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Sun Spots, v. 4, issue 3, whole no. 15, February 1941
Page 38
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February 1941, SUN SPOTS, Page 38 THOUGHTS AT MIDNIGHT By Manly Wade Wellman Just a few seconds before New Years, I stepped from my house for a brief taste of fresh air. With me was my best friend. It was calm and mild and fairly clear. Somewhere in the distance a gun went off -- somebody getting off to a quick start in 1941. "You write what they call science fiction," said my friend to me. "Did you once think of the year 1940 as a very tidy year in which to set a fantasy of the future?" "I did," I admitted, as recently as 1925 . I foresaw a world at war, whipped on by ambitious chiefs who, though crazy, were nevertheless firmly in the saddle----oh, things were just about as they are now, Perhaps not so bad, or so extravagent." "That's just it," my friend threw in quickly. "You couldn't visualize the extremities of the coming reality." "Not for science fiction, anyway. Editors wouldn't have accepted it. They didn't accept particular yarn, as it was... I wish I'd kept it. Maybe I was being clairvoyant." "Maybe you were. What do you say for the same period ahead --- the year 1965?" "I won't tell you," I said. "And I won't write it, either. What we both need is a long, tall, stiff drink. Come back to the house and help me mix them." We turned back. "I think I know what you're prophesying in your heart," offered my friend. "The tipoff is when you say, 'I won't write it', Listen: "The fantastic happenings of the future will dim even the fantastic happenings of the present. IT will wreck our imaginations to outdo them. So we won't outdo them. Just as, in drab realistic times, people wrote and read fantasy for the sake of escape -- so, in the future they'll read drab realism for the sake of escaping the fantasy of the truth.... Well, did I hit it?" "On the nose," I admitted. "Lets make those drinks doubles." "Let's", he agreed. And we did. There are nine or ten morals on this account, which makes it better than most slices of autobiography. END ----mww---- This above article was the first thing written by the famous author or Manly Wade Wellman in 1941. It could not be classified as fiction, as it is a true experience. For an interview with Mr. Wellman see page 33. Next month in SSp: "Authors Peril", by Joe Lewandowski, "The Way I See It," by Ray J. Sienkiewicz, A two page science fiction quiz crowded out this month, "Death From The Stars," by George Wetzel, "Derelict World," a poem by Phil Schumann, a cartoon by Bronson, The Solaroid Club Constitution, the usual departments, etc. We are still looking for material. so any of you readers that have something good, even if you don't think so, send it along, and we'll look at it. There will also be a story by Roy Plotkin next month, I think.
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February 1941, SUN SPOTS, Page 38 THOUGHTS AT MIDNIGHT By Manly Wade Wellman Just a few seconds before New Years, I stepped from my house for a brief taste of fresh air. With me was my best friend. It was calm and mild and fairly clear. Somewhere in the distance a gun went off -- somebody getting off to a quick start in 1941. "You write what they call science fiction," said my friend to me. "Did you once think of the year 1940 as a very tidy year in which to set a fantasy of the future?" "I did," I admitted, as recently as 1925 . I foresaw a world at war, whipped on by ambitious chiefs who, though crazy, were nevertheless firmly in the saddle----oh, things were just about as they are now, Perhaps not so bad, or so extravagent." "That's just it," my friend threw in quickly. "You couldn't visualize the extremities of the coming reality." "Not for science fiction, anyway. Editors wouldn't have accepted it. They didn't accept particular yarn, as it was... I wish I'd kept it. Maybe I was being clairvoyant." "Maybe you were. What do you say for the same period ahead --- the year 1965?" "I won't tell you," I said. "And I won't write it, either. What we both need is a long, tall, stiff drink. Come back to the house and help me mix them." We turned back. "I think I know what you're prophesying in your heart," offered my friend. "The tipoff is when you say, 'I won't write it', Listen: "The fantastic happenings of the future will dim even the fantastic happenings of the present. IT will wreck our imaginations to outdo them. So we won't outdo them. Just as, in drab realistic times, people wrote and read fantasy for the sake of escape -- so, in the future they'll read drab realism for the sake of escaping the fantasy of the truth.... Well, did I hit it?" "On the nose," I admitted. "Lets make those drinks doubles." "Let's", he agreed. And we did. There are nine or ten morals on this account, which makes it better than most slices of autobiography. END ----mww---- This above article was the first thing written by the famous author or Manly Wade Wellman in 1941. It could not be classified as fiction, as it is a true experience. For an interview with Mr. Wellman see page 33. Next month in SSp: "Authors Peril", by Joe Lewandowski, "The Way I See It," by Ray J. Sienkiewicz, A two page science fiction quiz crowded out this month, "Death From The Stars," by George Wetzel, "Derelict World," a poem by Phil Schumann, a cartoon by Bronson, The Solaroid Club Constitution, the usual departments, etc. We are still looking for material. so any of you readers that have something good, even if you don't think so, send it along, and we'll look at it. There will also be a story by Roy Plotkin next month, I think.
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