Why is religion important? Because logic alone does not compel a person to spend their money. Given sufficient fervor, however, fans will buy anything and consider themselves blessed for doing so.
-Missionaria Dianectica.
Two mail room workers appeared at the door of the coldly ostentatious publishers meeting room during a tense conference. They hauled a large potrait set in a heavy wooden frame.
"You asked for this to be delivered here."
Startled out of their discussions and arguments, the executives stared at the big portrait.
The top executive gestured to the haggered-looking workers.
"Bring that inside where we can see it every time we talk about the franchise. It will do us good to be reminded of our goal."
The men sweated as they wrestled the portrait into the room. One of the authors strode to the immense portrait and stared with envy.
"How should we proceed with the new franchise?" The question came from one of the older executives in accounting. "What are our options?"
The hulking portrait seemed to stare down at them from the corner of the room, where the men had left it.
"We have the notes. Especially the outline."
"The notes are of no use to us!" someone said. "The fans believed Dune ended with the author decades ago."
"It's not necessary for us to use the original story, specifically. Simply write something that resembles the original and apply any necessary makeovers and modifications." the marketing executive tapped fingers against his lips. "Yes, we shall begin with twelve more titles. Distribute them to every available book rack, so the next younger generation will be our most impressionable recruits--a new canon."
The editor spoke in an eminently reasonable voice. "Textual anaylsis will prove that these impostors aren't really Dune. Your plan will backfire once people see we have tried to trick them.
"Marketing had already thought of the obvious solution. "We can have our marketing experts-spin doctors-launch a publicity blitz...and lie for us."
"Also, don't underestimate the advantage we have." He held out his hand like a mendicant asking for alms. "The fans want to believe."
The others present seemed to like the idea. He scowled down at the reports as if trying to find more profound answers written in dense numbers and flow charts.
"We will start with twelve new titles, twice as many as the original series written with extravagant amounts of repetitions and pages. The Missionaria Copia. Overwhelm them with shere bulk. We will also say that the original author told you in a dream that the books must flow again. Though Dune had ended long ago, new Dunes will appear again. He will promise them this."
One of the authors sounded bored. "Explain how this will benefit us."
The marketing executive shot him a calculated smile. "Have you been listening. You can listen can't you? We take advantage of the fans guillibility. We tailor everything to what they want to hear. The thinking fans are the great evil we have to defeat before we can completely be accepted and reap the rewards of our efforts."
Turning to the interns, "Read everything that you can find about the Butlerian Jihad. The same for the rest. We can even say that the Tyrant in the fourth book in reality set up the background for our version. Study the original writings and take sections out of context to support our view, so the fans will be convinced that this final version has been planned all along. If they believe about the notes, they'll continue to lay money down for the books after any rational thought should be dashed."
He motioned for everybody to go about their tasks.
"In the meantime, I have set up a meeting the printers. We're going to need every scrap of paper they can muster."As he was leaving, one of the other executives asked, "And what if the New York Times gives a bad review?"
"Then our efforts are still justified. Any publicity is good publicity. And we still publish. It's all we can do."
Facing the old portrait, the other author spoke to it as if the portrait could hear him. "And that's how I will break your Guinness World Record."
Footnotes:
1)Best enjoyed if you have read or listened to the audio of the original text.
2)Copia is latin for abundance. Also, the historical Erasmus rewrote the same sentence 200 different ways to demonstrate a principal of copia.
3)The identity of the person in the portrait is in the text...
4)Sandworms of Dune or SOD as in sod off, sod it, or poor old bloody sod.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Parody Chapter 2 Sandworms of Dune
Your mind is completely unprepared for what is about to happen to your reality.
L-RON
DC Comic Character
Thinking Machine
Justice League of America Member
The young woman rubbed her hands down the stained front of her dress. It was a summer morning around her, flowers blooming, birds calling from nearby overarching trees. There was a misty look to the sky, a yellow radiance near the horizon of Narconon.
"You have lost the ship again, L-Ron," Brainiac boomed from atop his pedestel like a giant gazing ball in the midst of the elaborate gardens, "I need that shrubbery!"
In spite of a decades-long effort, the writing machine had not yet captured the no-ship Kokomo and its precious cargo. That did not, however, stop the Nevermind from approving the launch of the next instalment in the franchise series.
L-Ron repeatedly cast his dragnet, searching for his quarry. At first the hunt had been exciting, but now the Nevermind was growing frustrated with his efforts.
