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Fantascience Digest, v. 1, issue 1, November-December 1937
Page 7
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FANTASCIENCE DIGEST Page 7 places!" With that he began pounding from key to key of my typewriter. As a line of type began to grow on the paper an amazing phenomenon took place. I felt myself grow hazy, unreal. Like a cloud of smoke I was sucked into the typewriter! Blackness took me. When I recovered I found myself in the story I'd been writing, "The Inside-Out Galaxy." It was an utterly amazing experience. There I was, a character in the yarn--and at the typewriter, pounding away busily, occasionally swigging a drink from the bottle--was Professor Peezle[[?]]. It was diabolically clever. Halfway through the story Peezle[[?]] mysteriously vanished, and a stranger appeared from the fourth dimension. That was me. I could only squirm and curse as Peezle[[?]] typed the story. I wasn't even the hero.Just a scientist, and I commenced to understand what Peezle[[?]] had suffered. Test-tubes, machines,gadgets-- what did I know about this[[?]]. I had to stay in the story, watching impatiently, as Peezle[[?]] raised the dickens, drinking my liquor, flirting with the maid, and, worst of all, writing nasty letters to the editors. But that isn't why I'm sending[[?]] out this appeal for help---this desperate S.O.S. I can't get out of the story---Peezle[[?]] tricked me too cleverly for that. The worst of it is that those vacuum-men are descending upon the earth,and I don't know how to stop them. Peezle[[?]] knew; he always saved the earth. But I'm no scientist, and I can only sit and suffer as the vacuum-men pour down in ever-increasing herdes. Earth is doomed--- Or it will be, unless somebody does something about that guy Peezle[[?]].
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FANTASCIENCE DIGEST Page 7 places!" With that he began pounding from key to key of my typewriter. As a line of type began to grow on the paper an amazing phenomenon took place. I felt myself grow hazy, unreal. Like a cloud of smoke I was sucked into the typewriter! Blackness took me. When I recovered I found myself in the story I'd been writing, "The Inside-Out Galaxy." It was an utterly amazing experience. There I was, a character in the yarn--and at the typewriter, pounding away busily, occasionally swigging a drink from the bottle--was Professor Peezle[[?]]. It was diabolically clever. Halfway through the story Peezle[[?]] mysteriously vanished, and a stranger appeared from the fourth dimension. That was me. I could only squirm and curse as Peezle[[?]] typed the story. I wasn't even the hero.Just a scientist, and I commenced to understand what Peezle[[?]] had suffered. Test-tubes, machines,gadgets-- what did I know about this[[?]]. I had to stay in the story, watching impatiently, as Peezle[[?]] raised the dickens, drinking my liquor, flirting with the maid, and, worst of all, writing nasty letters to the editors. But that isn't why I'm sending[[?]] out this appeal for help---this desperate S.O.S. I can't get out of the story---Peezle[[?]] tricked me too cleverly for that. The worst of it is that those vacuum-men are descending upon the earth,and I don't know how to stop them. Peezle[[?]] knew; he always saved the earth. But I'm no scientist, and I can only sit and suffer as the vacuum-men pour down in ever-increasing herdes. Earth is doomed--- Or it will be, unless somebody does something about that guy Peezle[[?]].
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