DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fantascience Digest, v. 2, issue 1, Novermber-December 1938

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Fantascience Digest, v. 2, issue 1, Novermber-December 1938

Page 5

FANTASCIENCE DIGEST Page 5

to his study, and working till the clock bonged 3 A.M., emerged finally with a full twenty-five evenly thick letters; all suspiciously suggesting enclosed, round, metallic objects. Upon each of the letters was posted an air mail special delivery stamp; and standing before the letter box; Bill, by the light of a street lamp, pawed thru the neat packages half a dozen times, then with a sort of sigh, placed them reluctantly into the letter slot. With a brisk thoughtful stride, that suggested a state of mind created by Satan for a sleepless night, he blended with the shadows of the silent treelined walk.

Two weeks of his projected vacation had passed and Bill was certainly not very happy. Of the one-score five epistles dropped into the mail-box that night, fifteen had not been replied to at all, seven were stamped "No such party at this address," and the two replies stated briefly that they were returning his subscription inasmuch as that particular fan magazine was no longer being published. One fellow, however, half-heartedly suggested that he subscribe to "Infinity," which was the title of a publication taking the fan world by storm.

For a fortnight Bill figured the best thing to do was to give up this sentimental idea of his and find relaxation in the more common things of life: gold, travel, the theatre etc. But finally that firm, handsome face which masked the keen brain that had emerged on top in a score or more of fan arguments, set itself in a stubborn, stiff mold. Rationally, his brain devined [sic] the facts that it was only natural for new fans to have cropped up in the intervening space of years, and still more natural for new, unknown (to him) personalities to take on where the others left off. Yes, he'd work on. It was just a matter of contacting the right people. Now, that magazine "Infinity," that one fellow suggested sounded like a pretty good fan magazine. He'd just drop a note to that fellow asking for the address, and from the various ads in this magazine, he would be able to contact the rest of the fan world. "but gosh," he thought to himself, "it wouldn't be the same without the old guard."

Having been quite a fan writer in his time, Bill figured the best thing to do to get on the good side of this new editor would be to send him an article with the subscription. So that night he sat himself in his favorite niche, dusted off the top of his fifteen-year-old typewriter, and then, with the ferver [sic] of a true artist, got to work. He wrote with a vitality and originality he didn't know he possessed. This, coupled with his mature out-look and polished style, slowly resolved the essay into one of the finest fan articles ever conceived, even if he had to admit it himself. Surely, an essay like this would have any mere editor bowing down in reverence to a writer of such marvelous ability. No lingering over the letter-box that night. The quicker the letter got through, the better.

Four days passed, and finally one morning a hauntingly familiar ting of the bell aroused him to a fever pitch rarely experienced before. He was into the hall and out to the letter-box in a twinkling of an eye. With trembling fingers he jaggedly tore into the envelope from "Infinity" and, hardly glancing at the cover, digested the actual contents. For a moment his features registered bewilderment, then his lips grimaced tightly and he hissed softly between his teeth. Not a page in the magazine carried a familiar item. Funny, he never realized himself to what extent the fan mags had grown independent of the professional publications before. True, what he had in his hand was ""real" fan magazine. In fact, it was too much of a fan magazine. None of the contents were understandable, or in the least bit interesting or entertaining. For they dealt, almost without exception, with items

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FANTASCIENCE DIGEST Page 5 to his study, and working till the clock bonged 3 A.M., emerged finally with a full twenty-five evenly thick letters; all suspiciously suggesting enclosed, round, metallic objects. Upon each of the letters was posted an air mail special delivery stamp; and standing before the letter box; Bill, by the light of a street lamp, pawed thru the neat packages half a dozen times, then with a sort of sigh, placed them reluctantly into the letter slot. With a brisk thoughtful stride, that suggested a state of mind created by Satan for a sleepless night, he blended with the shadows of the silent treelined walk. Two weeks of his projected vacation had passed and Bill was certainly not very happy. Of the one-score five epistles dropped into the mail-box that night, fifteen had not been replied to at all, seven were stamped "No such party at this address," and the two replies stated briefly that they were returning his subscription inasmuch as that particular fan magazine was no longer being published. One fellow, however, half-heartedly suggested that he subscribe to "Infinity," which was the title of a publication taking the fan world by storm. For a fortnight Bill figured the best thing to do was to give up this sentimental idea of his and find relaxation in the more common things of life: gold, travel, the theatre etc. But finally that firm, handsome face which masked the keen brain that had emerged on top in a score or more of fan arguments, set itself in a stubborn, stiff mold. Rationally, his brain devined [sic] the facts that it was only natural for new fans to have cropped up in the intervening space of years, and still more natural for new, unknown (to him) personalities to take on where the others left off. Yes, he'd work on. It was just a matter of contacting the right people. Now, that magazine "Infinity," that one fellow suggested sounded like a pretty good fan magazine. He'd just drop a note to that fellow asking for the address, and from the various ads in this magazine, he would be able to contact the rest of the fan world. "but gosh," he thought to himself, "it wouldn't be the same without the old guard." Having been quite a fan writer in his time, Bill figured the best thing to do to get on the good side of this new editor would be to send him an article with the subscription. So that night he sat himself in his favorite niche, dusted off the top of his fifteen-year-old typewriter, and then, with the ferver [sic] of a true artist, got to work. He wrote with a vitality and originality he didn't know he possessed. This, coupled with his mature out-look and polished style, slowly resolved the essay into one of the finest fan articles ever conceived, even if he had to admit it himself. Surely, an essay like this would have any mere editor bowing down in reverence to a writer of such marvelous ability. No lingering over the letter-box that night. The quicker the letter got through, the better. Four days passed, and finally one morning a hauntingly familiar ting of the bell aroused him to a fever pitch rarely experienced before. He was into the hall and out to the letter-box in a twinkling of an eye. With trembling fingers he jaggedly tore into the envelope from "Infinity" and, hardly glancing at the cover, digested the actual contents. For a moment his features registered bewilderment, then his lips grimaced tightly and he hissed softly between his teeth. Not a page in the magazine carried a familiar item. Funny, he never realized himself to what extent the fan mags had grown independent of the professional publications before. True, what he had in his hand was ""real" fan magazine. In fact, it was too much of a fan magazine. None of the contents were understandable, or in the least bit interesting or entertaining. For they dealt, almost without exception, with items