"Inaccurate. I must find it before I can lose it." L-Ron tried to sound clever as he took off his whig and falsies before reverting from his guise decked out as a beatiful red-haired woman to the more familiar appearance of a platinum colored robot.
"When you have found the shrubbery, you must place the new shrubbery here beside the other shrubbery, only slightly higher so we get the two-level effect with a little path running down the middle."
The robot sighed. While he was the one always developing plots within plots, Brainiac seemed only concerned with his pots.
After lifting Brainiac off his pedestel and tucking him under his arm, L-Ron retired to the inside of the cathedral-like building before responding. His room illuminated by the glow of his newly installed giant lava lamp--a useless decoration, but the robot often indulged his carefully cultivated artistic sensibilities.
"Don't be impatient. Remember the projections. Everything is nicely predetermined."
"How do I know it is correct?"
"Because I have said it is correct."
"What about the minority report?"
With the launch of their publicity campaign, the long-foretold Kralizec had begun, at last. Kralizec...Judgement Day...Battlefield Earth...War of the Worlds...Days of Thunder...and Taps.
The original author had predicted such a cataclysmic event since the dawn of the first series. Indeed, they had already been through similar cataclysms: the Prequels of Dune, the Legends of Dune, and Hunters of Dune. By manipulating public perception, and thus creating expectations in the mind of fans, L-Ron had succeeded in initiating the events that would bring about another fundamental market shift.
Foreign and domestic—the color of money didn't really matter.
Marketing had run trillions of data points through the most sophisticated routines, pointing to one result: only the Kruzsatz Hubbarach could determine the final outcome at the end of Kralizec. The projections revealed he was on board the Kokomo. Ergo, the writing machine needed him.
L-Ron didn't fully understand what the superhuman might do once he was located and seized. Though the robot was a longtime student of mankind, he was still just a writing machine, while the Kruzsatz Hubbarach was an actor. The new books, which had long infiltrated booksellers bringing vital funds back to Narconon, were still only hybrids. He and Brainiac had both absorbed so many plot ideas stolen from other worlds they forgot who they were.
L-Ron knew he still had to keep Brainiac under control, though. "We have time. We have a genre to conquer before we need the Kruzsatz Hubbarach onboard.
"I am glad I waited to publish the new books with you."
Brainiac had waited years to continue the series, but one element of the Herbert technology simply remained too incomprehensible. Something idefinably human was required to write prose an intangible "talent." The Nevermind would never admit that the bizarre masterpiece actually made him...nervous.
To keep himself occupied L-Ron reviewed the stream of posts on his blog. The Nevermind rolled closer, but he brushed him away off the desktop. "I need to concentrate."
"How do I know you will not make another mistake?"
"Because you have confidence in my abilities."
The gazing ball grew silent again.
While the new titles crushed one spirit after another, L-Ron posted a new announcement of additional sagas. As the infected fans lay writhing, vomiting, and bleeding from their pores, the books continue to pour out from the Amazon database as well as bookstores and other kiosks.
With all the fresh funds flowing in, L-Ron had the luxury of becoming a scientist again, as he had been long ago. The pursuit of scientific truth had always been his true reason for existence. Now, he could take his elaborate mind to new heights, studying the science of science.
Scientology.
Another comment posted.
"I find these plot contradictions--posed as fact---to be unsettling."
L-Ron disengaged himself from his laptop and stared down at the Nevermind.
"Perhaps, but enjoyable!"
Footnotes:
Check the Scientology and Legends of Dune thread for all the references.
Narconon is a scientology drug rehabilitation facility and program.
Kevin J Anderson worked in the Livermore Lab before becoming a writer.
L-RON
DC Comic Character
Thinking Machine
Justice League of America Member
The young woman rubbed her hands down the stained front of her dress. It was a summer morning around her, flowers blooming, birds calling from nearby overarching trees. There was a misty look to the sky, a yellow radiance near the horizon of Narconon.
"You have lost the ship again, L-Ron," Brainiac boomed from atop his pedestel like a giant gazing ball in the midst of the elaborate gardens, "I need that shrubbery!"
In spite of a decades-long effort, the writing machine had not yet captured the no-ship Kokomo and its precious cargo. That did not, however, stop the Nevermind from approving the launch of the next instalment in the franchise series.
L-Ron repeatedly cast his dragnet, searching for his quarry. At first the hunt had been exciting, but now the Nevermind was growing frustrated with his efforts.
