Dr. Phil's Dreamwidth Journal

Posted on Dreamwidth
Crossposted on LiveJournal

Back to the ConFusion, the 41st ConFusion by name and 42nd annual January gathering (starting with the AA Realx-I-Con in 1974), is a go! 2015 looks to be an exciting year--it will be the year that Marty McFly really traveled to in Back to the Future II, whatever that Facebook meme says, so look out for those hoverboards, they must be right around the corner. (No, seriously, look out!) We're anticipating another excellent con, with the first-time appearance of author Karen Lord, researcher Dr. Cynthia Chestek, and gaming gurus Monte Cook & Shanna Germain. We'll also welcome back Heather Dale, now performing as our Music Guest of Honor. And then there's Aaron Thul, longtime fan and conrunner, returning after two years away as our Fan Guest of Honor. Please do join us, and we hope to see you there in January!

ConFusion Schedule for Dr. Phil Kaldon

Friday 6pm: Dearborn
Every Creature (Real and Fantastical) Poops
You may have read the book Everyone Poops, but it's 
so human-centric. What about mermaids, centaurs, 
and other fantastical creatures? Let's see if we can 
analogize from real species to arrive at a theory of 
fantastical pooping. (Caution: conversation may stray 
into food, sex and gestation.)
Rowena Cherry, Cindy Spencer Pape, Lucy Kennedy, 
Dr. Phil Kaldon

(Friday 7pm: Michigan - Big Top
Opening Ceremonies)

Friday 8pm: Warren
Ghosts of SyFy Past
Come reminisce about the actual science fiction SyFy
used to show, and talk about the network's plans to
get back to its science fiction roots.
Julie Winningham, Philip Kaldon, Aset, Steve Drew'

(Friday 9pm: Erie
Detcon1 Thank You Party)
Life seems so empty now that we're not running a NASFiC 
anymore. So we're going to throw one last party this weekend 
at MI Official ConFusion to say thank you to everyone who 
supported us. We'll have ribbons and shirts and some other 
surprises to give away, food and drink, plus a DJ Scalzi-inspired 
playlist and a slideshow of our favorite pictures from the con. 
Join us in the Erie Room Friday night!

Saturday 10am: Dearborn 
Building a Better Dragon
No two writers imagine the same dragon. How would
yours be different? Flying, fire, temperament,
teeth: what makes a good dragon?
Christian Klaver, Philip Kaldon, Cinda Williams Chima, 
Steve Buchheit

Saturday 11am: Southfield 
Time Travel Devices, Doors, and Deus Ex Machinas
How to travel through time (in literature and media)	
Philip Kaldon, Ferrett Steinmetz, Andrew Zimmerman Jones, 
Laura Resnick
 
Saturday 4pm: Dearborn 
Time Travel (im)Possibilities
Would 1.21 gigawatts get the job done, or would
the flux capacitor even work? Time for our panelists
and audience to debunk our favorite time travel
devices in literature and popular media.
Bill Higgins, Philip Kaldon, Ron Collins, 
Andrew Zimmerman Jones 

Sunday 10am: Warren 
Tomlinson/Kaldon reading
Patrick S. Tomlinson and Philip Kaldon read from their works.
This will be the first public reading from
the opening chapters of The Lost Kingdom YA project
I am working on.  I had planned to read this at
WindyCon, but alas the weather kept us away from
Chicago in mid-November.  Their loss is your gain.

Sunday 11am: Erie 
Science or Science Fiction?
Science fiction novels continue to impress with
amazing technological advances in so many areas.
What's more impressive, though? That some of them
are reality! Come talk about some of the things
you see on the news today that you first read
about years ago in a book.
Philip Kaldon, Jason Sanford, Andrew Zimmerman Jones, 
Patrick S. Tomlinson, Brent Seth 

Posted on Dreamwidth
Crossposted on LiveJournal

Back to the ConFusion, the 41st ConFusion by name and 42nd annual January gathering (starting with the AA Realx-I-Con in 1974), is a go! 2015 looks to be an exciting year--it will be the year that Marty McFly really traveled to in Back to the Future II, whatever that Facebook meme says, so look out for those hoverboards, they must be right around the corner. (No, seriously, look out!) We're anticipating another excellent con, with the first-time appearance of author Karen Lord, researcher Dr. Cynthia Chestek, and gaming gurus Monte Cook & Shanna Germain. We'll also welcome back Heather Dale, now performing as our Music Guest of Honor. And then there's Aaron Thul, longtime fan and conrunner, returning after two years away as our Fan Guest of Honor. Please do join us, and we hope to see you there in January!

