From: Tranquility 
Subject: Re: Enter Sandman
Date: Wed, 13 Sep 1995 14:34:19 -0400


On Wed, 13 Sep 1995, Tony Johnston wrote:

> With an unearthly suddenness, the door flung open.  A blur - blue neon,
> here a fleck of green - whipped around the bar.  Godeater could hear the
> cock of hammers from around the room.  He winced again.

"Oh, shit," muttered Jetta.  "Here we go.  Keep quiet."

> Sandman pulled an unfeasibly large caliber handgun out of his duster
> pocket, levelled it in the direction of the blur.  A deafening whine
> began, a tornado forming in the centre of the bar.  Sandman let several
> shots fly at the tornado.  The ricochets damn nearly hit Ratz.  Starting
> to panic, Sandman pulled a doublebarrel out of his coat, cocked it, let
> loose.

"Wonder if a PAW would do it?" asked Vic.

"Didn't I say to shut up?" said Jetta.

> Nothing.
> 
> The tornado slowed, the blur started to congeal.  Godeater squinted in
> recognition...
> 
> "ELITIST MAN!" he shouted.  The figure now standing in the centre of the
> bar wore blue neon tights and top with a greenscreen sash across his
> chest.  He nodded in Godeater's direction, then turned to Sandman.

Vic pulled his shades down, peering over the tops.

"I think I know this guy from somewhere..." he said.

> "Sandman, AKA Justicar, AKA Tony Johnston - I find you guilty of
> innumerable crimes against fiction writing and the cyberpunk genre as a
> whole!  The sentence is...DEATH!"
> 
> Sandman began to protest, on his knees.  "No...No...Please, Elitist Man!"

"I TOLD you this was gonna get good," said Jetta.

"Hey!" snapped Vic, putting a finger to his lips.  "Shut up.  We're next."

> But EM was having none of it.  He picked Sandman up by his collar and
> flung him against the bar.  "We'll see how tough you really are..."  he
> began pounding Sandman's face, pounding and blood flowing and bruises and
> broken bones and blood and blood...
> 
> Godeater woke with a start to find Sandman watching him from across the 
> table.

"Dammit, I feel cheated," muttered Jetta.

> "Ease up, G," the tall man said, "gonna give yourself an ulcer at this
> rate."  He chuckled, downed another JD&C.  "The use of violence in my
> fiction is kept strictly to relevance - apart from senseless, menaingless
> random acts of violence, which last time I looked out my window, were very
> much a part of real life as we know it.  
> 
> "The jaded attitude you have toward something you obviously used to
> particpate in is very common in genre readers - call it the CP backlash,
> if you will.  

"Uh-oh," said Vic.

"Rationalization," Jetta observed.  "I didn't think it was gonna get THIS 
nasty."

> "In 1990, nothing could have been cooler than lots of wetware, enough
> SKIPS to hold the Encyclopeadia Britannica, and BIG, BIG guns.  Now, in
> 1995, times have changed - much as Alan Moore revolutionized comix with
> naturalistic (and realistic) tales of everyday people with problems, as
> Tarantino has done in the cinema with his hitmen who argue about whether
> pigs are filthy, so too has CP changed, for the better in my opinion.  

"This guy's not pulling any punches," said Vic.  He glanced at the 
Ghost.  "It usually doesn't come to this here.  Usually it's just a 
straight-up, honest-to-God bloodbath with plenty of people getting blown 
to hell.  Why the hell hasn't Ratz gotten some decent security in here?"

"You oughta ask him if he's hiring," said Jetta.  She watched the ongoing 
confrontation.  "If this gets any worse, I'm outta here."

> "The opening up of to allcomers of any genre is to be welcomed, surely -
> before the cookery programme boom in the 80s, chefs were an elitist,
> closely guarded bunch.  Now top chefs are celebrities - are they any less
> respected for it?  No!  Probably MORE respected, by MORE people, as people
> are curious and eager to learn.

"Oh, this is REALLY getting nasty now," said Jetta.  She started digging 
through her pockets for money.  "I'd say it's about time we started moving."

> "There is room in CP for all styles of storytelling - Snow Crash isn't
> really an SF story at all, it just uses the setting to facilitate the
> telling of the plot, and a damned good one it is, too.  Jeff Noon hardly
> uses technology at all, but the attitude is there.  Even His Most Holy Mr
> Gibson isn't that interested in the tech itself...but then some, as Walter
> Jon Williams, are, and he too is as valid as you or I.  There is space for
> all of us.

"You know, that's a valid point," said Vic, his eyes glazed and far 
away.  Jetta swore and grabbed him by the collar, shaking him violently.

"SNAP OUT OF IT!" she shouted.  "WAKE UP!"

He blinked.  "Whoa.  What the hell happened?"

"It's REALLY time to go now," she said.  She slapped a wad of bills on 
the countertop, not even bothering to count them.  They were in a hurry.

> "Not all of my fiction is CP, certainly not all is violent.  Some of it is
> akin to poetry, and song lyrics of mine tend to reflect tragedy rather
> than violence.  Nevertheless, CP and violence are useful literary
> vehicles, and we shouldn't deny ourselves their use.  Do you now scorn
> books you read as a child that you enjoyed?  Does the very idea of someone
> actually enjoying Die Hard 3 make your blood boil?  Perhaps.  But there is
> no fault in enjoying a 'ripping yarn' even though the plot may have holes
> in it the size of the moon.

"Just walk," whispered Jetta.  "Right out the door.  Look straight 
ahead.  Don't try to stare anyone down, huh?  I don't want to be next."

"Couldn't you change your style?" asked the Ghost.

"Fuck no.  Keep walking."

> "Think on this.  Farewell."
> 
> And with that, Sandman rose and left, tossing Ratz more change.

"Quick!" she said.  "They might not notice us!"

> Godeater watched him leave with visible distaste.

"We're safe," said Vic.  "They didn't see us."

"Thank GOD," said Jetta, breathing a sigh of relief.  "Damn, that was a 
close one."

"They might come looking," he warned.

"Let's duck our heads for a while again," she said.  "I am REALLY not in 
the mood for that sort of thing right now."

"So what now?" he asked.

"Dunno," she said, shrugging.  "Guess we could always walk out somewhere, 
shoot some people, and tell someone about it."

He raised his eyebrow.  "Actually, I'm getting a little bored of that."

"Yeah.  Me too.  I was kidding."  Suddenly, struck by inspiration, she 
snapped her fingers.  "I know!  I know what we can do!"

"What?" he asked.

"That plot thing!" she shouted.  "Remember how we were always looking for 
one?"

"Yeah.  Found one?"

"I know where one is!" she said.  "Maybe we can find it!"

"I'm game," he said, shrugging.