Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

With a title like Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers (SSGR), you might assume this book is space opera. It’s not. It’s a parody of space opera, which is horse of a different color. Specifically, it seemed to parody most the work of E.E. Doc Smith in his “Lensman” series, which, admittedly, is not the best space opera ever written.

To me, Space Opera and Sword & Planet fiction (like John Carter of Mars) are the purest forms of sheer entertainment out there. They do, however, contain certain tropes that invite some writers to lampoon them. That doesn’t mean the lampooning works.

Harry Harrison (born Henry Maxwell Dempsey, 1925-2012), who wrote SSGR, was a talented writer. He’s best known for his “Stainless Steel Rat” stories but I’ve generally preferred other works of his, including “Make Room, Make Room,” which became the basis for the movie Soylent Green, and the Deathworld stories.

However, humor is difficult to write for even the most talented author. In my opinion it’s the most difficult emotion to create in writing. And I, personally, am pretty difficult to please on the humor front. I like humor in my fiction. Just not all humor all the time. I prefer dark humor, and humor when it comes out of the circumstances and the characters. I don’t generally like it when it’s layered on with a spatula and drowns every line.

While I chuckled here and there through SSGR, I didn’t get any belly laughs and I pretty quickly became bored. I mostly sped-read the last 100 pages. Too often, humor turns characters into caricatures. It defuses tension in order to get in a zinger. It becomes predictable because you know the writer is going to choose the most ridiculous option in any situation. It also makes it difficult to maintain any suspension of disbelief in the actual story. And primarily, it is the “story” that I want when I read.  The story in SSGR was weighed down by so many stabs at humor that I just couldn’t get into it.

SSGR is a well written parody. If you like such pieces you’ll probably like this one. I didn’t care much for it and was rather happy when I was done so I could move on to a different book. Of course, please remember that these are my opinions and your own might differ.

Dear Diary

Dear Diary:

More books arrived today, many of them undocumented immigrants. Of course, I did not turn them away. I have a big heart and sufficient resources at present to accept them. But I feel the first flickers of concern.

The book population in my house seems to be growing almost exponentially. Already the shelving resources are being strained. Certainly I can double or even triple-up for a while. But what if the present pace continues, or even increases? What will I do then?

There is a further concern as well, a much bigger concern. I haven't had time to get to know all the new books in my home. And I'm beginning to hear rumblings of discontent. I hear whispers, questions about why some books get shelved while others are stacked on the floor, or even placed in boxes in closets. Why are some selected for reading and others not? Dissatisfaction appears to be growing among my population of tomes.

Lately, I have sensed an underlying hostility in some of the whispers. They often cease when I enter the room. Up until this point, I have kept a pretty tight leash on my collection. But I'm beginning to sense a revolution brewing. I would round up the malcontents and send them to book mooch if I could identify them reliably. But I cannot bear to punish one book for the sins of another.

And so I wonder.... How long before they strike?

You Think You had it Tough!

You think you had it tough. I grew up in the middle of the woods. When I told my dad I wanted a set of Lincoln logs, he handed me an ax and said, “Go cut ‘em yourself.”

I once told my dad I wanted some Play-dough. He told me, “That’s what mud is for.”

You think you’ve seen cold winters. Most of the time when I was a kid, if I wanted a drink of water I’d have to climb up on the local glacier with a tin cup and a magnifying glass and melt my own.

When folks tell me I act like I was raised in a barn, I say, “I wish I’d had it that good.” I grew up in a dugout in the side of a creek bank. I had twelve brothers and sisters originally but 7 of ‘em washed away in floods. The rest of us had learned how to swim by watching the beavers.

We learned to use every part of our food. For example, you didn’t throw away the hulls once you got the hickory nuts out. They were good mattress padding. (If only we’d have had a mattress to put them in.) Whenever we had fish, we used the spine for a comb and made shoes out of the scaled skin. My sister had a fish eye necklace that was the envy of every kid in school.

I may have grown up poor but at least I had a lot of pets as a kid. Dogs, cats, raccoons, possums, squirrels, rabbits, snakes, grasshoppers etc. Of course, they never lasted long. Acorn and bark stew only goes so far—when you can get it.

