Welcome,
Dear Reader, to Orphans Eleven. I am Father Gulligan, your Editor and
Host. My Patron and I have spared every expense to adorn these pages
with only the most spare and
basic
design
elements. Our purpose
is to minimize
visual
distractions that might impede your fullest enjoyment of the words contained
herein. Actually, you have the Mr. Ellison to thank for this. And perhaps
the author's visits to early editions of McSweeney's. I might have preferred
a more elaborate visual statement.
I entreat you, however, not to be too hard on our
Patron for these apparent paucities. He is, after all, providing this space at
absolutely no charge. But why
should you care about any of this? These are merely squabbles between a poor
Editor
and
his Patron.
So just forget all this dithering and read a story. But first....
One of my long-held goals as an Editor, is to be able to write one of those clever Submission Guidelines pieces that tells you not to be too clever, what to say about yourself in your cover letter (you must eschew mentioning any achievements beyond high school graduation so that the editors will not be influenced by your inevitable inflations as opposed to your story, which they wish to stand naked in the klieg lights of their judicial inquiry), whether to email or snailmail, how long you should expect to wait before getting your rejection slip, that you won't earn a dime for your efforts even if your submission is published, and to never even think of following up on your submission because editors are very busy and mercurial people who can become mean-spirited and "forgetful" at the drop of a hat. And so forth. But alas, I shall have to wait longer to achieve my long-held goal: I am currently handcuffed by my Patron's inflexible policy of publishing only his own material in Orphans Eleven. Such infamies we poor Editors must tolerate at the hands of Patrons and Publishers!
As you might expect, I am obligated to inform you that anything you read in Orphans Eleven is copyrighted material that is the exclusive property of E. T. Ellison, our most generous Patron. It may not be reproduced or distributed in any way, shape or form without the express written permission of the Patron. But you can read whatever you find here without fear of further legal or extralegal intimidation.
I am also obligated to mention the fact that the stories are fiction. If you are a diligent reader you will doubtless be able to identify (and catalog, if so inclined) the fictils (fiction filaments) woven into each tale. If you've just arrived from Elsewhere and are not familiar with the Earthly concept of fiction, it means (in this context) that all persons, places and incidents in the stories are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, which seems a little like circular reasoning. In plain language, nothing you read here is real or true. Anything that sounds real or true is must technically be considered pure coincidence, even though you might wish it really was real or true. If you think this might be stretching the probabilities associated with the concept of "coincidence" beyond the breaking point, remind yourself that legalisms are subject only to their own internal truths. And that's the law.
UNTIL NEXT TUESDAY -- This tale might properly be titled "The Secret Lives of Rocking Chairs". The instigator for it was the author's mother who was well aware that the author needs only the thinnest of excuses to write about any absurd thing or another. Is it truly a tale about the dangers of allowing a woman to come between the best of chairmates? It's worth reading to find out. And be prepared to grin.
Read Until Next Tuesday by E. T. Ellison, wherein the natures of boxes, stuffed animals and a plastic amputee are illuminated. 2005
CATS IN THE CHANNEL -- The author has confided in me that this first story is dedicated to the memory of a cat named Madonnawanna. I am not so sure: I suspect it is nothing more than an op-ed piece thinly disguised as a short story. One of my jobs as Editor is Classification and Description. That is to say, where to slot these items in one's perceptual filing cabinet. I doubt that your perceptual filing cabinet has a place called Absurdist Self-Colloquoy, but maybe it will in the future.
Read Cats in the Channel by E. T. Ellison, a first person account of a remarkable aquatic venture involving thousands of felines. 2003
TONEWOOD ANGEL -- I have it from the author's own mouth that he once entertained the notion of becoming an amateur luthier. This notion went so far as the purchase of an acoustic bass kit from the famous C. F. Martin & Company guitar works. Eventually, the author's notion faded enough that he hired a professional luthier to put it together and make it beautiful. Out of admiration for the maniacally patient artistry of luthiers and the heady dust of tonewoods, was this story assembled. Or so says the author.
Read Tonewood Angel by E. T. Ellison, a speculation on the miracles of tonewoods and the ironies of postmodern gods. 2003
O C C A S I O N A L T A L E S
The stories that follow are noncommercial tales from the author's "occasional tales" collection. Many are so-called "one-reader stories" written for friends and family to mark special occasions like birthdays, holidays, anniversaries and so forth. One might think of these as over-elaborate, over-indulgent greeting cards. The author suggests that each story is dotted with numerous references that only the original recipient will fully appreciate, but invites you to read them anyway if you are so inclined.
THE SANTA WHISPERER -- With all the whispering that going around, the Generalist decided to try his hand at the genre, if genre it be and not just another Post-Literary Fad. Since Christmas 2003 was shaping up to be another gift-giving disaster, The Santa Whisperer was distributed relentlessly to friends and family in lieu of more robust gifts.
Read The Santa Whisperer by E. T. Ellison, a tale of Santaville, sitcoms, bad news, a shrinking Santa, a clever elf, a wise mouse named Earnest and a Siberian reindeer known as Comatowski. 2003
THE TINSEL TRAP -- The first multi-reader tale in this Occasional Tales Collection, this is an expanded and updated translation of an obscure 1950 detective story by obscure British writer Maxine Frank, which might be someone else entirely. Or so we are told by Mr. Ellison in his Foreword and Afterword to the story. A somewhat truncated version was the Generalist's imposition on the patience of holiday recipients in 2002.
Read The
Tinsel Trap by
Maxine Frank (translated from British English by E. T. Ellison), wherein
private detective Hawkeye Smale gets caught up in a mystery involving
Dr. Seuss, Wildroot Cream Oil, skinny feet and a shipload of thinly
veiled threats to the
American Way of Life. 2002
Editor's Note: There are quite a few more Occasional Tales in our patron's filing cabinets. You can be sure that whenever the needs of my flock diminish momentarily and allow me a little free time, I will endeavor to add some of the more deserving (and shorter) ones to Orphans Eleven. Meantime, as I am now accorded responsibility for also editing www.etellison.com, I must bid you adeiu. Thank you for visiting.