John C. Wright's Journal

They also hit my Wikipedia page. While vandal comments about "bigot" and "homophobe" were pulled by the staff for all the right reasons, the link to the OP remains on the grounds that "A person’s political and social views are always relevant when properly sourced."

I am naturally reluctant to delete the post. I got grief merely for turning off the comments, which some people for some reason think was an odd thing to do. Any suggestions?

I just got off the phone with a friend of mine. He told me that when I get to heaven, I am going to meet Jeremiah the prophet, who was stoned to death, John the Baptist carrying his head in a charger, and St. Stephen with arrows still sticking out of him. Each one is carrying a palm leaf in his hand.

John the Baptist is going to roll his eyes up and look at me.

John the Baptist: "Internet trolls, huhn? So people made fun of you?"

Me: "Well, I feel I was on a mission from God."

St. Stephen (his face like an angel): "Like the Blues Brothers, right?"

Much foul language below the cut…

Someone asked me why I offered an apologetic olive branch to my enemies if I still thought I was in the right. Good question. I think it deserves a clear answer. It is also a long answer, so bear with me.

Read the remainder of this entry »

Well, I just spent upward of six hours going though the responses left by the friendly trolls, trying to separate the ones I can answer from the ones I cannot, and I the task is beyond me: the trolls were just too numerous.

What I regret as that buried in all that noisome putrefaction, about every fifty or hundred comments or so, was a good comment, one that I either wanted to answer, or one that forced me to change my mind on one of the points brought up.

So, whoever you are out there, you know who you are. Even if I disagree with you, or even if I hurt your feelings, I respect you and I wanted to answer. The mob does not allow for it.

For about four of those hours, I was trying to write personal notes to the people who were actually trying to correct me, or ask me a real question. Too many. Livejournal (I discovered only tonight) has an upper limit for the number of messages sent. If I did not answer, I am sorry.

One thing I did discover, however, wading through the muck, is that this flash crowd was stirred up by the same folks that spent all yesterday telling my wife she was a racist because — wait for it — she does not approve of racism.

There is logic for you.

Being both idle and malicious, one or two was enterprising enough to go through her friends lists, and hunt around for other material to scorn. Well, they found an old post of mine where I was complaining (in intemperate language) about the spinelessness of Sci-Fi channel bowing to political correctness. Not content to flame me there, the busy busybodies spent time sending links out to places here and there on the net, trying to generate some artificial outrage.

It was the same folks. Too bad, because I thought my wife and the other lady had settled the argument, and the Mrs. apologized.

Read the remainder of this entry »

Some craven decided to stir up controversy by soliciting his friends to come troll around on my livejournal. I have disabled comments from non-friends until further notice.

The vast majority of comments were logically irrelevant to the discussion, and hence contained nothing of value, neither as argument, nor entertainment, nor as a study in psychopathology.

To those happy few who were kind enough and mentally alert enough to write a reasonable, if opposing, viewpoint, allow me to congratulate you, express my respects and gratitude, and to apologize. I would have liked to discuss the matter further with you, but the sheer mass of Jacobin zealots makes this difficult. Perhaps we can revisit the discussion after things return to room temperature.

Even though we are on opposite sides, I assure you that the real division in the world is not between Right and Left, not between Homophobes and Pervertarians, but between men of reason and good will, we men of the mind, and our mutual foes, the men of unreason, the men of mere emotion.

Do not be fooled into thinking that because they agree with you for now, that they are like you.

Combining the last two post topics, I noticed over at Sf Signal a familiar book cover. See if you can spot it.

http://www.sfsignal.com/archives/2009/08/books-received-august-10-2009/

Yes, indeed, there is PROSPERO LOST by the Mrs.

Meanwhile, over at Amazon.com three friends of mine and Harriet Klausner have already reviewed it. My friends gave it (on average) four and a half stars, and Harriet Klausner gave it five. This was a generous if odd ranking, because Harriet did not take the trouble to read even the blurb on the dustjacket this time, but merely made up something based on the title. Statisticians calculate that Harriet Klausner, in order to read every book she reviews, must have a reading speed in excess of 9.5 zillion words per minute!

Perhaps she could be hired by Congressmen to read their bills to them before they vote.

The fine fellows over at SFSignal, which I read every day, have made the classic blunder of asking my opinion on something, and, inevitably, I wrote an essay rather than a paragraph. But they asked me about my two favorite topics: Books, and Me. What are my memories surrounding the books I hold dear? What book or books hold special memories for me?

Here is the beginning of my answer:

But of the books themselves, that I can speak. In the life of every bookish person, there are a few favored books, read in the golden time of youth, that come to dwell in the imagination forever. The vividness of images, the strangeness and wonder of the settings, are burned into the heart: every other tale read after is compared to these golden tales.

