DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fanomena, March 1948

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Fanomena, March 1948

Page 5

is not only contagious but also hereditary. You must not convey it to a normal woman nor transmit  it to an innocent baby. Be as happy as you can in your solitude. Perhaps in your old age you may show some slight improvement."
Kelly, on his way back to the farm, stopped at the post-office to buy more stamps and at a stationery store to buy more paper and envelopes. Leaving the store he accidentally met a charming young lady who gave him a delightful smile.
Nancy Brown, as she looked at the disheveled, solid man from eager lovely eyes recognized here was a fit subject, divinely sent, on whom she might exert her hearts desire for the uplifting of humanity. Both by inheritance ( her father was a noted missionary) and by education she was well equipped for the profession  of .... Service.
Impelled by an irresistible impulse she placed her dainty hand on the shoulder of the animated scarecrow of a man, detaining him. In the patient pleading voice of the trained reformer, she urged him to get his hair cut, his clothes cleaned and pressed, take a bath and trim his long fingernails. All this, she assured him, would not only improve his appearance but revitalize him spiritually. 
Self-defence prompted him to a detailed explanation of his metamorphosis from a once dapper and proud young man into the unkempt and apparently distraught man who stood before her. He explained to her that he had so many stories to write, of which he only knew the plots, and for these stories an eager world of readers was thirsting so that personal sanitation was inconsequential.
For some time they talked, each unyielding.
"Consider what I have told you andpray for the directing light," Nancy counselled as they exchanged names and addresses and parted.
Nancy wrote to John, fervidly urging him to a new, cleaner and better life. John, grudging the time spent, wrote to Nancy, repeating his explanations and was adamant in his refusal to accept her advice. After two weeks of ineffectual debate, they again met, this time by appointment.
They realized that they were in love!
Kelly was happy. The more he learned of Nancy and her plans for his future the more convinced he was that in her he would find a cure for his disease. She was a good cook, an excellent home-make and had never even thought of writing a story. He dreamed of a clean home, regular and well-cooked meals, a roof that did not leak and a life devoted to growing cabbages and carrots instead of eating them.
Nancy promised him that she would not interrupt or interfere with his writing; she would cut his hair while he typed, mend and press his clothes while he slept and even spoon feed him his meals so he could continue his literary work. When she told him that the only short stories she had ever read were written by Henry James he was more than ever confident that in her he had found his true soul mate!
But on t he third day of their marriage, moved by some fiendish compulsion, Nancy read one of John's manuscripts.
"This is a good story," she said. "In fact, a very excellent story; but your plot would be improved by leaving out the love feature and concentrating on the science fiction. Also you have too many 'ands', 'in facts' and "therefores'. You should have used more periods. Your sentence construction is poor and you split infinitives three times."
He looked at her dazed, stunned and infuriated.
As a complicated picture is thrown on the screen, details sensed but not clearly envisioned, John saw his career tossed into the discard by this superior woman, his wife who knew nothing about the writing of science fiction stories, of which art he was the Master. She was telling him what to write and how to write it!! Now he knew that for the rest of his life she would attempt to control his literary works! As this terrible thought flashed, lightning fast, through his mind, he determined to assert his rightful masculine, intellectual supereminence.
"If you think you can write a better story, why dont you do it?" he cried in a stentorian voice.
She rushed from the house without replying. In a few hours she returned with a typewriter and a delapidated chair. Rapidly filling a bushel basket with cabbages
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is not only contagious but also hereditary. You must not convey it to a normal woman nor transmit it to an innocent baby. Be as happy as you can in your solitude. Perhaps in your old age you may show some slight improvement." Kelly, on his way back to the farm, stopped at the post-office to buy more stamps and at a stationery store to buy more paper and envelopes. Leaving the store he accidentally met a charming young lady who gave him a delightful smile. Nancy Brown, as she looked at the disheveled, solid man from eager lovely eyes recognized here was a fit subject, divinely sent, on whom she might exert her hearts desire for the uplifting of humanity. Both by inheritance ( her father was a noted missionary) and by education she was well equipped for the profession of .... Service. Impelled by an irresistible impulse she placed her dainty hand on the shoulder of the animated scarecrow of a man, detaining him. In the patient pleading voice of the trained reformer, she urged him to get his hair cut, his clothes cleaned and pressed, take a bath and trim his long fingernails. All this, she assured him, would not only improve his appearance but revitalize him spiritually. Self-defence prompted him to a detailed explanation of his metamorphosis from a once dapper and proud young man into the unkempt and apparently distraught man who stood before her. He explained to her that he had so many stories to write, of which he only knew the plots, and for these stories an eager world of readers was thirsting so that personal sanitation was inconsequential. For some time they talked, each unyielding. "Consider what I have told you andpray for the directing light," Nancy counselled as they exchanged names and addresses and parted. Nancy wrote to John, fervidly urging him to a new, cleaner and better life. John, grudging the time spent, wrote to Nancy, repeating his explanations and was adamant in his refusal to accept her advice. After two weeks of ineffectual debate, they again met, this time by appointment. They realized that they were in love! Kelly was happy. The more he learned of Nancy and her plans for his future the more convinced he was that in her he would find a cure for his disease. She was a good cook, an excellent home-make and had never even thought of writing a story. He dreamed of a clean home, regular and well-cooked meals, a roof that did not leak and a life devoted to growing cabbages and carrots instead of eating them. Nancy promised him that she would not interrupt or interfere with his writing; she would cut his hair while he typed, mend and press his clothes while he slept and even spoon feed him his meals so he could continue his literary work. When she told him that the only short stories she had ever read were written by Henry James he was more than ever confident that in her he had found his true soul mate! But on t he third day of their marriage, moved by some fiendish compulsion, Nancy read one of John's manuscripts. "This is a good story," she said. "In fact, a very excellent story; but your plot would be improved by leaving out the love feature and concentrating on the science fiction. Also you have too many 'ands', 'in facts' and "therefores'. You should have used more periods. Your sentence construction is poor and you split infinitives three times." He looked at her dazed, stunned and infuriated. As a complicated picture is thrown on the screen, details sensed but not clearly envisioned, John saw his career tossed into the discard by this superior woman, his wife who knew nothing about the writing of science fiction stories, of which art he was the Master. She was telling him what to write and how to write it!! Now he knew that for the rest of his life she would attempt to control his literary works! As this terrible thought flashed, lightning fast, through his mind, he determined to assert his rightful masculine, intellectual supereminence. "If you think you can write a better story, why dont you do it?" he cried in a stentorian voice. She rushed from the house without replying. In a few hours she returned with a typewriter and a delapidated chair. Rapidly filling a bushel basket with cabbages 5