I remember we tried raising chickens once but in those days the chickens had teeth and razor blade feathers so it didn’t work out well for us. I’ve still got the scars from trying to gather eggs from those bad hens. We finally just let ‘em run wild. I’ve always believed our chickens were the source of all the Boggy Creek Monster legends.

One of my mom’s best dishes was chicken pot pie. Of course, we never had any chickens to put in it. Just the pot. But if you cooked it long enough and you were hungry enough, it was delicious—if a bit chewy.

I’d have killed to have four and twenty blackbirds baked into a pie. We always had to do with five or less. and mostly that was just the beaks and feet. Course, the feet were darn good eatin’. There’d be a pretty good scrap among the brothers every time one of us got hold of a bird foot.

Almost every kid makes mud pies but we took those things seriously. It was the only dessert we ever got. I liked to spread the froth from the creek on top of mine as meringue. I was always the master chef of the clan.

Thank goodness for the thick Arkansas fogs when I was a kid. Cut a slice and spread it between two dead leaves and you had a heckuva sandwich.

I remember one bad winter. It started in 64 and ran through 67. Everything froze so hard you couldn’t burn nothing for warmth. Fire was too cold to start anyway. Thank goodness for family. Especially my brother Bo. He had a bad case of the farts that year and that was the only thing kept us warm.

When I was growing up, the only thing worse than the freezing winters were the broiling summers. Back in 62, it stayed above the boiling temperature for water for three straight weeks. And that was in May. Some folks said it was the hottest summer on record, but 59 was worse. I considered the summer of 62 to be a cool front.

The nearest big city to where I grew up was called Charleston, Arkansas. It had a population of well over a thousand people, if you can imagine that many human beings in one place. I remember once we walked into town and I spent my whole time gawking at the incredibly tall one-story houses and the streets made of stone. They even had these fancy contraptions called au-toe-moe-beels. My brother Pabe got run over three times before he realized they was capable of movement. Fortunately, the wild conditions we’d lived in had toughened up his hide a mite. He ended up a bit lopsided but not much the worse for wear.

After visiting the big city, Dad decided we should get TV. We couldn’t get it to work until we plugged it into an electric eel. I never got to watch it, though. I had to stand on the roof  of the dugout with forks taped to me so we’d have an antenna.

Somebody seemed surprised that we could afford forks. We couldn’t. Our forks were hand made from old discarded beer cans. I still have a set for use on special occasions.

  

Executive Orders

I like my colleagues. We work hard and I think we do a lot of good things for our students, but we also have fun.  When I was chair back many years ago now, I used to send out the occasional “executive order” addressed to the “Workers” of the Psychology Department. These might require things like posting a photograph of me on all walls, or the requirement that all members of the Department purchase a motorcycle for transportation, or 100 other things.  I often referred to my small red book of The Sayings of Chairman Gramlich. There were lots of German jokes, in keeping with my name.

Recently, our current chair, Elliott Hammer, was going to be out of commission on a couple of Fridays, leaving my friend, Lisa Schulte as acting chair one Friday, and me as acting chair the next.  Lisa and I got together and decided that she would issue an executive order that I would then rescind as soon as I took “command.” 

Lisa’s Executive order read something like this:

From the Office of Dr. Schulte-Gipson:

Day 1 of the New Departmental Order

To all workers of the Department of Psychology

Executive Order #1718A

"Henceforth and in perpetuity, all eggs used for any purpose, such as cooking, shall be cracked only at the small end of the egg."

 My executive order won’t go out until next week but will read:

From the Bunker of Dr. Charles Gramlich

Day 1 of the New New Departmental Order

To all remaining workers of the Department of Psychology, henceforth to be known as Department Q

Executive Order 78483838027817304721639964151

Part A: All previous executive orders issued by the previous chair in exile, whose name shall not be mentioned here, are rescinded.

Part B: Henceforth and in perpetuity, all eggs used for any purpose, such as cooking, shall be cracked only at the large end.

I don't know about you, but I got a laugh out of it.

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More Star Trek Versus Conan

Here's a bit more of that, dare I call it, "humor?" Well here goes anyway.

Many people think Chekov has an accent because he’s Russian. In fact, it’s because Conan punched him in the mouth until he could no longer speak straight.

Conan once told Q to get off his ship. Q listened.