The difference between a bookish person and a non-bookish person (often called "Philistines") is that our formative thoughts, memories, and ideas, the things that shaped our character, come largely from books rather than from real-life experiences. The difference between a science fiction bookish person (often called "Slans") and a non-science-fiction bookish person (often called "Muggles"), is that our formative ideas come largely from science fiction books, rather than books about real things. The difference between a science fiction bookish person (Slans) and a dork who dresses up in a Star Trek uniform when called to jury duty, or who puts down "Jedi" as his religion on a government census form (often called "Freakatrons") is a matter of degree only.

I am sure there is some sort of Darwinian evolutionary advantage to living a life utterly disconnected from reality (often called "Psychotic"), but scholars have yet to identify it.

Read the whole thing, and the answers of other science fictional people (Slans) as well, including Kij Johnson Mike Flynn and James P. Hogan here: 

http://www.sfsignal.com/archives/2009/08/mind-meld-books-that-hold-special-places-in-our-hearts-and-on-our-shelves/

The anecdote by James P. Hogan I thought particularly interesting. Let me quote it in part: 

Although there was much that I enjoyed about the movie 2001, I never understood the ending. I listened to all kinds of ingenious interpretations from various people, but they were all mutually contradictory and left me with the feeling that they were highly subjective […] The punch line came years later, after I had moved to the U.S. and was living in Massachusetts, I had dinner with Judy Lynn Del Rey and Arthur C. Clarke in Boston one night and was finally able to ask him–the ultimate source–"What did the ending to that movie mean?" And I can quote Arthur’s answer word for word…

Ah, but to find out Sir Arthur’s answer, you will have to read Mr. Hogan’s entry.

A glimpse of the writing trade from the inside for your enjoyment and edification: http://arhyalon.livejournal.com/76311.html

Here is the second in a series depicting the odyssey of my patient, beautiful and talented wife, Mrs. John Wright, her travails in finding an editor. Her first meeting with Jim Frenkel is mentioned, as well as the mystery of the Manuscript in the Carved Wooden Box. I make a guest appearance as someone who refuses to sleep any more on the floor forever.

My comment: the mystery of the Manuscript in the Carved Wooden Box always amuses me, because it confirms something I have always said about would-be writers. The serious ones find a current copy of Writer’s Market, read the editor’s guidelines and follow them.

The ones who are not serious had better be friends with the elfs, because if they are published, it will be due to the grace of your fairy godmother, and not the sweat and tears that mingle in the inkwell of a hard-working wordsmith.

Mrs. Wright writes under her maiden name L. Jagi Lamplighter. Her first book is out in stores now, called PROSPERO LOST, sort of a Roger Zelazny meets Shakespeare’s TEMPEST at Santa’s Castle kind of tale, with evil magical dogs and gumshoes in fedoras.

The White House is asking all right-thinking and loyal Americans to help compile a list of persons known or suspected to oppose the government take-over of our health care industry. Here is the exact wording:

My wife is the beautiful and talented Mrs. Wright, who writes under her maiden name L. Jagi Lamplighter.

It is one of those rare names, like Galad Elflandsson or Morgan Llywelyn, that seem particularly designed to be the name of a fantasy writer.

But I am often asked, how is the middle name, "Jagi" pronounced? Is it "JA-gai" or "jay-GEE" "Ya-gee" or "Jay-jee" or "Yuu-dshee" or "Za-zee" or how?

As her husband, I can answer that question.

Her middle name is pronounced "!Kthoo-llrh-Uu-www" (accent on the !kth), as four syllables (five if you have a southern accent) with a fricative glottal stop click, followed by a subsonic echolocation whistle. The "th" here is a soft th as in "father’s feather" rather than the hard th as in "these clothes". The "J" is an aspirated Samian letter, pronounced like the z as in "azure" and not like the hard "J" in "jellicose." If you are pronouncing the name correctly, first, it will sound like it rhymes with "Rybczynski" and second, all the whippoorwills in earshot will panic and take wing.

The children and I have undergone the proper vocal surgery to pronounce it correctly: the work as done by Dr. Whateley of Miskatonic University.

The name Jagi is actually Etruscan/Latverian, and refers to a type of Slavic mischievous oak-tree dryad from sub-Ukrainian mythology.

The last name “Lamplighter” of course was assigned to her by her “handler” in Section S, the Unusual Events and Persons Division of NASA’s counterintelligence branch, (originally started as Air Force project Blue Book). A “lamplighter” is spook industry slang for a surveillance officer that welcomes incoming defectors. In her case, considering her background, they are not really defectors, but “Roswells”.

The “family” agreed to let her write up some of the events in her life, and those of her team mates, those few that survived, provided she changed the names and sold it as fiction. Except Prospero, of course. No point in changing his name, since he had already been “outed” by Shakespeare, back when Shakespeare was working as the apprentice of John Dee, Queen Elizabeth’s archimage.

In case you are curious, the “L” in front of her name is the Latin abbreviation for “fifty.” This refers to her rank in the Inner Circle of Ascended Masters of the First Church of Christ, Superscientist, in Boston. The Christian Superscientists are a small offshoot of the Christian Scientists, but ones who unwisely decided to tamper with nature, and use the discoveries of Mary Baker Eddy to unlock the secrets of controlled psycho-atomic transubstantiation. This denomination was founded by Nicolai Tesla in 1899, and then again, after his horrifying time-travel accident, in 1499.

