From the Pen of Jeff Duntemann

A balanced view and trenchant insight in a column from an interested onlooker to the ongoing world-shattering Holy War and  foodfight-in-a-phonebooth between the subterranean Morlocks and the lachrymose Sad Puppies

Some of the more interesting observations from Mr Duntemann are in his comments below the column.

SP authors have nothing to lose in the conflict, and AP authors have nothing to gain. It’s pretty much that simple.

My comment:

He hits the nail on the head.That is why I reject calls for reconciliation and a return to the status quo ante with umbrage and scorn.

Even with the utmost of humility and meekness I can summon up, I cannot honestly believe my work is inferior to tales which have won awards in recent years, prose poems with not a scintilla of science fiction present, or genre-free drolleries dwelling on politically correct messages but lacking both a sense of wonder and a competence of storytelling craft.

Even if peace terms were offered, what could the Morlocks offer me?

What purpose do semi-unpublished lacktalent lackwits like Damien G Walter of the Guardian or interstitial poetasters like Alex Dally ‘nonbinary’ MacFarlane of (whom together, in their whole careers, have sold fewer works than I sold in the last twelve months) — what purpose, ask I, do such peripheral figures  serve in the Science Fiction field, except to drive out the science and the fiction, the storytelling and sense of wonder, to make room for dreary finger-wagging lectures about the alleged glories of yet one more sexual deviancy or other morbidity?

To win their applause is no goal of mine.

I do not want the harpies to cook or wait tables. I merely want them to cease befouling the feast.

No one has offered me peace terms. No one has opened negotiations with me. No one has apologized, retracted, or condemned the outrageous libels offered in major media outlets. Instead, one or two rare voices, speaking in measured tones rather then hysterical screams, has asked for all parties to remain calm, and for the Sad Puppies to concede the field and withdraw, in return for which we are offered … nothing.

What we want is science fiction. That is our demand.

What we want is for works to be judged on the content of their story telling, not the hue of the hand of the workman who wrote them, and not the hue of the red banner nor the black banner under which he marches on his political crusades.

I am a conservative, nay, an arch-conservative. I regard  capitation, or other direct tax, as unconstitutional, and denounce Woodrow Wilson as a dangerous and experimental innovator certain to damage the republic. I am moreover a faithful Christian, and, indeed, a Roman Catholic, a member of the only minority, aside from Mormons, whom it is regarded as acceptable and amusing to libel, slander, mock and rob of our God-given civic rights.

Ergo my chance of having my work judged on its merits by an openly bigoted clique of Christ-hating male-hating family-hating conservative-hating politically-correct hacks and moles who have controlled the Hugo Awards for the last fifteen years is indistinguishable from zero.

So what would I gain from accepting any offer of reconciliation from the flesh-eating zombies of the political death cult dwelling in the dank and stygian depths of intellectually vacuous and morally leprous Morlockery?

What I demand is that work be judged on its merits, not on the non-essentials of race, class, sex, or sexual aberrations of the author. What they demand, their only demand, the only reason for the existence of the cult, is to avoid all questions of merit.

The only reason for the existence of Social Justice Warfare is bigotry. That it is bigotry against Western Civilization, Christendom, rule of law, liberty, masculinity, fertility, decency, family life, and the white race rather than against blacks is of no moment: Martin Luther King did not dream of the day when his children could go to the park from which whites would be excluded, but of a society where men were judged on the content of their character, not the color of their skin.

The social justice Morlocks dream of a day where men are judged on the color of their skin, and that alone, so that beneath a blind and godless heaven, their lack of character will be excused.

Mr Duntemann also has his finger in the wind on another issue:

The Manhattan gatekeepers are losing power year by year. This means we don’t necessarily have to give a damn about them. I was shocked at how liberating that realization was when I finally internalized it last year.[…]

The big fancy 2-story B&N store in Scottsdale where I used to drop so much cash when I lived there closed a year ago. I’ve heard of others closing as well, and those that are open are devoting more shelf space to toys and tchotchkes. This is not good news for traditional publishers, to belabor the obvious.

[…] I’ve said nothing at all about it publicly, but over the past year I’ve suggested to a couple of independent tech presses that they should consider launching experimental SF imprints. The money’s there; the trick is finding it. The Manhattan presses don’t know how to find sales; they literally buy them. (This is called “pay to play,” and it comes perilously close to bribery.) The smaller presses could adopt the Baen playbook and do quite well. People are reading more than ever, and small, nimble, tech-savvy imprints could go after the Manhattan fortress presses and beat them at their own game.