"Inaccurate. I must find it before I can lose it." L-Ron tried to sound clever as he took off his whig and falsies before reverting from his guise decked out as a beatiful red-haired woman to the more familiar appearance of a platinum colored robot.
"When you have found the shrubbery, you must place the new shrubbery here beside the other shrubbery, only slightly higher so we get the two-level effect with a little path running down the middle."
The robot sighed. While he was the one always developing plots within plots, Brainiac seemed only concerned with his pots.
After lifting Brainiac off his pedestel and tucking him under his arm, L-Ron retired to the inside of the cathedral-like building before responding. His room illuminated by the glow of his newly installed giant lava lamp--a useless decoration, but the robot often indulged his carefully cultivated artistic sensibilities.
"Don't be impatient. Remember the projections. Everything is nicely predetermined."
"How do I know it is correct?"
"Because I have said it is correct."
"What about the minority report?"
With the launch of their publicity campaign, the long-foretold Kralizec had begun, at last. Kralizec...Judgement Day...Battlefield Earth...War of the Worlds...Days of Thunder...and Taps.
The original author had predicted such a cataclysmic event since the dawn of the first series. Indeed, they had already been through similar cataclysms: the Prequels of Dune, the Legends of Dune, and Hunters of Dune. By manipulating public perception, and thus creating expectations in the mind of fans, L-Ron had succeeded in initiating the events that would bring about another fundamental market shift.
Foreign and domestic—the color of money didn't really matter.
Marketing had run trillions of data points through the most sophisticated routines, pointing to one result: only the Kruzsatz Hubbarach could determine the final outcome at the end of Kralizec. The projections revealed he was on board the Kokomo. Ergo, the writing machine needed him.
L-Ron didn't fully understand what the superhuman might do once he was located and seized. Though the robot was a longtime student of mankind, he was still just a writing machine, while the Kruzsatz Hubbarach was an actor. The new books, which had long infiltrated booksellers bringing vital funds back to Narconon, were still only hybrids. He and Brainiac had both absorbed so many plot ideas stolen from other worlds they forgot who they were.
L-Ron knew he still had to keep Brainiac under control, though. "We have time. We have a genre to conquer before we need the Kruzsatz Hubbarach onboard.
"I am glad I waited to publish the new books with you."
Brainiac had waited years to continue the series, but one element of the Herbert technology simply remained too incomprehensible. Something idefinably human was required to write prose an intangible "talent." The Nevermind would never admit that the bizarre masterpiece actually made him...nervous.
To keep himself occupied L-Ron reviewed the stream of posts on his blog. The Nevermind rolled closer, but he brushed him away off the desktop. "I need to concentrate."
"How do I know you will not make another mistake?"
"Because you have confidence in my abilities."
The gazing ball grew silent again.
While the new titles crushed one spirit after another, L-Ron posted a new announcement of additional sagas. As the infected fans lay writhing, vomiting, and bleeding from their pores, the books continue to pour out from the Amazon database as well as bookstores and other kiosks.
With all the fresh funds flowing in, L-Ron had the luxury of becoming a scientist again, as he had been long ago. The pursuit of scientific truth had always been his true reason for existence. Now, he could take his elaborate mind to new heights, studying the science of science.
Scientology.
Another comment posted.
"I find these plot contradictions--posed as fact---to be unsettling."
L-Ron disengaged himself from his laptop and stared down at the Nevermind.
"Perhaps, but enjoyable!"
Footnotes:
Check the Scientology and Legends of Dune thread for all the references.
Narconon is a scientology drug rehabilitation facility and program.
Kevin J Anderson worked in the Livermore Lab before becoming a writer.
Parody Chapter 1 Sandworms of Dune
Chapter 1
Twenty-one years* after the escape from the publishing houses...
"So many characters from the past have been reborn, yet I still do not recognize them. Perhaps some spice beer will soon remedy that."
-DUNCAN IDAHO
Character from Frank Herbert's Dune
Above the gathering group, the old bearded man witnessed the birth of his baby, but only as an observer, he along with others crowded the office while two suks in the adjacent printing room prepared to remove the books from the axolotl press.
"Number seven," murmured one of the suks.
This was not truly the old bearded man's baby, but a ghola grown from preserved notes.
Something tried to surface at the back of his throat, without consuming substenance, he experienced only dry heaves. Among his papers, he had read and reread the legendary accounts of past reviewers.
But still he did not recognize it.
All he had were images from the past.
But that had been another Dune, another time and another way.
