another aspect of this book was putting me off regarding an extended sequence involving escape. Later I realized how necessary this sequence of this book was to the plot involving a Calvinistic world that is a deterministic nightmare.

Again I am amazed by how inventive he is with plot ideas. There are several here where a competent author could take just one of them to make a good book.

As a lover of SF and Fantasy, along with being both a geek and a Catholic, there are not many books that bring satisfaction on the geeky Catholic level. There are tons of geeky references in the book and I think I caught on to most of them, but doubt I caught them all. This was part of the playfulness of the book. …

… I enjoyed this book immensely and like every start in a new series eagerly await the next book.

Still I feel kind of like I had shoplifted this book since the Kindle price was only $4.99. Just doesn’t seem right considering how much enjoyment I got.

My comment: I am happy to be “shoplifting” under such circumstances: I get paid more than twice my cut of the take had the reader bought this book in hardback.


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Zarkov, Heinlein, Williamson and Brackett

Posted August 3, 2015 By John C Wright

We have just make contact, via Gridley Wave, with Dr. Zarkov on the rogue planet Mongo, which, as we all know, is a earth-sized body from outside our solar system that recently and inexplicable swerved from its collision course with earth. Rather than relating his tremendous adventures (during which he and Virginian Captain John Carter, Dray Prescott, Jonathan Dark, and the Grey Lensman overcame Dr. Fu Manchu and Dr. Moriarty and the beast known as ‘Kur’ who were aiding Ming the Merciless in his plans) Zarkov instead has a word or two, and some rather trenchant quotes, about the state of the science fiction genre.

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Shanghaied for a Thank You!

Posted August 3, 2015 By John C Wright

Hey Folks,

Jagi, here.

I am shanghaiing my husband’s blog to thank those of you who have showed us such astonishing generosity!

Sunday morning, I woke up to my son asking me: “Mom, go to the store. Buy some milk.”  And I had no idea how to explain to him that we did not have enough money to do this.

Then, donations began to arrive!

Thanks entirely to you good readers, we have stocked our refrigerator and will be able to pay a few bills!

We are so very, very grateful! ;-)

Thank you!


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A Convenient List of the Monstrous Races of SOMEWHITHER

Posted August 2, 2015 By John C Wright

More than one reader asked for this notes to my latest book, and one of you promised me a healthy tip in my tip jar if I took the time to type all this up.

The race name is all capitalized, then described, and its home aeon name is also in capitals.
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Chart of Aeons and Deviations from SOMEWHITHER

Posted August 2, 2015 By John C Wright

More than one reader asked for these notes to my latest book. I hope this is legible in this format.

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Posted July 31, 2015 By John C Wright

This month I have not had a day-job, and so for the first time have had enough free time to work like a full time writer.

This is the novel I have been waiting eleven and a half years to write. I wrote the manuscript in five weeks, and spent a week polishing and revising.

I sent it off to Castalia House this Monday, so keep your fingers crossed for me. (I have also begun a new project for Castalia House called MOTHS AND COBWEBS, a juvenile, which I will describe in a later post.)

iron chamber

The novel is called IRON CHAMBER OF MEMORY.

The story idea came to me during the month of December in 2003, just a few days after my rather dramatic conversion from total Christ-hating atheism to total fidelity. I was recovering from major surgery, and still had one foot, so to speak, in the spirit world.

This story idea came to me in one moment, complete, perfect, in immense detail. I dragged myself out of bed to spend one afternoon writing the outline down in one go from start to finish.

Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, and nothing since.

I often speak of writing as if I am taking dictation from the muse. Usually I am exaggerating a little, or being a little modest. Here I am not. It is as if some other spirit than mine contrived this story, and all I have done is write it down.

The thing was eerie. There are certain ideas and themes in it which are quite a bit like other things I have written. An amnesiac hero trying to discover who he really is, for example, appears in nearly everything I write.

I can also see where the basic ideas come from: that there is a room in a house where whenever the protagonist enters, he remembers he is in love with a woman who also loves him, but only inside that chamber, and nowhere else. The conceit is taken from the deservedly obscure novel A HAUNTED WOMAN by David Lindsay. I say it is deserved obscure because Mr Lindsay did not exercise his full range of his powerful imagination here, and did not explore the several odd but logical ramifications of the idea.

But there are other themes here utterly unlike my usual fare, and other ideas I know not whence they came.

The only element I added was the setting. Originally, I meant it to be set in Oxford, England, at Magdalen College, but I since discovered a small channel island called Sercq or Sark, called a Dark Sky island, and, until 2008, the last still-functioning feudal  fief in Europe.

The small and beautiful manor house of the Lord of the island, Le Seigneurie, I had to make into something huge and haunted as Gormenghast, and I add a frankly impossible old growth forest which could not fit on the tiny real island; but aside from these indignities of poetic license, the strangest details in the story are the ones taken from life, and these are the least likely to be believed. I did not make up that Sark is a Dark Sky island, once invaded by a Nuclear Scientist, nor that the language spoken there has never been written down.

The overall vision encompassed in the story is strange, and I am not sure if it counts as science fiction or magical realism or mainstream or what it is. Not only is the narrator unreliable, reality is unreliable.

Part of it is a love story, part of it is a story of treason and revenge, part of it is hallucinatory, and part, the best part, is a metaphysical thriller after the fashion of Charles Williams, where the mystery is not who murdered whom, but what is ultimate reality.

Let me favor you, dear reader, with the opening scene:

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