ConFusion Schedule for Dr. Phil Kaldon

Friday 6pm: Dearborn
Every Creature (Real and Fantastical) Poops
You may have read the book Everyone Poops, but it's 
so human-centric. What about mermaids, centaurs, 
and other fantastical creatures? Let's see if we can 
analogize from real species to arrive at a theory of 
fantastical pooping. (Caution: conversation may stray 
into food, sex and gestation.)
Rowena Cherry, Cindy Spencer Pape, Lucy Kennedy, 
Dr. Phil Kaldon

(Friday 7pm: Michigan - Big Top
Opening Ceremonies)

Friday 8pm: Warren
Ghosts of SyFy Past
Come reminisce about the actual science fiction SyFy
used to show, and talk about the network's plans to
get back to its science fiction roots.
Julie Winningham, Philip Kaldon, Aset, Steve Drew'

Saturday 10am: Dearborn 
Building a Better Dragon
No two writers imagine the same dragon. How would
yours be different? Flying, fire, temperament,
teeth: what makes a good dragon?
Christian Klaver, Philip Kaldon, Cinda Williams Chima, 
Steve Buchheit

Saturday 11am: Southfield 
Time Travel Devices, Doors, and Deus Ex Machinas
How to travel through time (in literature and media)	
Philip Kaldon, Ferrett Steinmetz, Andrew Zimmerman Jones, 
Laura Resnick
 
Saturday 4pm: Dearborn 
Time Travel (im)Possibilities
Would 1.21 gigawatts get the job done, or would
the flux capacitor even work? Time for our panelists
and audience to debunk our favorite time travel
devices in literature and popular media.
Bill Higgins, Philip Kaldon, Ron Collins, 
Andrew Zimmerman Jones 

Sunday 10am: Warren 
Tomlinson/Kaldon reading
Patrick S. Tomlinson and Philip Kaldon read from their works.
This will be the first public reading from
the opening chapters of The Lost Kingdom YA project
I am working on.  I had planned to read this at
WindyCon, but alas the weather kept us away from
Chicago in mid-November.  Their loss is your gain.

Sunday 11am: Erie 
Science or Science Fiction?
Science fiction novels continue to impress with
amazing technological advances in so many areas.
What's more impressive, though? That some of them
are reality! Come talk about some of the things
you see on the news today that you first read
about years ago in a book.
Philip Kaldon, Jason Sanford, Andrew Zimmerman Jones, 
Patrick S. Tomlinson, Brent Seth 

Posted on Dreamwidth
Crossposted on LiveJournal

            “New Year's in the Lost Kingdom”
               by Dr. Philip Edward Kaldon

Saturday 31 December 2016
21:55 CET (GMT+1)
Sommerhus, Eisbergen

     According to the media, much of the world was spending New 
Year’s Eve drinking  - if sixteen-year-old Crown Princess Daniska 
Elsinor believed the media.  That might be true.  It might even 
be true for her Eisbergen.  But not for all.  Some people had to 
work, if not for a living, then for the good of a kingdom.
     In the barn’s dim light she scraped the shovel against the 
floor and deposited another load of cow dung in the wheelbarrow.
     The main door to the west barn screeched open and a rough 
voice called out in the old Ur-Danish, “Who’s there?”
     “Me,” Daniska replied.  This was her kingdom.  She really 
had no one to answer to except her father King Henrik VII and 
God  - in some order she never felt she wanted to debate.
     She kept shoveling until the intruder came around the pens.  
“I saw lights on...  What the hell are you doing shoveling the 
shit at this hour, princess?” Klaus Jønsson asked, irritated at 
her as usual.  The middle-aged farmer used the word princess as 
if it was a taunt, not an honorific.
     “Could you shut the doors?  You’re letting the heat out.”
     Klaus might not have liked the royalty of Eisbergen or how 
they ran things.  But he did know and care about animals  - and 
was famously frugal  - this was a request he responded to, even 
if he acted grumpy as usual.
     “You haven’t answered my question, princess,” he said when 
he came back.  He stood 6’5” and solidly sturdy  - she straightened 
up to her slender 6’4” height so they stood eye-to-eye in the 
barn.
     “There wasn’t time to answer you  - and I wasn’t going to 
shout after you like you were a servant or something.”  Daniska 
didn’t know why she felt she had to needle him as well.  “It’s 
New Year’s Eve.  There is going to be a lot of drinking in Eisbergen.  
And the livestock needs to be attended to, no matter what day 
it is.  Everyone is going to be moving slow in the morning.  
I’m just trying to lighten the load.”
     “You’re going to smell to high heaven if you keep up at 
this,” Klaus said, grabbing an old iron rake and starting to 
pull some of the sodden straw out of the stalls.  One of the 
cows moved out of his way.
     “Too late,” Daniska said, pausing to wipe the sweat on her 
brow with the back of a glove.  The jeans she had on were old, 
as was the tattered and faded University of Oslo sweatshirt.
     “Well, it’s good to see you working for a change,” he 
grudgingly acknowledged.
     “You have no idea what I do,” she replied calmly.  “You’re 
too busy running your farm or trying to rile up the citizenry.”
     “Hmph.  Well, you may be right about that.  It certainly 
looks like you’ve shoveled shit before.”
     Her iPhone rang before she could come up with a rejoinder.  
“Yes?” she answered on speaker, after waving a hand over the 
camera.  It was her sister.
     “Dani, where are you?  It’s almost ten o’clock.  You have 
to get ready.”
     “I’m almost done.”
     “Done what?”
     “Cleaning out the barn.”
     “You went out there two hours ago.”
     “You didn’t come to help.”
     “Not fair  - I had baking to do.”
     “I’ll be there,” Daniska said, waving her hand again - 
the handsfree app she’d written disconnecting.  “Still think 
that all royals are worthless leeches on the backs of the workers?”
     Klaus glared sourly.  “You should go, princess.  I can 
finish this.  I don’t want Marcellus or one of his Romans to 
come and get me.”
     “They wouldn’t be after you,” she said, finally putting 
one last, large shovelful in the wheelbarrow.  “They’d be after 
me.”
     Grabbing the old coat that lived in the mud room off the 
back of the kitchen at Royal House, Daniska bundled up and headed 
out.
     “Don’t you stay up so late here, either, Klaus.  It’s New 
Year’s Eve.”
     “Ah-hhh, bah,” he waved a hand at her in annoyance.  “And 
shut that damned door behind you.  Don’t let all the heat out.”
                                ***
     New Year’s Eve  - twenty minutes to midnight  - in the 
warmth and light of Royal House.
     “Anaulka  - are you dressed yet?” Daniska called up the 
stairs.
     “I’m coming,” the girl responded.  And indeed, within a 
minute she emerged from their bedroom and came clattering down 
the stairs.
     “Are those my shoes?”
     “Yes.”
     “They don’t quite fit you,” Daniska sighed.  Anaulka wasn’t 
one to give up.  “I heard you all the way down.”
     “Urrrrgh.”  Anaulka kicked off the chunky white heels.  
“I can’t wear your really high heels anyway.”
     “Not yet.”
     “And I don’t have any women’s shoes.  All I have are little 
girl’s shoes.”
     “We should correct that then.”
     “I’m thirteen,” Anaulka insisted.
     “There you are,” their mother Queen Joelle said, coming 
out of the kitchen in an elegant royal blue evening gown, her 
short dark hair contrasting with the girls’ long blond hair.  
She kissed the top of her younger daughter’s head, noting that 
without shoes, she was her height for once, almost 6’1”.  “I 
was beginning to be think you’d never make it, Ani.  Now, both 
of you  - turn around.”
     Daniska was three inches taller than her sister anyway, 
but since Anaulka was barefoot, she towered over her.  Both 
princesses wore loose, full-length white dresses with embroidered 
square necklines.  Their waist long blond hair was free tonight, 
partly pulled back  - Daniska’s by a 12th century silver Viking 
comb, Anaulka’s with a black velvet bow.  The comb kept slipping 
against Daniska’s unruly wavy hair, threatening to fall out every 
ten or fifteen minutes.  She’d rather braid it and forget about 
her hair.
     “You both look lovely.  But no shoes, Ani?”
     Anaulka pointed at the shoes lying in a heap near the bottom 
of the stairs.  “They didn’t fit.”
     “She can’t just wear my things,” Daniska told their mother.  
“Don’t let that tomboy attitude fool you  - you’re growing another 
woman in this house.  Another princess.”
     “Yeah,” Anaulka said.  “You’re neglecting me, Mother.”
     “You’re not helping.”
     Anaulka stuck her tongue out at her sister.
     The queen sighed.  The girls were right about one thing - 
she didn’t spend enough time with them.  Both were growing into 
lovely young women.  And from what she heard, the kingdom liked 
their princesses.  The sad thing was she wasn’t likely to change - 
Dr. Joelle Lund liked her academic world south in Oslo far too much.  
The kingdom and her girls was just some place she visited.  
Infrequently.
     “Someone bring the herring and the champagne glasses.”
     “Herring!” Anaulka called and went to get the two platters 
of pickled herring, plain and with cream sauce.
     “Henrik  - it’s time,” Joelle called to her husband.
     “Yes, yes,” he replied, emerging from his study.  Amazingly 
he carried no papers  - Daniska wasn’t even sure he had his iPhone.  
Indeed, the 6’7” king was, for once, elegant himself in full 
black tails and tie.  His dark blond hair was cut short and curled 
in the old Roman way  - his beard fierce and Viking.  The king 
and queen looked every bit the royal couple they were.
     The elaborate grandfather’s clock in the parlor began to 
chime.
     “Four... three... two...” Anaulka counted out loud, her 
eyes sparkling with anticipation. “TWELVE!  Midnight everyone - 
Happy New Year!”
     The two princesses kissed and hugged.
     “Happy New Year, my dear,” Henrik said to his wife and they 
embraced and kissed while the girls stood by smiling.  Anaulka 
elbowed her sister.
     They heard a series of cracks outside.
     “Someone has firecrackers,” Anaulka observed.  “Oh, and 
happy birthday, sister.”
     “Yes, my little Y2K bug  - Happy Birthday,” Joelle came 
over and kissed Daniska.  Then the princess was kissed by her 
father and her sister.  Blushing, Daniska went back into the 
kitchen.
     New Year’s Day 2017 A.D. in Eisbergen.  Seventeen years 
ago, 1 January 2000, at 2:32 in the morning, Daniska Elsinor 
Raphaella Rachel had presented herself to the world and the then 
Crown Prince Henrik.  She didn’t remember it, of course, but 
the world had survived the calendar rolling over from 1999 to 
2000 without catastrophic computer losses.  Anaulka joked that 
it was the source of her sister’s superior computer coding abilities 
- an omen.
     Daniska came out carefully hanging two bottles of champagne 
in elegant black bottles by their necks in one hand and a tray 
with four tall champagne flutes in the other.
     “Two bottles of champagne, Father?” Anaulka asked.  “You 
are about to sink one, are you?”
     Henrik frowned.  “I’m not sure what you mean.”
     “She’s teasing you,” Daniska said, setting down the tray, 
then the bottles.  “Sinking is ordering two bottles of champagne 
and pouring one down the sink to protest some silly Swedish law 
against spraying champagne in a public place.”
     “This is not Sweden, my dear, or have you forgotten?” Henrik 
said to Anaulka.  “There is no law against spraying champagne 
in Eisbergen  - only common sense enough to know not to waste 
any precious product.”
     “But it’s Swedish champagne.  HATT et SÖNER Prestige 2005 
Le Grand-Père,” Anaulka said, picking up one bottle and reading 
the label.  “So I thought, when in Rome, do as the Swedes do?”
     “That one doesn’t even work,” Daniska said, shaking her 
head.
     “We are Rome,” Anaulka said helpfully, and as Eisbergen 
was founded in part by a Roman Senator as one of their three 
crowns in 460 A.D., it was true.
     “The company may be owned by Swedes, not Frenchmen,” the 
king explained, “it is still French champagne.  Otherwise under 
all those arcane EU rules and regulations, they couldn’t call 
it...”
     “Henrik,” the queen said.
     “Quite so.  The new year is precious seconds old  - and 
we have not yet poured and toasted.  And,” the king said, pausing 
to remove the wire cage from the first black bottle, “I am not 
averse to popping the cork on these festive occasions.”
     Bwoop!
     “Ah...”  The ladies all applauded as the cork sailed up 
almost to the sixteen-foot ceiling of the great hall and bounced 
on the stairs.
     “There’s four of us  - and two bottles,” Anaulka said, as 
Henrik began pouring into the tall thin glasses.  “Is that half 
a bottle each?”
     “No,” Daniska said.  “You have two bottles in case one is 
a dud.”
     “Or unexpected company arrives,” the king said.
     “It’s midnight in the most secretive country in the world,” 
Anaulka frowned.  “Who could possibly come unannounced?”
     “You never know,” Henrik said.  “Everyone has a glass?  
Yes?  Then Happy New Year to all of us and our kingdom.”
     “To the New Year.”
     “God grace the king,” Daniska added.  The others immediately 
replied and Henrik nodded.
     “And a very happy birthday to my Princess Daniska,” he answered, 
which began yet a third round of toasts.
     They had barely started on the black bread and the pickled 
herring when the front door chimed.  The girls looked at their 
father, who had a mischievous smile.
     “Who could that possibly be at this late... er, early hour?” 
he asked.
     Taking his wife by the arm, they advanced to open first 
the inside double doors and then with a flourish, Henrik pulled 
both of the outer doors at once.
     “General Marcellus,” he greeted the Roman Centurion standing 
on the porch, the slowly falling snow glistening on the full 
ceremonial armor.
     Marcellus saluted, fist out.  “Your Majesty, Your Grace - 
Happy New Year.”  He held out a small stoneware crock, wrapped 
in a towel.  “I bring fish soup to give you good luck throughout 
the year.”
     “Come in, come in, old friend.”
     The sixty-year-old Roman carefully stepped over the threshold, 
planted both feet and handed the king the crock.  It occurred 
to Daniska that this was a ceremony of some sort.  The first 
visitor of the new year?  She would have to look it up.  It seemed 
that her father was also not averse to reviving old customs.
     “Daniska  - we shall need more glasses.”
     Behind Marcellus on the porch, were the part-time Steward 
of Royal House and his wife Greta, their part-time cook and housekeeper.
     “Now it’s a party,” Anaulka observed.
     “Happy birthday, Your Highness,” Marcellus said, removing 
his helmet with the red brush on top and presenting a small package 
wrapped in silvery paper to Daniska.
     Daniska set the additional glasses down and accepted the 
gift.  “Thank you very much, Marcellus.”  She kissed him on both 
cheeks.  Then she held up a silver spoon.  “I think we should 
pass your soup around and skip trying to dish it out.”
     “An excellent idea,” the Roman said, rubbing his hands.  
“It is damned cold out there.  And we need some good luck in 
the new year.”
     “I don’t know about luck,” Daniska said, picking up the 
crock in one hand after wrapping it in a towel, “but we have 
champagne, herring, bread and fish soup.  We are certainly trying 
to appease the gods as much as possible.  Oh, this is good.”
     “Most of the meals that I cook myself are based on basic 
Roman camp food recipes.  I’m afraid I’m stubborn that way.  
Be a Roman, be a Roman all the way.  But this?  This is my mother’s 
and she got it from her mother  - generations back.” 
     “Well, you can clearly cook, good sir.”
     The bell jangled at the door again  - this time for the 
realm’s two fishermen and their wives.
     “It’s time to sing,” one of the fishermen shouted.  “It’s 
New Year’s for God’s sake.”  The suggestion was greeted with 
applause and everyone looked to the princesses.
     Anaulka and Daniska realized they would not get out of this.  
So the birthday girl sat at the piano in the parlor, and Anaulka 
stood nearby.  Her singing voice was higher and sweeter than 
Daniska’s, but she could start strong and low enough to suit.
        “Skuld gammel venskab rejn forgo
        og stryges fræ wor mind?
        Skuld gammel venskab rejn forgo
        med dem daw så læng, læng sind?
        Di skjønne ungdomsdaw, å ja,
        de daw så svær å find!
        Vi'el løwt wor kop så glådle op
        for dem daw så læng, læng sind!”
     Daniska came in on the chorus and the duet soon became a 
trio as their Father’s baritone was added.  Soon everyone joined 
in the choruses as Anaulka sang the next stanzas  - the ones 
that most people didn’t know, Daniska smiled.
     “I think we did Robbie Burns proud,” Anaulka said to her 
sister, after they took their bow.
     “I think on New Year’s nobody cares  - they just want it 
sung.  But,” Daniska hastily added, “you did beautifully.”
     “Thank you,” Anaulka beamed.
     The champagne was long gone  - there were eleven in Royal 
House now  - and so the adults had switched to whisky and brandies.  
Daniska took a small glass of brandy.
     “We’re sharing,” she told her father as he frowned.
     Anaulka sat on the sofa, rubbing her bare feet.  “Here, 
let me do that for you,” Daniska offered, and as she sat down, 
Anaulka propped her legs on her sister’s knees.  “You’re cold.”
     “I have no shoes.”
     “You’re a very silly girl from time to time.”
     “Thank you, O worldly princess sister.”
     “You should have put on a pair of your own shoes.”
     “What would be the fun of that?”
     The bell jingled again and the princesses looked at each 
other.  Daniska went to the front door and was surprised to see 
Klaus Jønsson and his two sons.
     “Klaus!  Dean, Cyril  - Happy New Year to you all.  Thank 
you for coming.  Come in out of the cold, please.  All of you.  
You are always welcome.”
     The farmer harrumphed, and kicked his snowy boots on the 
side of the door frame before stepping inside.
     “Apologies for coming so late,” he said, taking off his 
hat.
     “Nonsense.  It’s New Year’s  - we’re going to be up all 
night.”
     “I wasn’t going to come,” he said gruffly.  “But I was reminded 
- this is your seventeenth birthday, princess.  By the Old Law, 
today is your age of ascension.  You can become queen on your 
own without needing a regent.
     “So I suppose I should be nice to you, princess, as someday 
you’ll rule,” he finished his speech, handing her a package.  
“I brought smoked blood sausage.”
     “Thank you, good sir.  And let us hope that I am not queen 
for a long time.”
     Anaulka had come to take their coats.  The sons were both 
older than the girls.  Dean was nineteen and disliked the royals 
as much as his father.  But the older brother, Cyril, was quiet 
and shy  - and if he hated anyone in the world, Daniska didn’t 
know who it was.
     “Cyril, I’m amazed you made in from the south farm in this 
weather.”  As expected, he didn’t answer her.  “I’m sorry, we 
had very little champagne at midnight.  But there’s whisky and 
brandy.  And still some herring and smoked fish, plus your wonderful 
sausage.”
     “Whisky sounds good,” Klaus said and headed over to get 
a stiff drink.  “Behave yourselves,” he told his boys.
     Someone had found the master control panel for the Bang 
& Olufsen BeoSystem 5000 stereo, which had apparently fallen 
off a truck near Copenhagen back in 1985 and found its way into 
Royal House via their Royalists motorcycle club.  Below were 
sliding wooden doors which revealed hundreds of old LP records.  
Soon the background was filled with Frank Sinatra and Harry Belafonte.
     It was during Harry Belafonte’s Calypso in Brass from 1966 
and “Jump in the Line”, that Daniska was asked to dance by her 
father.  When she glanced back, Anaulka had pulled her knees 
up to her chest, watching and grinning at everyone making minor 
fools of themselves.
     By two, Anaulka had been recruited to play the straight 
violin and soon raucous fiddling tunes spurred on the dancers 
- and those who weren’t dancing kept time clapping.  Half an 
hour later, the younger princess declared she was in no shape 
to keep playing at this hour, and the party went back to the 
stereo.  And Chubby Checkers.
     “It’s 3:13am,” Daniska told Anaulka, as her sister came 
back out to the great table with a small box. “And you’re eating 
chocolates?”
     “Nope,” Anaulka said, holding the box out.  It was fondant 
stuffed sugared dates.  “Have one.”
     “I’m already stuffed on herring and soup and bread.”
     “It’s not like you need to worry about getting fat.”
     “Alright.  I’ll have one.”
     “Good!”
                                ***
     In the morning it was of course still dark.  But those who’d 
gathered at Royal House and had stayed up for all hours, bundled 
up against the cold and went to New Year’s Mass at eight.
     “What did Marcellus give you for your birthday?” Anaulka 
whispered as they took their seats and waited for the kingdom 
to arrive and stand for the service.  “I never did see.”
     “It’s a Chinese black lacquered abacus  - very small and 
very old.  It’s quite lovely and it makes a nice clicking sound 
as you flick the beads back and forth.  I have no idea where 
he got it.”
     “I don’t recall reading about any piracy against Chinese 
shipping in the Book of Days,” Anaulka said.  “Maybe it was a 
personal possession on some ship we captured long ago?”
     Though much had been lost in 1944, they still had some 
stores of trophies collected from centuries of Viking and pirate 
raids in the name of the kingdom.
     “I don’t know.  And Marcellus never tells where he gets 
things.”
     “He does it to annoy you,” Anaulka said.
     “He does it to challenge me, I think.”
     By noon the sun made its first appearance for 2017, staying 
only for a while.  It was just eleven days after the winter 
solstice in the secret kingdom of Eisbergen just north of the 
Arctic Circle, hidden amongst the mountains and fjords of Norway.
     But not Norway.

From Book One of the Lost Kingdom Chronicles
©2014 Dr. Philip Edward Kaldon -- All Rights Reserved

            “A Christmas in the Lost Kingdom”
               by Dr. Philip Edward Kaldon

Saturday 24 December 2016
13:42 CET (GMT+1)
Sommerhus, Eisbergen

     The two princesses were tall and slender in the way of most 
Eisbergers and their Viking ancestors.  For this Christmas Eve, 
they both would wear their waist long blond hair up and have matching 
long red and green plaid skirts with white silk blouses.
     But sixteen-year-old Crown Princess Daniska Elsinor was worried 
about many things.  Dressing in candlelight had not been part of 
the plan -- and it would ruin her surprise to the children.  The 
power had been out nearly an hour already, which was never a good 
sign in the tiny kingdom of Eisbergen.  Ordinarily she might have 
been out helping troubleshoot the power failure, but the princess 
had obligations to the Crown.  At least she’d already checked her 
iPhone several times and still had bars, so she wouldn’t have to 
restart the cell service.  It was already on its backup power.
     And then there were her shoes.
     Actually there was nothing wrong with the shoes on her own 
feet.  Elegant and extravagant looking -- but bought on sale in 
Copenhagen -- it was only a little outrageous for the 6’4” Daniska 
to wear five-inch heels.  But as heir, it would bring her close 
to eye-to-eye with her father, King Henrik VII.
     She watched as her thirteen-year-old sister Princess Anaulka 
Katje tried to get into another pair of Daniska’s very high heels.  
After a struggle, she got them on and managed to stand, arms 
cautiously stretched out as she wavered.  She straightened up to 
her full height of 6’¾”, plus the four-inch heels.  Then beaming, 
Anaulka triumphantly took an awkward step... and promptly lost 
her balance and fell back against the bed.
     Daniska could only smile.
     Anaulka looked up, mortified.  “Do.  Not.  Laugh.  I’ll 
get this.”
     “Someday, I’m sure, Ani.  But not today.”
     “It’s Christmas!”
     “Yes and you know very well that on Christmas we never get 
all that we want.”
     “That’s true enough.”  Anaulka sighed and held her legs 
straight out off the bed.  “They look good.”
     “They’re darling.  Now take off my shoes before you ruin 
them and hurt yourself.  You really don’t want to be hobbling 
around the rest of the holidays on crutches.”
     “You really do have an annoying habit of spoiling everything 
by pointing out the reality of the situation, dear sister.  Not 
everything is equations and technical specifications.”
     “I love you, too.”
     Anaulka carelessly kicked off the shoes and headed back to 
the closet to find a pair of her own dress shoes.  “Your nose 
is bleeding,” she said quietly as she walked past in her stockinged 
feet.
     “Oh, thanks,” Daniska said, grabbing a handkerchief -- it 
wasn’t that bad this time.  Just a drop.  But she hated this one 
reminder of her royal ancestry.  At least her sister didn’t suffer 
from it as well.  “I think I’ll wear the dark red sweater, though, 
and not the gold.”
     “Just in case?”
     “Just in case.”
     Anaulka came back with the red sweater and her own gold sweater.  
They wouldn’t be identical, but they would look good together.
     Daniska heard a rumble outside as someone had finally broken 
down and put on the generator for Royal House.  It was the Christmas 
Eve party, after all, and if the village of Summer Home was coming 
to call, the royal family should really put on the lights for them.
     She took a deep breath and stood up.  “It’s show time.”
                                ***
     The Royal House smelled of evergreens, spices and all manner 
of baking and cooking.  Small dishes of nuts and sweets were 
strategically scattered around the public areas -- Princess Anaulka 
had secreted one large bowl for their own room, as if no one would 
notice the young teenaged princess’s sweet tooth.
     There was no real daylight this time of year, but that didn’t 
stop Eisbergen from preparing for Christmas.  And during the dark 
afternoon, families from Summer Home and Nunuuvit brought their 
children to the Royal House for games and stories and hot chocolate 
and many kinds of cookies and small spiced meat pies, while the 
adults feasted on pickled herring, salted cod, rye bread and lots 
of the local bitter thin beer.
     Large enough to entertain all forty residents of Summer Home 
and a good measure of the subjects who lived in Nunuuvit, Royal 
House stood two full stories tall, but the parlor and great hall 
in the front half had a vaulted ceiling with exposed timbers 
overhead.  Sixteen feet high at the peak, the ceiling was ten foot 
high where the nine foot Christmas tree stood just past the piano 
in the front of the parlor.  The tree glittered with hundreds of 
colored LED lights, glass ornaments, old toys, tinsel two generations 
old and topped with a glass gipfel spire which almost touched the 
ceiling.
     As far as the children of Eisbergen were concerned, their 
9th century Saint Nicholi was the real Santa Claus -- no matter 
what the mass media from the world would try to convince them of -- 
and his arrival meant blessings for the celebrations and feasts 
surrounding Christ’s Mass.  Besides, the world didn’t even know 
Saint Nicholi or even Eisbergen existed.
     But the little ones always wanted to hear stories of the great 
tree which was set up in the Citadel during Christmas back in the 
old days, from before their near destruction in World War II, when 
the Citadel, the island and Winter Home were sacked.  No one alive 
in Royal House today had been there in those days, but Princess 
Daniska had picked up the habit of reading the Christmas preparation 
notes in the Book of Days from various years.  This time she had 
selected 1911, having always held a fascination for the Edwardians.
     As the six-foot-four princess walked into the parlor, the 
kingdom’s eight smaller children were already dancing around her 
and clamoring for Her Highness to tell them a story.  Smiling, 
Daniska sat on a delicate wooden chair with her iPad on her lap 
and had them sit on the polished wood floor around her.
     “During the fourth year of the reign of Alvin III,” she began, 
speaking in the old Ur-Danish tongue, “the annual call was sent 
out throughout our little kingdom to find the right tree for the 
great entrance hall in the Citadel, the castle-in-the-Rock where 
the Royal Family of Eisbergen once lived.  While most homes had 
their own Christmas trees throughout Winter Home and Nunuuvit, 
the great tree was special, for it belonged to all of us.
     “Oh, the Old Man Pine next to the Allhall on the island still 
stood and was decorated every year, but the decorations were old 
and they’d not taken to even hanging electric lights on it.  The 
great tree in the Citadel, though, had been lit by candles for 
generations.  It wouldn’t be until 1914, three years later, that 
strings of electric lights would be used.”
     “Wasn’t it dangerous to use candles?”
     “Perhaps.  But the people were used to working with candles.  
And over the years, they had gone from melting the candles directly 
to the branches, to small candle holders just like you use today 
when the power fails, and then to tiny metal lanterns and glass 
balls with the candles inside.” Daniska paused in her tale to pull 
up some sketches on her iPad.  “See?  These are the types of lights 
they used back in 1911.”
     She touched the screen with her finger and the background 
dimmed and the candles glowed in the animation she’d made.
     “Ooo-ooh,” the children sang and the princess smiled.
     Her sister Anaulka had come out of the kitchen and was leaning 
on the staircase railing to the upstairs watching the performance.  
Daniska saw her and gave a nod of the head.  The younger princess 
carefully stepped around the children and, folding her skirts around, 
settled down on the floor next to the Crown Princess.
     “Master Tomas Blylevin was the Builder for the Crown in those 
days -- he was the greatfather of our own Builder -- and he constructed 
a special frame that sat within the lower boughs of the tree so 
that early clockwork Märklin toy trains could run around the tree.”
     “I wish we had a train running around our tree.”
     “It’s Christmas -- sometimes our wishes come true.”  Daniska 
tapped on her iPad and dimmed the lights in the parlor.  The Christmas 
tree behind the children glowed with the strings of little colored 
LED lights that crisscrossed over the branches.  When she tapped 
again, a different short string of lights appeared deep inside 
the tree -- and moved.  The children shrieked in delight, which 
caused the parents in the kitchen and those sitting at the great 
table drinking to see what was causing the commotion.  But they 
relaxed when they saw they were jumping up and down in excitement 
and pointing at something the princess had shown them.
     Even her sister looked dumbfounded as if to say, How did you 
do this?
     The tiny train, with passenger cars just two inches long and 
rails only 3 mm apart, rose on its thin tracks around and around 
the tree at a fairly steep angle, then came around a platform circling 
near the top that no one had noticed before amidst the lights and 
tinsel, and spiraled back down to repeat the process.  It took the 
train about a minute to make the full circuit.
     The older children, who’d been playing board games in the library 
and cracking nuts, came out to see what the fuss was -- and were 
amazed at Daniska’s latest technical wizardry.  They stayed and 
watched the train go up and down and up the tree again and again 
with their little brothers and sisters and cousins.  After all, 
they were all cousins by some degree to everyone else in the kingdom.
     Anaulka stared at her sister.  “Where on Earth did you find this?”
     “eBay Japan,” Daniska said quietly.  “T-scale is the smallest 
production model trains -- 1:450 ratio -- and they use magnets to 
keep a grip on the rails, so they’re perfect.  Eishindo makes various 
Japanese trains -- their commuter trains look cute snaking up and 
down the tree, don’t you think?”
     “It’s adorable, no matter the ratio gibberish,” Anaulka admitted, 
then whispered, “But how did you find out about them?”
     “Wikipedia.”
     “That’s not true,” Anaulka insisted.  “You can’t just open 
Wikipedia and it gives you answers -- you have to search for something.”
     “True.  I knew about our 1911 tree trains and wanted to do something 
similar.  Except I wanted something subtler.  A surprise, hidden in 
the branches.  Lionel and HO were far too big.  But even N-scale seemed 
large.”
     “N-scale being...?”
     “A very small train size.  But at a model shop in Copenhagen I’d 
seen some Märklin Z-scale -- even smaller.  And when I looked that up 
in Google, I found about ZZ and then T-scale.  It was the magnetic 
track that made up my mind.”
     “So... what did it cost?” Anaulka reluctantly asked.  The kingdom 
was poor and everything, eventually, came down to a matter of money.
     “It should have cost a lot,” Daniska admitted.  “But if you’re 
careful you can find eBay sellers who aren’t very clever -- they have 
the items listed wrong and they don’t set minimum prices.  Sad to say 
this person lost a great deal of money, but that’s the rules.  In the 
great Internet commerce world, it was all fair.”
     “So you’re saying you legally stole these.”
     “I suppose.  It wouldn’t have done much good to send a raiding 
party to acquire them by our usual ultralegal means -- I doubt that 
very many people have ever seen these anywhere in Europe.  There’s 
an online shop in the U.K., though.”
     “Yes, but you haven’t answered my question -- how cheap is 
cheap?”
     “35 000 yen, including shipping, which works out to about 1750 
Danish kroner.  That includes all the track, which wasn’t cheap.  
I worked up the digital controls myself.”
     “Three hundred American -- for all this?” Anaulka scrunched 
up her forehead in surprise.  “Is that all?  I take back all the 
mean things I said about equations and technical specifications.”
     “Like I said, buying them and shipping them to Copenhagen should 
have been much more dear.  In which case I wouldn’t have bought them.”
     “You brought these with you from school?”
     “Of course.  They hardly take up any space, after all.”
     “And you didn’t tell me?” Anaulka punched her sister in the arm.
     “It was worth every krone,” Daniska grinned, while she rubbed 
her sore arm.  “Merry Christmas.”
     “Merry Christmas to you, too.”
     “Now, let’s see what Saint Nicholi has brought the children.”
     “I hope there’re Snickers bars.”
     “I said for the children.”
     “You forget -- I’m still just thirteen.  I am still a child.”
     “Only when you want candy.  The rest of the time you insist 
you’re an adult.”
     “You, my dear sister, are a wretch.”
     Daniska got up, setting her iPad down on the chair.  But as 
she walked over to where there were wrapped presents and a small 
sack of candy from Saint Nicholi to give to the eager children, she 
reached into a pocket of her long skirt and palmed a Snickers bar 
into her sister’s hand -- her favorite.
     “Ooh, it’s the right size and color and everything!” Anaulka 
leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.  “Merry Christmas, Dani,” 
she said, happily smelling the chocolate and the faint odor of peanuts 
through the wrapper.  
     And then the generator stalled and the lights all went out.
     “Merry Christmas, Ani,” Daniska sighed and joined the teenagers 
in lighting the candles in the parlor, the library, the great room 
and the kitchen.  The king added two new logs to the fireplace in 
the parlor and someone found a bag of chestnuts for the children 
to roast.
     When she could relax, Daniska sat down next to her sister and 
they gazed out the front windows, watching the new snow coming down 
and burying their little village.
     It was Christmas in Eisbergen...

From Book One of the Lost Kingdom Chronicles
©2014 Dr. Philip Edward Kaldon -- All Rights Reserved

Saturday 24 May 2014
8:30-9:30
SPONTANEOUS WRITING CONTEST

4. The 1st 8 people on the list who are physically present at the WisCon (not the hotel's) registration desk (2nd floor of the Concourse Hotel) at 8:30 AM on Saturday morning (for example, #s 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 9, 11, and 12) will be the contestants.

5. Each contestant will get a USB flash drive which contains a single RTF (rich-text format) document. That document will contain a few lines of dialog. Your task is to load the document onto your computer, construct a story that incorporates the supplied dialog, save it back to the flash drive, also as an RTF document, and turn it in within 60 minutes. We'll take care of printing them out.

Food, Glorious Food
1:00-2:15 pm Caucus
Catherine Krahe(M), Matt Austern, Penny Hill, Philip Edward Kaldon, Rich McAllister
In our lived lives food of our cultural background, or our ancestors, plays a significant part of our sense of home and cultural identity. Who are the writers who integrate details of food with an eye toward cultural specificity and diversity in their speculative fiction? What is the significance of food in stories? What is its function? How does this inclusion affect the world/setting of the story?

Sunday 25 May 2014
The Corporation as Character in Science Fiction
8:30-9:45 am Senate A
Marguerite Reed (M), Alex Gurevich, Chip Hitchcock, Philip Edward Kaldon, Catherine Lundoff
Science fiction, particularly in films, is full of corporations with evil or morally ambiguous intent: Yoyodyne, Terrell Corp, Umbrella Corp, the list is nearly endless. They may be represented by a single villainous character or by numerous faceless functionaries, but what the viewer remembers / is presented with is the corporation itself as the villain. Is that enough to make the corporation an entity, a "person," in their own right? Are corporations inherently evil? Or simply amoral? How has the depiction of the corporation changed in SF? Is it different in anime or manga, comics, written SF vs media SF? Where do we see that image of the corporation going in the near future?

Fashions of the Future
2:30–3:45 pm Conference 5
Jenny Sessions (M), Lucy Adlington, Philip Edward Kaldon, Rebecca Maines, Heather McDougal
Would there be humans in space without zippers and Velcro? Captain Picard wore a spandex corset under his Enterprise uniform because Gene Roddenberry decreed there should be no unseemly bulges in space. How do sci-fi clothes reflect contemporary fashions and social prejudices? Shiny jumpsuits, micro-mini dresses, tribal robes and spacesuits… let's explore how gender/race/status/exoticism are shown through the clothes and uniforms of sci-fi past and present, from 19th century images of "deep-sea diver" spacewear to NASA-inspired outfits, plus more fantastical sci-fantasy creations. Are we seeing inventive or derivative clothes in sci-fi films/TV shows? Is there still a routine overt sexualisation of female spacewear? How might emerging textile technologies affect future human space travel and off-Earth colonisation?

Monday 26 May 2014
Twists and Turns (Readings)
10:00-11:15 am Conference 2
Carrie L. Ferguson, Philip Edward Kaldon, Lucas James Pralle, Zora M. Quynh
Four authors of diverse genres. Life, death, after death, multiverse, getting a date on a starship and the stories we tell children. The only common theme? Some of the stories have protagonists named Lily. Come for the melange, stay for the stories.