Conan Doyle is Satan, apparently.

It was somewhere close to midnight on Friday night, when I was finishing the John H. Watson Society Treasure Hunt quiz, in an unexpected last minute burst of Sherlockian vigor. And I came to the last three questions . . .

"From [Tottenham Court Road] find the item whose value could not be conjectured."

Okay, simple enough. Already in "Blue Carbuncle" for that last answer and how does Holmes describe the carbuncle?

"It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured . . ."

Well, like I said, it was close to midnight and the word "conjectured" was there, so I answered "The blue carbuncle."

Next question: "With the splendid us of [that item] in mind, find the red connector."

What was the use of the blue carbuncle? Well, as Holmes was describing it, he called it one of "the devil's pet baits."  And, hey, the devil is red, isn't he? So the devil is the "red connector," obviously.

Next question: "The final treasure -- find the [answer to previous question] who runs through all the sixty adventures of Holmes and Watson, although he is mentioned only once in the Canon. Who?"

Well, there's only one devil mentioned by name in the Canon, and then only once: Satan.

Imagine my surprise when the official answers were given out today and that final answer, according to the JHWS Treasure Hunt officiary was . . . prepare yourself . . . Arthur Conan Doyle.

Now, in "Devil's Foot," we know the vicar came running in going "We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor parish is devil-ridden! Satan himself is loose it it!"

That's an actual mention by an actual character. And all the crime, all the human suffering, all the mistaken identities running through the Canon, could, if you are of that religious point of view, be attributed to Satan. Kind of an evangelical turn for a Sherlock Holmes quiz, but to each their own, I say.

Conan Doyle, however, isn't mentioned in the Canon itself. He signs his name to the preface to Casebook, but his name is on the title page too . . . do we count the title-page as Canon? I suppose that's a religious doctrine choice as well, given "Canon." But the inserting of "Conan Doyle" in a place that obviously belonged to Satan, well, I guess he did kill Sherlock Holmes with malign intent, but putting him on equal footing with Satan still seems a little extreme a conjecture on the part of the John H. Watson Society as an official body.

But, as you might recall from that first question in this little adventure in quiz-taking, some things can "not be conjectured." And I suppose that is what shows the difference between Conan Doyle and Satan and the paths to either. Or why I might have made a mistake with horrific consequences in that near-midnight hour on Friday.

The John H. Watson Society Treasure Hunt continues to be an adventure which can lead to madness for the unwary Sherlockian who ventures upon that path alone. Maybe next year I had better team up again to avoid the demonic pitfalls that awaited this time around.

Embracing my Sherlockian failures.

Welcome to the last day of August 2018.

I have been weighed, I have been measured, and I have been found wanting. Lunch today featured a selfie at a local bar with a tenderloin in hand, which is where my rock bottom lies, since I don't really do alcohol as most do. And why? Why have I come to this over-dramatized pose of despair and failure?

Today is the deadline day to turn in the John H. Watson Society Treasure Hunt. And my answer sheet is missing about a third of the answers. We're looking at about a "D+" at best on a grade school test. That score that gets you held back a year. I've got my excuses: Going it alone. (Pride fail?) World of Warcraft expansion release. (Addiction?) That St. Louis weekend and its attendant projects/duties/added efforts. ("Professional" distractions? Trying to go kind of Sherlock-y with the excuses, as you might have noticed.) But even with excuses, there is still going to be a grim acceptance that has to happen to hit the "send" button on the e-mail to the quiz-commander.

And it makes for a moment to stop and look at every other failure in my Sherlockian life. The scion society that died under my watch. The website full of data I killed. The opportunities I said "no" to that were big mistakes (and continue to do such). The friendship (or two) that I completely destroyed. Being kind of a dick about a TV show some people love. And let's not even get into my life as a Baker Street Irregular. Man, I just suck.

And yet . . .

I'm very lucky in that, with all that, I don't suffer from true depression or another of life's real issues. I can put on a good show of despair in a dark moment, but there are "humble brag" aspects to all of that whining above, and I'm actually doing okay. I can sit in a bar and compare Sherlockian "battle scars" like Quint in Jaws with the best of them. And I'm still moving. Because every failure offers an opportunity to rise up once again. Some wonderful folk have the ability and perseverance to just keep rising in life (or at least give the appearance of such), and some of us get to enjoy getting knocked down and rising up to the same height over and over again, maybe gaining a few more inches each time. Or not.

