DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fanfare, v. 1, issue 3, August 1940

Transcribe
Translate

Fanfare, v. 1, issue 3, August 1940

Page 6

6                      Fanfare

     Back home in his comfortable tomb, he soon picked up typing, and then started to write. Boy, whatta title! RED BLOOD! Simple, yet so descriptive! He paused, gazing fondly at the two words, while he absently flicked a black widow spider from his immaculate shirt front.
     Every night for a week, strange clicking noises were heard in the graveyard. All the ghouls in the neighborhood gathered 'round of an evening to gawk at the unprecedented spectacle of Vincent's slim, patrician fingers, dancing nimbly over the keys. That is until they became hungry, and wandered off after a light snack of whatever happened to be lying around.
     Finally one night, Vincent stood up, ripped the last sheet out of his typewriter, and said, "Burp! I mean - I'm finished!"
     Fidished whad?" asked Horrible Hermen, head ghoul of local no. 49. His mother had told him to keep his mouth shut and he would stay out of trouble, so he always talked through his nose.
     "My manuscript!" cried Vincent. "My masterpuss - piece - that will startle the fantasy literary world!"
     "Whad do id taste ike?" asked Herman.
     "Aah, shuddup!" snarled the vampire, "You ghouls are all alike! You have no appreciation of the finer things in death. All you can think of is eat, eat, EAT!....Hmmmmm! Didn't realize I was so hungry. And he dashed off to mail his precious story, only stopping on the way for a little bite of chorus girl on toast.

   * * * * * *

     C.rringbone Snipper, the eagle-eyed editor of SUPERNATURAL STORIES, wearily opened the last manuscript in the pile his assistant had placed upon his desk. He scanned the title with a bored expression. "RED BLOOD" - harrumph! Pretty hacky, but if the story's good, I can change it to RED BLOOD OF MAIDEN'S FOR THE MINDLESS MONSTERS." He smirked to himself at the thought.
     Then he read on, gradually becoming absorbed in the story, until his eyes were glued to the page. He unstuck them, put them back in place, and finished the manuscript with a gusty sigh.
     He sat unmoving for several minutes, while his assistant, Sam Booblebaum, watched him warily. Sam had come to recognize these quiescent periods as preludes to a storm.
     Then he put the manuscript into its return envelope and enclosed a rejection slip.
     Booblebaum googled, slack-jawed. "Hey, chief! That's RED BLOOD you're rejecting!" he shouted.
     "I know it," replied Snipper, licking the flap of the envelope.
     "But - but," Sam stuttered, "That's the best written story we ever received! Why it relates a vampire's feelings so realistically that I could almost believe that a real vampire wrote it!"
     "Sam," said Snipper, turning a fishy eye inn his assistant's direction. "You're slipping. I shall need a new assistant if you persist in such a fan-like attitude. Of course the story's well written. So what? If we publish it we'd have most of our readers complaining about the lack of a handsome hero, a heroine with a 'breakaway' wardrobe, and some sort of slavering monster with foul desires. This story has none of those things, so I'm sending it back."
     "Say, maybe it's a pseudonym," suggested Booblebaum. "Where does this Van Pyer guy hang out?"
     "Oh, somewhere up north - ah, down - out - around -. Hmmmm.......There's no return address on the envelope. Maybe it's on the ms." Snipper fished in the envelope, and brought out a single sheet of paper like the rest of the manuscript.

Saving...

6 Fanfare Back home in his comfortable tomb, he soon picked up typing, and then started to write. Boy, whatta title! RED BLOOD! Simple, yet so descriptive! He paused, gazing fondly at the two words, while he absently flicked a black widow spider from his immaculate shirt front. Every night for a week, strange clicking noises were heard in the graveyard. All the ghouls in the neighborhood gathered 'round of an evening to gawk at the unprecedented spectacle of Vincent's slim, patrician fingers, dancing nimbly over the keys. That is until they became hungry, and wandered off after a light snack of whatever happened to be lying around. Finally one night, Vincent stood up, ripped the last sheet out of his typewriter, and said, "Burp! I mean - I'm finished!" Fidished whad?" asked Horrible Hermen, head ghoul of local no. 49. His mother had told him to keep his mouth shut and he would stay out of trouble, so he always talked through his nose. "My manuscript!" cried Vincent. "My masterpuss - piece - that will startle the fantasy literary world!" "Whad do id taste ike?" asked Herman. "Aah, shuddup!" snarled the vampire, "You ghouls are all alike! You have no appreciation of the finer things in death. All you can think of is eat, eat, EAT!....Hmmmmm! Didn't realize I was so hungry. And he dashed off to mail his precious story, only stopping on the way for a little bite of chorus girl on toast. * * * * * * C.rringbone Snipper, the eagle-eyed editor of SUPERNATURAL STORIES, wearily opened the last manuscript in the pile his assistant had placed upon his desk. He scanned the title with a bored expression. "RED BLOOD" - harrumph! Pretty hacky, but if the story's good, I can change it to RED BLOOD OF MAIDEN'S FOR THE MINDLESS MONSTERS." He smirked to himself at the thought. Then he read on, gradually becoming absorbed in the story, until his eyes were glued to the page. He unstuck them, put them back in place, and finished the manuscript with a gusty sigh. He sat unmoving for several minutes, while his assistant, Sam Booblebaum, watched him warily. Sam had come to recognize these quiescent periods as preludes to a storm. Then he put the manuscript into its return envelope and enclosed a rejection slip. Booblebaum googled, slack-jawed. "Hey, chief! That's RED BLOOD you're rejecting!" he shouted. "I know it," replied Snipper, licking the flap of the envelope. "But - but," Sam stuttered, "That's the best written story we ever received! Why it relates a vampire's feelings so realistically that I could almost believe that a real vampire wrote it!" "Sam," said Snipper, turning a fishy eye inn his assistant's direction. "You're slipping. I shall need a new assistant if you persist in such a fan-like attitude. Of course the story's well written. So what? If we publish it we'd have most of our readers complaining about the lack of a handsome hero, a heroine with a 'breakaway' wardrobe, and some sort of slavering monster with foul desires. This story has none of those things, so I'm sending it back." "Say, maybe it's a pseudonym," suggested Booblebaum. "Where does this Van Pyer guy hang out?" "Oh, somewhere up north - ah, down - out - around -. Hmmmm.......There's no return address on the envelope. Maybe it's on the ms." Snipper fished in the envelope, and brought out a single sheet of paper like the rest of the manuscript.