I was at World Con this weekend, and there was a lady who come up to me with a bag of books on Sunday, asking me for a signature. She said she had been trying to catch up with me the whole con. Unfortunately, I was about to begin a panel were I was speaking, and I dared not be rude to the paying customer seated for the panel, so I begged the lady to wait until the panel was done, when I would be more than happy to sign, and she was kind enough to agree.

I really wanted to sing whatever this fan asked, because she had at least ten of my books in her bag, which is more than my own mother bought.

Unbeknownst to me, this was scheduled as a ninety-minute panel — which is something I had never encountered before at any convention. So I thought the panel would last until 4:30, at which time I had to leave to catch a plane back to the states. I thought I was asking her to come back at 4:30 — but what I said was “when the panel is done”. The moderator of the panel actually adjourned at 4:30 so that I (and the only other speaker there) could catch our flights.

So, if she returned at 5:00 for my autograph, not only would she find me gone, but the room would be empty. There was no place for me to leave a note, no way I could think of to contact her, and no way I could wait, because I had to catch a plane.

I am sure this lady, wherever she is in the world, now thinks I am a grade-A prime stinker who snubbed her and walked out without a thought — but I have no way of finding and telling her that evil circumstances, and a lack of forethought on my part, conspired to part us.

I really wanted to sign those books, too. You don’t know what a pleasure it is to know that someone has read a story of yours and liked it. Gratitude and humility are the only proper response.

To my unknown friend, wherever you are, I have no way to reach you to tell you I am sorry. If you ever read these words, and can ask of me what I can do to make amends, please tell me.

My adorable and talented wife, She Who Must Be Obeyed, has published to her website an account of the trials and tribulations she suffered with the patience of Job in order to get her novel published. As a public service to all would-be young writers out there, she tells of what, if her experience is typical, one might expect.

Here is a link to Part One.
http://arhyalon.livejournal.com/75048.html

I am not sure in what part of her history, we come to the scene where she is sitting in the ashes, scraping at her boils with a potsherd, while I am telling her to curse the Publisher and die, when the Publisher speaks to her out of the whirlwind and tells her to contemplate the hippopotamus. "Declare! If you have understanding–gird up your loins and answer! Where were you when I set the foundations of the Flatiron Building, and established the publishing house? Or who hath measured the distance from my fourteenth floor office to the street? Where you when all the Sons of our Stockholders sand aloud for joy? Can you bind up Harlan Elison in a swaddling band? Can you draw him up with a hook, yea, with a hook through his cheek, or make him to sing like a bird? His scales are tightly fitted, and he esteemeth javelins as straw! He maketh the sea to bubble like a pot of ointment, and a shining trails in the water as he passeth! Can you make him to publish DANGEROUS VISIONS THREE? Harlan is the king of all the children of pride!"

Ah, it is a great scene. I hope she gets around to writing about that one, too.

In the meanwhile, please visit her page and leave a kind comment. Leave all unkind comments here, where I can deal with them.

Personal Appearance! John C. Wright will be attending Anticipation, the 67th World Science Fiction Convention, in Montréal, Québec. Thursday 6 August – Sunday 9 August, 2009. See you there! (The con itself goes to Monday, but I will be departing Sunday).

My beautiful and talented wife and helpmeet, Mrs. John C. Wright (who writes under her maiden name L. Jagi Lamplighter) — soon to ecclipse me in fame as Mary Shelly surpassed Percy B. Shelly — will also be there, celebrating the publication of her first novel, PROSPERO’S CHILDREN.

This will be the first time I will be going to a World Science Fiction convention, so I expect it will be alot like Ravencon, held in Hunt Valley, except with thousands of people rather than dozens.

You will recognize me instantly. Unlike most science fiction authors, I am overweight, bearded and weird-looking. Or …. actually … come to think on it…that is not a very distinctive feature in that environment. On second thought, look for a guy standing next to an attractive raven-haired women.

She will be carrying a book with this picture on the cover:

http://www.express.co.uk/posts/view/115736/Sin-bins-for-worst-families

Her Majesty’s Government is also a fan of SF!  By which I mean that the UK is following the ideas put forth in science fiction stories such as NINETEEN EIGHTY FOUR by Orwell, or the HUMANOIDS of Jack Williamson .

Sales have been going well for Songs of the Dying Earth. I cannot say I am surprised, the editors (George R R Martin of GAMES OF THRONES fame and Garder Dozois of ISAAC ASIMOV fame) managed to get the most legendary living figures in the fantasy field to contribute, including such luminaries as Tanith Lee, Neal Gaiman, Kage Baker, Glen Cook, Dan Simmons, George R.R. Martin, Tad Williams, Robert Silverberg, and yours truly.

The editors sent me an update, which I pass along to you: