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I don't mind anyone not finding Tolkien to their taste, but as far as I can tell, that's Moorcock's whole argument: Tolkien is a bad writer because Moorcock prefers other writers. That's not an argument. A statement like "Tolkien is a bad writer" needs to be substantiated. Okay, you don't like rural romance—fine. But why is it bad? Explain, author. Explain!

And that goes for us PPCers, too.

(And seriously, LOL at Tolkien not taking pleasure in words. "Cellar door," anyone?)

~Neshomeh

"You look a bit lost; I'm guessing this is your first time here in Rudi's," she said. "I'm Ami Seeker. Pleased to meet you!"

... I disagree quite vehemently with 'Epic Pooh'. Obviously some of his points are subjective - he doesn't like Tolkien's poetry, for instance - but the main thrust of his argument is that Tolkien's style is 'cuddly' and lacks tension. Which... I'm not sure how little of LotR you have to read to get that impression. The whole trip to Crickhollow is an exercise in slowly building tension.

He also tries to claim that Tolkien's use of humour is 'unconscious' - ie, he seems to think that all the understated comedy wasn't written deliberately - and that Tolkien doesn't take any pleasure in words. Which, when said about a man who imvented a language and then wrote a world to use it in, is pretty much the height of ridiculous.

At one point, I started on a rather scathing dissection of the essay through the mouthpiece of Terri Ryan; I never quite got it finished, but I might take it up again.

(Oh, he also complains at various points about the use of nobles, artisans, peasants, and the petit bourgeoisie as heroes. I'm not entirely sure who that leaves? Because those four broadly correlate to the Upper, Lower Middle, Working, and Upper Middle classes...)

hS

Michael Moorcock's "Epic Pooh", which takes a view of a sacred cow around these parts - LotR - that is far from complimentary. This is exactly why I think it should almost be mandatory reading for PPCers analyzing Middle-earth's gallimaufry of badfic. How can we properly criticize a transformative work if we do not have critical, thoughtful ideas concerning the original story? At least, that's the approach I'm trying to take with my own missions. How successful that has been is something I leave open to interpretation.

"Ewwww!!!"

Maisarah is reeling in disgust as she sees the animal perching on top of Clarissa's head.

"Neh, a hamster! I trained my little chubby bubby puppy to hide in my hairs." Truly, Clarissa's hair fashion is... traditional. It looks like the beehive hairstyle, but most of the hair are shaped to a large bun. A small hamster is lazily strutting to and fro on top of Clarissa's head.

Aziz wiggles his index finger at the fluffyball, which the animal responds by sniffing at the digit. "Don't you feel uncomfortable having things running on your head?"

Clarissa massages her neck, tired from keeping her head straight. "A little. My neck's hurt though." She slumps her back and rests on a pile of books on the desk. The hamster hides itself snugly between the hairs. A few other classmates watch in awe at the animal clutching at its master's hair and dozing off, until the bell rings to signal the start of class.

The class begins with a Math class. Teacher Zahirah have just returned from her maternity leave, and looks unusually giddy than the usual.

Aziz and Shamsul is slumped on their chairs at the back, trying to make sense of her diagrams. Aziz begins to snore softly when Shamsul jabs his finger at Aziz's ribs, jolting him awake.

The frizzle-haired Aziz rubs his eyes. Shamsul begins his whining. "Why are we learning about circles and angles and letters?"

"That's a good question. We aren't Greeks trying to make circles and being stabbed for it."

"Oh, you remembered Teacher Chong's story yesterday!"

The both of them snickered when they remembered how their History teacher expanded a few paragraphs of their history textbook about some mathematician into half an hour of rambling about being a genius in a mediocre world.

Teacher Zahirah is about to turn and inquire about why the backsitters find circles to be funny when she sees Clarissa's hairstyle. Well, the teacher does not care for the hairstyle, it is not exactly against the rules. But there is a creature she can see lurking behind the large bun on her student's head.

She half-heartedly draws and explains how a triangle, whose base forms the diameter of the circle, will always be a right-angled triangle should the third point touches any point on the cirlce's line. But her drawing turns to an organic creature, a mix between a mite and a hamster.

The class laughs at the resultant figure. Teacher Zahirah slams the duster on the blackboard and wipes the offending imagery from her board, and with it, imagining it gone from her mind. She wipes her chalked hands on her baju kurung, claps her hands, and with the most motherly of smiles, leans to the star pupil with the retro hairstyle.

"Clarissa Wong Mei Li, may I examine your hair?"

Clarissa thought it over for a few seconds. She is sure to have let her hamster back into the cage before the class begins.

"Sure, teacher. Just dont ruin the hairstyle. It's hard to repair."

Teacher Zahirah carefully runs her fingers to her pupil's head, trying to find the offending object.

The hamster, being disturbed from its slumber by a pink earthworm, chomps on the new meal with a decisive bite.

Teacher Zahirah pulls her finger back in pain, to discover a rodent dangling, looking at her with innocent eyes. It squeakes.

"Opocot a mite has feather hairs! Eh, it has hairs! Swinging like a pendulum, always maintaining it's swinging time no matter the size of the swing! Eh, Hamster dangling on my fingers!"

Teacher Zahirah keeps her latah even as she darts back to the teacher's office. In the ensuing chaos, many teachers begin to latah along, even breaking to a gamelan and zapin dance. Other teachers try to calm them down or call the ambulance as some latahing teachers and students decide to jump from the higher floors. The entire school populace unafflicted by the latah just stares in wonder.

Shamsul could muster no reaction on his face, seeing the adult populace of the school turning an institution of learning to a traditional Malay moshpit. "I wonder, do you think Teacher Chong know anything about the history of latah disease in our town?"

Aziz gently rubs his forehead. "I wonder if we will be cursed with latah if we reached a certain age."

Thank you, thank you! I thought if anyone would know this piece and be able to find it, it would be a PPCer. I'll check out the rest of the site, too.

The second one is an interesting perspective. I hadn't ever considered it from a film needs point of view like that.

One of my permission prompts was meant to take place in the mission that I am currently writing. I'm about to reach that point. Should I copy-paste the permission piece into the mission, or does it matter if I rewrite it? Or could I just skip over it?

At least, I think I do, if it's "What Happened to Gallant Captain Faramir?" by Tinw (who has lots more interesting-looking things on their site).

I also stumbled across "Faramir is Evil Like Gandalf is Green: In Defense of Peter Jackson's Faramir" by Jonathan on TheOneRing.net, which looks at the decision to make Faramir "more dynamic" from a film student's perspective. Putting the two together, I guess the conclusion is that some of Frodo's nobility was sacrificed to give Faramir more to do? Still doesn't sit well with me, but I guess it kinda makes sense.

~Neshomeh

It is Edwin. Irwin is the woma python in the Tropics building at work. His name is similar enough it keeps sneaking in where Edwin's belongs. Thanks for pointing that out.

I hope to flesh out an entire "spin-off" with this Nursery class, although it will depend on my free time, and the in-universe time as juxtaposed with my other characters.

—doctorlit, apparently 'winning at life too hard

I used to have a link to a LotR essay about Faramir's characterization in the movies. It proposed that his characterization was essentially the same, that it was the differences in the way Frodo behaved that altered Faramir's movie actions.

I have lost my link and can't find it with Google, but I hoped it would sound familiar to someone here.

Might not be as big a thing as turning 21, but still something to celebrate. Happy birthday!

I believe I was reading the Mary Sue hunter article on Tv Tropes. Followed a few links, here I am.

Irwin's a really interesting character, and it's nice to see more of a snapshot into Nursery life, especially how it is for nonhumanoid people. One minor point, though; you seem to veer between calling your robot frendo Irwin and Edwin throughout the fic. Which is it? One assumes Edwin from the title, but I could be wrong. =]

LOL: Li Ooen Lub (wild, genuine elegance)

This in Tau'sia relates to the natural state of joyfulness that life in the Empire instills within its citizens. It is mostly genuine, though can be sarcastic.

WTF: Walaho Tsan'druu'sha Fu'lasso (The puzzle whose solution produces a sandstorm of a thousand riotous colours)

Or, to put it more simply, "What you have just said/done/demonstrated has completely blown my mind into lots and lots of little pieces and I don't understand anything any more." Again, this is emblematic of Tau'sia's wonderful depths of sarcasm.

Because Thuum.org is a thing. ^_^

LOL: Lot Ofan Lok (great gift [of] sky)

The sky, for the Dovah, naturally signifying freedom and joy and rightness in the world.

ROFL: Riik Osos Frin Laan (gale [of] unnumbered fervent questions)

Or, loosely, "Haha, what? Seriously? I can't even!"

Osos is glossed as "uncertain or unspecified; unspecified number of," so I took a teensy liberty there, but the Dragon Language is pretty forgiving about things like that.

WTF: Wuld Tey Folaas (whirlwind tale [of] misjudgement)

Or, "Your argument is a comedy of errors."

Aaaand that is all I have time for! For the record, the Dragon Language does have the preposition "of," but IIRC it's not strictly necessary unless you want to be very clear or very formal.

~Neshomeh

LOL: Lam Orchall 'Ladha [echoing voice of superior laughter]

This phrase invokes the haughty laugh of, say, Feanor, preferably right before his comeuppance. It's a twofold acronym: it both describes the laugh, but also describes something worth laughing at (Sindarin speakers being quite happy to see Noldorin pride come before Noldorin fall).

Oh, and...

#AwesomeInAdunaic

LOL: Lôkhî Ob Lômi [crooked before nightfall]

This is a Numenorean idiom. It describes the practice of getting a little tipsy (or 'crooked') before night comes, which was viewed as preferable to getting blind drunk after it got dark. So it means 'drunk, but in a good, friendly way'. (Look, there's only two L- words in Adunaic, I'm struggling here.)

#OwfulInOrcish

LOL: Lug, Olog, Lug [tower, troll, tower]

Or, as the old story goes, "Bagronk the Uruk was caught between an enemy tower and an angry troll. So what does old Bagronk do? He fights the troll! He kills it! But what does he find? There's another tower right behind him! Har har har!"

(This story, and others like it, is extremely popular among the smaller breeds of Orc. It is distinctly less popular among the larger Uruks, who have a tendency to tear off the heads of those they hear telling it.)

And Agent Râmwê would never forgive me if I didn't include:

#ProperInPrimitiveQuendian

LOL: Lindâ Oijâ Lauka [sweet, endless warmth]

The only true description of laughter, as he would say, if he was willing to speak any language other than Primitive Quendian, which he isn't.

hS

LOL: Lámar Oia Lalalo, 'peals of endless laughter' [lit. 'echoes of everlasting laughing']

ROFL: Raina Olya, Fólima Lalala, 'big smile, muffled laugh' [lit 'smiling much, secretive laughing', and yes, that is a string of four adjectives]

WTF: Walda Tevin Felu, 'mad, bad witchcraft' [lit 'wild, hated bad magic']

(Making those roughly hit the meaning of the original is surprisingly hard work!)

But I'll also offer up Rohan, Our Favourite Land (weirdos) and Wilwarin's The Fairest (for particular fans of the constellation Cassiopeia).

(And, finally... it's Lay of Leithian...)

hS

“Themes,” Anne grumbled. “Why does anything even need to have a theme? Why can’t a story just be a story?” She tapped her pencil against her blank paper.

“Because a story just being a story is good for nothing,” said Wilma, a haughty lilt in her voice. “At least with a theme, we can apply something to real life and get use out of it.”

Anne sneered across the desk. “You are brainwashed, girl.”

Wilma raised her head and gave a glare. “I’m realistic. Artsy stuff doesn’t do any good. We should all be more like Irwin.” She lowered her head and went back to writing.

Anne gave a quick look at Irwin. Then she did a double-take.

Irwin was the only non-organic classmate in Anne’s class. It had showed up in the Nursery not long after Mollie and Ollie had been dropped off, and got added to the class along with them. The robot was tiny, barely over a foot tall, and its body was basically two half spheres with a gap between. Out of the gap sprouted a glassy orb on a wire, with another wire sticking out the top of that, which led to a very tiny but detailed satellite dish. Another wire stuck out of the gap on Edwin’s “back” end, which connected to a thin metal halo which encircled its entire body. Everything was a dulled and tarnished grey, except in all the spots where ugly rust had grown over the metal. The halo and the satellite dish tottered back and forth whenever Irwin moved.

Right now, however, the satellite dish was jittering back and forth at an alarming speed, in concert with a pencil scribbling furiously on the paper in front of Irwin. (Irwin was sitting on top of the desk; otherwise, it wouldn’t have been able to see.) Irwin had filled nearly an entire page with writing in the time it had taken Wilma to do one paragraph.

The pencil continued to move, without being touched by Irwin.

“Okay,” Anne said, “I had no idea you could do that, Irwin.”

The satellite drooped to the side. The pencil stopped moving and fell over.

Anne stared. “Uh. I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to, like, scare you, or anything.”

Irwin remained still.

“Just, it’s cool. That you can do that, I mean.”

Irwin remained still.

“And it’s . . . okay? That you can do that, I mean. You don’t have to hide it from us.”

“And she was willing,” said Irwin. Its voice came tinny and surrounded with static, like a radio that was only barely tuned to the station it was trying to play.

Anne stared for a moment, then looked at Wilma, who had stopped working to listen. Despite their earlier disagreement, the girls now shared a look of confusion. “That’s . . . good,” Anne finally said. “Good to hear.”

Irwin remained still. Eventually, the girls both went back to focusing on their own papers. Neither looked up when the sound of Irwin’s pencil on paper began once more.

* * *

Fox sat with his back against the wall. Across the room, Marty and Edwin were playing Sorry!, Marty as the yellow player, and Edwin as the red.

Fox watched as Edwin’s satellite swiveled, and a card drew itself and flipped over. The swiveling continued as one of the red pieces moved the correct number of spaces. Then the swiveling stopped again.

Marty gave Fox a meaningful look. They had both heard about Edwin doing homework the day before from the girls.

Fox said, “So I guess the big question is, what is that thing coming out the top of your head?”

Edwin’s voice crackled out, “A tin can, she thought—B&M beans or Campbell’s soup.”

Fox blinked. Marty, drawing the next card, said, “Uh. Okay.”

While Marty moved one of his pieces, Fox said, “But how does it—how do you work? How are you doing that?” He pointed at the card Edwin was now drawing from the deck.

The crackling radio noise came again. “Nor can we tell you so you’ll understand. That’s all over your face.”

Fox blinked.

Marty leaned in close to Edwin. “It’s all right to tell us, okay? We’re your friends, now. We’re just curious about what you can do.”

Edwin replied, “Stand, be brave, be true, stand for your brother, your friends.”


Marty raised both eyebrows in surprise, drawing back just a tad. He then turned to Fox and shrugged. “My turn,” he said, and drew a card.

* * *

“Thank you for coming here with me,” said Nostrum.

Irwin rolled along behind him, leaving a pair of furrows in the snow between the centaur’s hoof prints.

Nostrum stopped at the crest of a hill, looking up at the artificial sky. “My people place great importance in the stars. There are many things that can be read from the way the stars arc across the sky from year to year, night to night, hour to hour. These stars are artificial, of course.”

Nostrum folded his legs and kneeled down to get closer to Edwin’s level. “My people are not . . . scientific, as humans would say. We read the stars, but we don’t know why or how we are able to do so.” He looked down at the robot. “I do not understand your functioning, or what that machine on top of you is, or how it works.” He laid a hand on Edwin’s chassis. “But I like you. Don’t let the questions of the others bother you too much. Humans like to understand things as they are now. But I think you and I like to see things farther ahead, yes?”

Nostrum stood up. “Let’s head back to the Bunks. We must rest for our classes tomorrow.” He began to trot back to the doorway that led into the corridors.

He didn’t hear Edwin crackle from behind him, “Once you get into cosmological shit like this, you got to throw away the instruction manual.”

* * *

doctorlit's note: I will never be able to prove this, but I swear, I swear, I SWEAR I designed Edwin before BB-8 was released in The Force Awakens. I SWEAR YOU GUYS.

—doctorlit swears, you guys

It's nice to meet you! My gift to you is a bowl full of freshly homemade potato chips.

Out of curiosity, what about the PPC most appeals to you? What are some of your other hobbies/interests?

Tomash recently posted a funny Tweeter post on Discord where standard SMS acronyms become... Well, see for yourselves:

LOL: Lay Of Luthien

FFS: Fëanor Forges Silmarils

LMAO: Look, Melkor, Arda’s Over you

TTYS: Túrin Turambar it’s Your Sister

STFU: Shoot! The Fearsome Ungoliant!

IMO: Illúvatar’s Musical Originality

Funny, aren't they?

But here's the thing: what other acronyms could you translate in Silmarillion or LOTR terms, or in any canon catching your interest? For example, TTYS becoming... Tattletale Toys with Your Secrets (Worm). Or... TPK: Thorin, Problematic Khazad.

Anyways, why don't we see what you'll think about?