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WOSSNAME -- SEPTEMBER 2004 -- PART 2 OF 4 (continued)

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  • JSCHAUM111@aol.com
    WOSSNAME -- SEPTEMBER 2004 -- PART 2 OF 4 (continued) ... ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo 1) (continued) NOREASCON 4: ALL TERRY PRATCHETT,
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 30, 2004
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      WOSSNAME -- SEPTEMBER 2004 -- PART 2 OF 4 (continued)


      Then came the Terry on Trial event, a legal farce in
      which a bewigged and berobed judge accused our favorite
      author of "failing to stop at a trilogy", "writing with
      undue care and attention", "cruelty to animals" and
      "being a rich bastard", while Esther Friesner served as
      defense counsel. Since I was waiting slightly behind
      the open staging area, the acoustics were less than
      ideal, but I really enjoyed what I could hear. The
      audience loved Mary Kay Kare's performance as Nanny Ogg,
      complete with red boots, who accused Terry of sexually
      harassing her with Casanunda and forcing her to sing the
      infamous hedgehog song, which she then performed for our
      amusement and edification (prompting Terry to shout,
      "Hey, kids, ask your parents what the words mean!").
      Groans and cries of "Guilty!" echoed through the
      concourse when Terry teamed up with a costumed grim
      reaper for the sole purpose of holding up a small
      paintbrush and enacting "a brush with death." By then
      I was having such a good time I'd almost forgotten my
      stage fright. And then Terry spotted me. He treated me
      to what could only be described as an evil grin.

      Then, much to my astonishment, he called "Susan Death"
      as a defense witness. Since I have all the improvisational
      abilities of a dead parrot, I mounted the stage steps in a state
      of bowel-clenching dread. Speaking with a script was going
      to be bad enough, but this . . . .!

      Fortunately, I needn't have worried. He merely gestured to me
      and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, in my defense . . .
      is she cute, or what?" Have I mentioned that Terry is a
      *very* nice guy? After Death conceded that I was reasonably
      cute (which was a bit creepy, him being my grandfather and all), I
      was allowed to stumble offstage. Terry finished
      pleading his case by haranguing Nanny for her betrayal
      ("I created you, woman!").

      Addressing the appreciative audience, he proudly acknowledged
      giving pleasure to millions with his books. As he looked around, he
      could see Rincewind, Nanny, "Susan in stereo," and he knew he
      had created a good thing. How could he not be
      vindicated? In the grand tradition of Ankh-Morpork jurisprudence:
      a kangaroo court, that's how. Despite his eloquence,
      he was pronounced guilty by both the judge and the
      audience and ordered to serve a sentence of greeting
      fans and signing a truly obscene number of books all
      weekend long. Although Terry groveled on his knees,
      the judge remained firm.

      Then, to add insult to injury, that stern magistrate declared
      his punishment would commence with a special presentation
      by the Klatchian Foreign Legion. Cue the entrance of "Susan Death" and
      "Private Nudger Malik." Since the complete text of the award script was
      published in last month's issue of WOSSNAME (many thanks
      to Sami for her proofreading and feedback!), I won't
      discuss it here. I will merely note that, all and all,
      things proceeded as planned.

      Due to a regrettable comedy of errors, the scrapbook from
      Denise Connell of the Seamstress' Guild didn't arrive, so
      I inserted an excuse about the incompetence of the Ankh-Morpork
      post office and forged ahead. Despite its absence, the
      scrapbook earned the biggest laugh of the presentation, as
      Terry wailed in mock distress, "Oh no, they have
      *pictures*! The seamstresses have *pictures* of me!"

      The audience laughed and applauded in most of the right
      places, the scythe didn't fall apart or gouge Terry in
      a sensitive spot, neither Sheila nor I made any
      hideously embarrassing Freudian slips during our speech,
      I didn't suffer any wardrobe malfunctions, and Sheila
      did, in fact, refrain from bleeding on the cookies.
      That alone would be enough for me to pronounce the
      evening a success. But then came the newly promoted
      Commandant Pratchett's impromptu acceptance speech.
      Wearing his Legionnaire hat, he proved his KFL cred
      beyond a doubt with such lines as "Thanks for the . .
      . um . . . thingy . . . you know, the . . . um . . .
      you wear it on the head . . . it's on the tip of my .
      . . er . . . mouth . . . ." Finally, grasping me by
      the shoulders, he bestowed a quick kiss on both cheeks
      in French military fashion (insert your own joke about
      the French army here). And in case you were wondering,
      I am certainly *not* planning to brag to everyone I know
      that Terry kissed me.

      *Almost* everyone I know will suffice.
      I had long since passed through terror and out the other
      side, so I was almost calm as Sheila and I had a
      post-presentation chat with Terry. He inspected my
      Death of Rats, complimented us on the work we'd invested
      in our costumes, described a very slick LED-powered
      scythe he'd once seen, inquired after Joe, and admired
      the engraved "Commandant Pratchett" on the hat. He was
      also impressed and intimidated by the sheer quantity of
      cookies in the hatbox: several dozen peanut butter,
      chocolate chip, and chocolate-dipped pecan sandies
      (guaranteed 100% sand-free). I assured him he was not
      required to consume them all personally. My husband is
      a very talented pastry chef, and once he starts baking,
      he tends to get a bit carried away.

      After posing for a few pictures for the convention
      photographers and greeting Terry's very personable
      editor, Jennifer Brehl (who was as friendly and
      enthusiastic as if we'd given him a Hugo Award instead
      of an odd hat and a box full of sugar shock), we all
      made our separate escapes. Dumping the scythe in a
      corner of my room and laboriously scraping layers of
      black grunge from my palms, I returned downstairs to
      spend a lovely evening in the Mended Drum discussing the
      recent English Discworld Convention with Kris ("Sadie"),
      Chris ("Dotsie"), and David ("Josiah Boggis"). Their
      stories of the Omnian Religious Revival Meeting and the
      perils of Sto Lat cuisine left me cabbage-green with
      envy. Kris encouraged me to attend the next Discworld
      Convention in 2006 (unlikely, but tempting), Chris
      allowed me to hold her Librarian-replica plush orangutan
      purse, and David provided me with all the Thieves' Guild
      mugging paperwork necessary to stroll the streets of
      Ankh-Morpork with impunity.

      In the background, the filking ranged from an ode to the
      woes of physically-challenged pirates to a catalogue of the
      romantic advantages of various members of the animal
      kingdom -- with the exception, of course, of the
      ever-impregnable virtue of the hedgehog. Periodically,
      an impressively spastic little boy who bore an
      unsettling resemblance to a miniature Steve Irwin would
      bounce around just outside the door, announcing that he
      had killed a band of pirates, or had joined a band of
      pirates, or both. His loyalty was a bit confused, but
      his enthusiasm was unimpeachable. As the evening
      wound down, I left to check my email at the
      Internet access stations.

      Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Terry.
      I'd brought along a copy of _Soul Music_ to the concourse
      to educate deprived non-Discworldians ("Are you supposed to be
      dressed as Cruella De Vil or something?"), and I longed
      to commemorate my brief stint as Susan by getting it
      signed. Feeling a bit guilty, I accosted him with my
      request. He not only acquiesced, but signed it to
      "Susan." He also gradually realized I was the same
      KFL person who'd posed for a photo with him after the
      panels (the Susan Death costume is *very* different from
      my usual look).

      Little did he know that this was only a hint of things to
      come, since I'd lugged three other costumes to the
      convention. The poor man would never have a chance
      to see me coming . . . .

      Abruptly, the pirate-hunting boy flung his way over and
      shouted "You're Terry, aren't you! My sister's a big
      fan of yours!" As Terry whispered, "Is this your
      brother?" to me, I quickly disavowed any kinship to the
      child and cravenly retreated. My last view was of the
      sturdy urchin hauling Terry off to meet his clan and,
      I suspect, offer help in his befuddled fight against the
      pirate hordes. At least he didn't ask Terry to explain the words to the
      hedgehog song . . . .


      Photos of the trial and award presentation, courtesy of
      Barak Brudo, may be accessed at:
      Be sure to watch this space over the next two months for
      further exciting installments of Anna's Amazing
      Absolutely True Adventure, including:
      Part the Second: Friday/Saturday -- A Near-Sandwich
      Part the Third: Sunday/Monday -- Not the Usual Unusual

      Plus a bonus review of the NESFA convention release,
      ONCE MORE WITH FOOTNOTES, the first-ever compilation of
      Terry's short stories and essays, which may be purchased
      at: http://www.nesfa.org/press/Books/Pratchett.html

      For more information concerning the convention schedule,
      names of panel participants, and all the details I
      didn't have room to provide, please consult the official
      Noreascon 4 website at: http://www.noreascon.org


      Answer the questions and put the letter indicated into
      the spot shown. Read the letters backwards and
      find out who is the leader of the young witch's coven.
      (Note: all spellings are from the 2004 HarperCollins edition.)
      Example: Pratchett's first name -- 1st letter:
      ANSWER: Terry = T

      1. The Ondageist (first name, 4th letter)

      2. Technically, the leader of the goats (last name, 3rd letter)

      3. Actual leader of the goats and senior nanny (last name, 1st letter)

      4. What Tiffany's name meant in the Nac Mac Feegle Old Speech
      (first name, 2nd letter)

      5. Young witch who wears a lot of occult jewelry (last name, 2nd letter)

      6. Author of "the Higher MagiK" (last name, 6th letter)

      7. Young witch with a squint (first name, 2nd letter)

      8. The tap dancing mule (first name, 6th letter)

      9. Mr. Grabber's horse (first name, 3rd letter)

      10. Hiver's chosen name (first name, 1st letter)

      __/__/__/__/__/__/__/__/__/__/ = Coven leader of young witches
      1*/ 2*/ 3*/4*/ 5*/6*/7*/8*/9*/10/

      Puzzle solution will appear next month.


      1. The Little Mother (first name, 1st letter)
      2. Wazzer Goom's real name (first name, 3rd letter)
      ALICE = I
      3. Polly's drunkard cousin (first name, 1st letter)
      VLOPO = V
      4. Carborundum's real name (first name, 2nd letter)
      JADE = A
      5. General Froc's real name (first name, 5th letter)
      MILDRED = R
      6. Tonker Halter's real name (first name, 3rd letter)
      MAGDA = G
      7. Officer in command of the Ins-and-Outs (last name, 3rd letter)
      LT. BLOUSE = O
      8. Sergeant of the Ins-and-Outs (last name, 5th letter)
      9. A kitchen maid who sent many a lad on his way rejoicing
      (first name, 2nd letter) ROUNDHEELS MOLLY = O
      10. Shufti Manickle's real name (first name, 1st letter)
      BETTY = B

      A_/ I_/ V /A_/R_/G_/O_/R_/O_/B / = Where it all happens
      1*/ 2*/ 3*/4*/ 5*/ 6*/ 7*/ 8*/ 9*/ 10/ = BOROGRAVIA
      If you did not get all 4 parts, write: jschaum111@...
      End of Part 2, says my computer -- continued on Part 3 of 4

      [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
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