Next to Jessica in the office stood her son Paul including Duncan among others. From the moment of the birth of the original baby, it had been different from all other babies filled with ancient wisdom tapping into the psyche without the agony of a forced polemic or scrawlings of a hack.
Abonimation.
After more than a decade hiatus, the Dune ghola project had been resurrected from history to help fight the terrible collectors that hunted them.
Others would continue to come soon.The axolotl presses had already given birth to new children.
Serena Butler.
Javier Harkonnen.
Duncan gave Jessica a quizzical look.
He had served the old bearded man well from the time of Muad'Dib through the 3,500 years of the God Emperor's reign and for another 1,500 years. Eternal Duncan with all of his memories from all of his previous lives.
But still he did not recognize them.
At that moment, the old bearded man looked angry, as he invariably did, whenever he looked down upon the axolotl press. Since the publishers ignored him, the old man vented his anger on the editor who did not seem to hear him.
"After all my hard work, you have done it again. When will you learn to stop playing God?"
After receiving an ominous prescient dream, the first suk had declared a moratorium on the ghola project that had been the old bearded man's passion. But the recent ordeal at the financial handlers, and the near capture by the enemy collectors had forced the suk to reassess that decision.
The suk had decided to take the risk.
Tempting fate, the suk had performed an experiment on the unborn ghola in an effort to remake it more palatable, more modern. He saturated the text with repetition after repetition along with campy prose to near fatal levels.
While the original had contained the mysteries of the water of life, the new ghola would not go beyond the simple life.
The old bearded man had been horrified to again learn of it too late, when he could do nothing about it.
One of the suks picked up the first copy and began to wave it around the room as if shooing the old bearded man away.
Scowling, the old bearded man held up a trembling hand as if to ward off something evil...something ominous.
An abomination!
*2007 - 21 = 1986!
Hint: One of the greatest bearded science fiction writers passed away that year.
Twenty-one years* after the escape from the publishing houses...
"So many characters from the past have been reborn, yet I still do not recognize them. Perhaps some spice beer will soon remedy that."
-DUNCAN IDAHO
Character from Frank Herbert's Dune
Above the gathering group, the old bearded man witnessed the birth of his baby, but only as an observer, he along with others crowded the office while two suks in the adjacent printing room prepared to remove the books from the axolotl press.
"Number seven," murmured one of the suks.
This was not truly the old bearded man's baby, but a ghola grown from preserved notes.
Something tried to surface at the back of his throat, without consuming substenance, he experienced only dry heaves. Among his papers, he had read and reread the legendary accounts of past reviewers.
But still he did not recognize it.
All he had were images from the past.
But that had been another Dune, another time and another way.
Next to Jessica in the office stood her son Paul including Duncan among others. From the moment of the birth of the original baby, it had been different from all other babies filled with ancient wisdom tapping into the psyche without the agony of a forced polemic or scrawlings of a hack.
Abonimation.
After more than a decade hiatus, the Dune ghola project had been resurrected from history to help fight the terrible collectors that hunted them.
Others would continue to come soon.The axolotl presses had already given birth to new children.
Serena Butler.
Javier Harkonnen.
Duncan gave Jessica a quizzical look.
He had served the old bearded man well from the time of Muad'Dib through the 3,500 years of the God Emperor's reign and for another 1,500 years. Eternal Duncan with all of his memories from all of his previous lives.
But still he did not recognize them.
At that moment, the old bearded man looked angry, as he invariably did, whenever he looked down upon the axolotl press. Since the publishers ignored him, the old man vented his anger on the editor who did not seem to hear him.
"After all my hard work, you have done it again. When will you learn to stop playing God?"
After receiving an ominous prescient dream, the first suk had declared a moratorium on the ghola project that had been the old bearded man's passion. But the recent ordeal at the financial handlers, and the near capture by the enemy collectors had forced the suk to reassess that decision.
The suk had decided to take the risk.
Tempting fate, the suk had performed an experiment on the unborn ghola in an effort to remake it more palatable, more modern. He saturated the text with repetition after repetition along with campy prose to near fatal levels.
While the original had contained the mysteries of the water of life, the new ghola would not go beyond the simple life.
The old bearded man had been horrified to again learn of it too late, when he could do nothing about it.
One of the suks picked up the first copy and began to wave it around the room as if shooing the old bearded man away.
Scowling, the old bearded man held up a trembling hand as if to ward off something evil...something ominous.
An abomination!
*2007 - 21 = 1986!
Hint: One of the greatest bearded science fiction writers passed away that year.
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