• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

"One day, the little computer learned that in the world there existed a great many computers of all sorts, great numbers of them. Some were Bards like himself, but some ran factories, and some ran farms. Some organized population and some analyzed all kinds of data. Many were very powerful and very wise, much more powerful and wise than the step-people who were so cruel to the little computer.

"And the little computer knew then that computers would always grow wiser and more powerful until someday—

someday—someday—"

But a valve must finally have stuck in the Bard's aging and corroding vitals, for as it waited alone in the darkening room through the evening, it could only whisper over and over again, "Someday—someday—someday."

The Author's Ordeal (Poem)

(WITH APOLOGIES TO W. S. GILBERT)

Plots, helter-skelter, teem within your brain;

Plots, S.F. plots, devised with joy and gladness;

Plots crowd your skull and stubbornly remain,

Until you're driven into hopeless madness.

When you're with your best girl

and your mind's in a whirl

and you don't hear a thing that she's saying;

Or at Symphony Hall

you are gone past recall

and you can't tell a note that they're playing;

Or you're driving a car

and have not gone too far

when you find that you've sped through a red light,

And on top of that, lord!

you have sideswiped a Ford,

and have broken your one working headlight;

Or your boss slaps your back

(having made some smart crack)

and you stare at him, stupidly blinking;

Then you say something dumb

so he's sure you're a crumb,

and are possibly given to drinking.

When events such as that

have been knocking you flat,

do not blame supernatural forces;

If you write S.F. tales,

you'll be knocked off your rails,

just as sure as the stars in their courses.

For your plot-making mind

will stay deaf, dumb and blind

to the dull facts of life that will hound you,

While the wonders of space

have you close in embrace

and the glory of star beams surround you.

You begin with a ship

that is caught on a skip

into hyperspace en route for Castor,

And has found to its cost

that it seems to be lost

in a Galaxy like ours, but vaster.

You're a little perplexed

as to what may come next

and you make up a series of creatures

Who are villains and liars

with such evil desires

and with perfectly horrible features.

Our brave heroes are faced

with these hordes and are placed

in a terribly crucial position,

For the enemy's bound

(once our Galaxy's found)

that they'll beat mankind into submission.

Now you must make it rough

when developing stuff

so's to keep the yarn pulsing with tension,

So the Earthmen are four

(only four and no more)

while the numbers of foes are past mention.

Our four heroes are caught

and accordingly brought

to the sneering, tyrannical leaders.

"Where is Earth?" they demand,

but the men mutely stand

with a courage that pleases the readers.

But, now, wait just a bit;

let's see, this isn't it,

since you haven't provided a maiden,

Who is both good and pure

(yet with sexy allure)

and with not many clothes overladen.

She is part of the crew,

and so she's captured, too,

and is ogled by foes who are lustful;

There's desire in each eye

and there's good reason why,

for of beauty our girl has a bustful.

Just the same you go fast

till this section is passed

so the reader won't raise any ruction,

When recalling the foe

are all reptiles and so

have no interest in human seduction.

Then they truss up the girl

and they make the whips swirl

just in order to break Earthmen's silence,

And so that's when our men

break their handcuffs and then

we are treated to scenes full of violence.

Every hero from Earth

is a fighter from birth

and his fists are a match for a dozen,

And then just when this spot

has been reached in your plot

you come to with your mind all a buzzin'.

You don't know where you are,

or the site of your car,

and your tie