Conan was once captured by the Gamesters of Triskelion. He made them fight each other and bet on the outcome. He won several quadrillion Quatloos on his bets but immediately spent it all on strong drink and women.

Conan once wore a red shirt for a whole year. He lived. But the same couldn’t be said for those who accosted Conan during that time.

Dilithium crystals always remain crystallized in the presence of Conan.

The warp drive was invented by Zefram Cockrane when he was running from Conan.

Conan loves Tribbles; Especially grilled over an open flame.

Tribbles are normally born pregnant but not so in the presence of Conan. Conan finds their offspring to be an irresistible hors d’oeurves and they can sense it.

Conan does indeed have a piece of the Federation’s action.

Conan has found that Picard’s bald head puts a dandy shine on his boots.

One of Conan’s wet farts became Wesley Crusher.

Conan once beat Kirk at a game of Fizzbin. He got a Royal Fizzbin with his first hand.

Conan spanked Charlie X.
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Conan Versus Star Trek

In the line of the books about how bad ass Chuck Norris is, I was thinking about putting together a book about Conan the Barbarian versus Star Trek. I'd probably have copyright issues in either case so I don't think it will ever happen, but here is a sample of what I've come up with for fun so far. I've got lots more. What do you think? And please do forgive the occasional vulgarity. These kinds of things aren't long on manners.

In one of their trips back through time, the crew of the Starship Enterprise (NCC-1701) encountered Conan the Cimmerian. The following events happened.

1. Twenty-seven red shirts died. Fourteen others suffered severe internal injuries from wedgies.

2. Yeoman Rand got pregnant. Twice.

3. Spock attempted a nerve pinch on Conan only to experience in return the more effective and far more painful nerve PUNCH.

4. Scotty finally met someone who could drink him under the table. Until Scotty passed out, the two of them got on well. They even moved past “It’s green” to “It’s liquid.”

5. After bumping into the drunk Conan, Bones retorted, “Dammit, Jim, I’m a doctor not a punching bag.” He was wrong.

6. Kirk couldn’t act his way out of getting his ass kicked.

7. Uhuru learned a lot about alien tongues.

8. Sulu discovered that swords aren’t toys. It took him a long time to get his rapier out of his ass.

9. Conan was accidentally duplicated in a transporter accident. Both his sides were bad ass.

10. Conan tried Romulan ale and thought it was for pussies
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New Year Day 5: Update

Mostly an update today. I’ve been working on getting ready for school, and found out yesterday that a textbook I was going to use for a class has had its publication date pushed back from November 2007 until March 2008. That will leave me scrambling for a book since classes start in about a week. The University bookstore is supposed to let me know about this kind of thing, but alas. I should have had enough sense to check earlier.

Other than that, I did get an acceptance on a story from Flashing Swords. The tale is called “Worms in the Earth,” and is one of the few humorous stories I’ve attempted over the years. Humor is popular with editors, though. This is actually a reprint sale. The story sold first time out and was published, then I resold it a couple of years later to an anthology that ended up never seeing print, then resold it again this week. It’s actually been submitted four times and sold three of the four. The other submission was for a “best of” anthology so it had pretty stiff competition there. Below is a brief excerpt from the piece, but I’ll be sure and let everyone know when the piece is published.

Deep into his palace Farthane stalked, making his way to what he called his "black" room (though a visiting imp had once been heard to remark, "why doesn't he call it his 'blacker' room since his whole castle is most wholesomely black?"). Drawing from his fastidiously immaculate shelves his most ancient and potent grimoire--the Necronudicon (older than the Necronomicon and with better pictures besides)--he turned the laminated bat-wing pages until he found the one spell he sought, the one cantrip that he had never used in his rather short long life.

I hope to have a post on writing humor in the next few days. I generally find it difficult to do, but when it works I really enjoy it. How about you? Any humor writers in the audience? Do you find it easier or harder to write humor? Do you enjoy reading humorous works?

Finally, I know most of you are not in this area, but if you are or know anyone who is, I’m going to give a talk on writing and publishing, and hopefully sign a few books, on January 14, at 6:30, at the library in Slidell, Louisiana. That’s a Monday night. Would love to see anyone there who could make it. But I can’t pay for your plane tickets if you live in, say, New Zealand or Canada or England or Detroit or Chicago, or some wild and wooly place like that.