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Voice of the Imagination (VOM), whole no. 9, October 1940

Page 9

VOICE OF THE IMAGI-NATION

plastic features a new false moustache and toupee. Contrary to the usual run, Mr Knight does not wish me to snatch a dummy and say 'Goo,goo!' For him I must chirp brightly, 'A bookworm! A bookworm! I'm nothing but a bookworm!' Well, there it is, friend. Read your fill. ~~ Gentlemen, please! I am no Ringer, Man of a Thousand Faces, and I shudder as I see Mr. Fortier ready with a consoling pat on the shoulder and yet another false beard dangling from his pen. My rejection must be polite but firm. My 'youthful pride' (which I would query, but doubtless I have some, unawares) is impregnably sheathed behind a triple layer of self-confidence, vanity and a 'sensayuma', and the present critics' clumsy projectiles generally disintegrate noisily in an uncontrollable burst of laughter. I must have a perverted sense of humour, I guess; but their beard-stroking, he's-only-a-boy scorn strikes me as being ridiculously funny. If you could only see it as I do . . . ! ~~ Having first deliberately maddened myself with drugs, I will now let loose the dogs of war and present my picture of the Science-fiction Fan: He is every inch of five feet six and accordingly massive, but despite his great bulk he moves with the easy grace of a bird - i.e., he's pigeon-toed. His hands are well-shaped, and so clammy is his handshake that most of the water from the well must be still clinging to them. He is so crooked that I know now how that quaint June cover animal got the loop in its neck -- trying to look him straight in the eye. I could continue, but doubtless Mr. Jules Verne is already not merely turning over in his grave but jumping onto the surface and biting large chunks out of his tombstone in baffled rage. So I will now step down from the pulpit; pausing only to add that if the gentleman down at the back of the hall will only repeat just a little more loudly those terse words he is now mumbling savagely beneath his breath, I will at once sue him for lewdness, obscenity and rank slander. ~~ P.S. Greatly appreciated were the extra copies of Widner's extraordinarily life-like portrait. If i had some glass I'd frame it, if I had a frame. In retaliation, I must sometime send you a photograph of myself that I have around. --for some reason or other it makes me look like something clipped from the Police Gazette or lifted from Madame Tussaud's. People take one look at it, and though they say never a word a dull, horrified light gleams in their eye. Horror-stricken they totter away and are next heard of in Sidi-bel-abbes, where they have joined the Foreign Legion. You know-- to forget..." (We're sure our readers coud take your picture, they tell us Police Gazette-- or Pogo, as they affectionately refer to it--is their favorite mag, next to Astounding Stories. So send along that snap of yourself & we'll print it on our cover --& that's a request & a promise!)

[Louis Russell Chauvinet?] editor of the uniq fanmag Detours ("The Roads Must Roll"!) rides, or, rather, rites from Tallwood Plantation, Esmont, Va, & it's a Red Letter day...for he uses veddy red ink! "Thanx for latest VOM, erroneously sent to Cambridge & eventually forwarded, submerged in a bundle of old newspapers and antique magazines. You're lucky (or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I'm lucky) I dug it out at all! ~~ Friday (this letter dated Aug 25) I went up to Washington & met Elmer Perdue, after ferreting out his seat of operations in the Commerce Building. I found him suffused with that deep inward glow of satisfaction which comes upon learning one has received a raise in salary. In the exuberance of the moment he readily agreed to take the day off and was rewarded for this noble resolve by receiving a copy of that fine publication, D E T O U R S (if Reinsberg can plug his mags in Vom, then even I---!) (Say, who do U think U are, the Now MacAdam?! Or shoud we take that for granite...) It took Elmer very little time to sell me a bill of goods, to wit, membership in the F.A.P.A The old city slicker story, you know. In lieu of the conventional gold brick Elmer presented me with the last mailing. Some of the gold-plating, such as Milty's Mag, was nice looking, but, oh, the brick!! ~~ Our next move consisted of a call on Marjorie Wilson, who would no doubt be vastly surprised to learn that she's Art Widner's protegée! We found her out, engaged in the plebian task of procuring sources of nourishment--groceries to you, sir!--and so occupied ourselves in purchasing some sf. magazines until, returning, we found her in & stayed for a brief visit. It now became necessary to meet Jack Speer for lunch, and, hurtling the family chariot through the tangles of Washington, I accomplished this feat--considerably aided by Elmer's piloting, it is true! Lunch was short--say 20 minutes--for Jack's fierce urge to work drove him back to his job, while Elmer & I could only marvel at the source of such energy. ~~ After

Saving...

VOICE OF THE IMAGI-NATION plastic features a new false moustache and toupee. Contrary to the usual run, Mr Knight does not wish me to snatch a dummy and say 'Goo,goo!' For him I must chirp brightly, 'A bookworm! A bookworm! I'm nothing but a bookworm!' Well, there it is, friend. Read your fill. ~~ Gentlemen, please! I am no Ringer, Man of a Thousand Faces, and I shudder as I see Mr. Fortier ready with a consoling pat on the shoulder and yet another false beard dangling from his pen. My rejection must be polite but firm. My 'youthful pride' (which I would query, but doubtless I have some, unawares) is impregnably sheathed behind a triple layer of self-confidence, vanity and a 'sensayuma', and the present critics' clumsy projectiles generally disintegrate noisily in an uncontrollable burst of laughter. I must have a perverted sense of humour, I guess; but their beard-stroking, he's-only-a-boy scorn strikes me as being ridiculously funny. If you could only see it as I do . . . ! ~~ Having first deliberately maddened myself with drugs, I will now let loose the dogs of war and present my picture of the Science-fiction Fan: He is every inch of five feet six and accordingly massive, but despite his great bulk he moves with the easy grace of a bird - i.e., he's pigeon-toed. His hands are well-shaped, and so clammy is his handshake that most of the water from the well must be still clinging to them. He is so crooked that I know now how that quaint June cover animal got the loop in its neck -- trying to look him straight in the eye. I could continue, but doubtless Mr. Jules Verne is already not merely turning over in his grave but jumping onto the surface and biting large chunks out of his tombstone in baffled rage. So I will now step down from the pulpit; pausing only to add that if the gentleman down at the back of the hall will only repeat just a little more loudly those terse words he is now mumbling savagely beneath his breath, I will at once sue him for lewdness, obscenity and rank slander. ~~ P.S. Greatly appreciated were the extra copies of Widner's extraordinarily life-like portrait. If i had some glass I'd frame it, if I had a frame. In retaliation, I must sometime send you a photograph of myself that I have around. --for some reason or other it makes me look like something clipped from the Police Gazette or lifted from Madame Tussaud's. People take one look at it, and though they say never a word a dull, horrified light gleams in their eye. Horror-stricken they totter away and are next heard of in Sidi-bel-abbes, where they have joined the Foreign Legion. You know-- to forget..." (We're sure our readers coud take your picture, they tell us Police Gazette-- or Pogo, as they affectionately refer to it--is their favorite mag, next to Astounding Stories. So send along that snap of yourself & we'll print it on our cover --& that's a request & a promise!) [Louis Russell Chauvinet?] editor of the uniq fanmag Detours ("The Roads Must Roll"!) rides, or, rather, rites from Tallwood Plantation, Esmont, Va, & it's a Red Letter day...for he uses veddy red ink! "Thanx for latest VOM, erroneously sent to Cambridge & eventually forwarded, submerged in a bundle of old newspapers and antique magazines. You're lucky (or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I'm lucky) I dug it out at all! ~~ Friday (this letter dated Aug 25) I went up to Washington & met Elmer Perdue, after ferreting out his seat of operations in the Commerce Building. I found him suffused with that deep inward glow of satisfaction which comes upon learning one has received a raise in salary. In the exuberance of the moment he readily agreed to take the day off and was rewarded for this noble resolve by receiving a copy of that fine publication, D E T O U R S (if Reinsberg can plug his mags in Vom, then even I---!) (Say, who do U think U are, the Now MacAdam?! Or shoud we take that for granite...) It took Elmer very little time to sell me a bill of goods, to wit, membership in the F.A.P.A The old city slicker story, you know. In lieu of the conventional gold brick Elmer presented me with the last mailing. Some of the gold-plating, such as Milty's Mag, was nice looking, but, oh, the brick!! ~~ Our next move consisted of a call on Marjorie Wilson, who would no doubt be vastly surprised to learn that she's Art Widner's protegée! We found her out, engaged in the plebian task of procuring sources of nourishment--groceries to you, sir!--and so occupied ourselves in purchasing some sf. magazines until, returning, we found her in & stayed for a brief visit. It now became necessary to meet Jack Speer for lunch, and, hurtling the family chariot through the tangles of Washington, I accomplished this feat--considerably aided by Elmer's piloting, it is true! Lunch was short--say 20 minutes--for Jack's fierce urge to work drove him back to his job, while Elmer & I could only marvel at the source of such energy. ~~ After