But just to be still standing, at some point, is enough. Turning in a partially finished Treasure Hunt challenge tonight is a statement that, "Yes, I'm still here, still a Sherlockian. And I'll be back again for the next thing, whether it succeeds or not."

So it's the last day of August. See you next month, when we're all having at something else.

Sherlockians! Make this our final National Bow Tie Day.

On this, our nation's National Bow Tie Day, I would like to make a heartfelt plea to my Sherlockian brethren. Or a maniacal rant, depending upon your point of view.

There has been a rise of bow tie usage among elder Sherlockians in recent years. Some would say that it has always been a part of our culture, that it's a harmless practice that does not lead to harder fashion choices, and that it has something, somehow to do with Sherlock Holmes if you wear a bow tie of the correct colors . . . . if you've ever tried to hold a bow tie intervention, you know all the excuses. But it is time, with a new generation of Sherlockians moving into leadership and a fresh chance to help our less fortunate brethren, to end this visual vice once and for all.

They say that no one hates smoking as much as an ex-smoker, and, full disclosure, I am a reformed wearer of the bow tie. It took decades of self-reflection, the concern of caring friends, and just seeing the sad outcomes of those chose the bow-tie path. Living in Illinois, one can't help but be haunted by what that bow tie cost Senator Paul Simon when he ran for governor against a future prison inmate and lost. But I'm not coming from a place of shame in my past, but holding out the hand of hope.

A flirtation with the bow tie is almost a regular part of the geek/nerd developmental arc. As said individual learns to integrate with actually good-looking fashion motifs, the bow tie will typically fall away, save in those who double-down on the practice rather than admit their mistake and moving on. Society, however, has not been helpful to those poor souls, tossing them the occasional cultural bread crumb, as in the notorious "new Doctor moment," two incarnations ago.

Early in his run, Matt Smith's Doctor Who quipped, "Bow ties are cool!" and the fans went wild. But a Sherlockian must ask themselves the following questions:

a.) Are you Doctor Who?
b.) Are you cosplaying Doctor Who?
c.) Are you confused about which fandom you are in?

If the answer to any of the above is "yes," one might be excused for wearing a bow tie on appropriate occasions. But as a life choice?

Sherlock Holmes would not wear a bow tie, lest it was the white collar-decorator of the "simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman." It's hard to imagine him tolerating a tuxedo, that single mainstream acceptable use of the accessory. And does it somehow make one look more literary when combined with eyewear? Add a fluffy-feathered quill pen, and maybe so.

Vests, watch chains, tie-pins, maybe French cuffs . . . all acceptable nods to Holmes in fashion. But that bow-tie? Seeing a friend don a purple/mouse/blue Cub Scout neck scarf might be less disheartening than seeing them fall into that bow-tie fashion spiral of doom!

Yet what can we, the concerned, do to help our poor Sherlockian brethren lift themselves up from that dark place of the throatwear?

Can we find something more visually palatable that they might be drawn to, to wean them off the Devil's bow? The cravat, perhaps? Holmes did cravats! Watson did cravats! Even Lestrade did cravats! The cravat and smoking-jacket -- or better yet, dressing gown! -- combination might have that classic suave look that could lure the most single-minded of bow tie wearers away from their addiction. Sure, it might seem more of an around-the-mansion look, but better to keep them indoors for a time whilst the general public forgets their unfortunate past fashion choices. You can tell them about the outdoor uses with ulsters and pea-jackets eventually.

Social change of this magnitude takes time, I know. But we are a hopeful people, and one day . . . yes, one day . . . one, bright and sunny day . . . you know where I'm going with this . . .

We may see the last Sherlockian to put on "his last bow."

(Cravat Day is October 18. Let's see what we can do.)

A Canon of drafts.

Think that this Sherlockian blogging business produces a lot of words on Sherlock Holmes?

Doing a little online housecleaning this morning, I saw that I currently have sixty unfinished blogs in my draft folder. The dates show that they've built up over the past three years, and usually my unfinished drafts are only a line or two of an idea that didn't pan out. But, you never know, so this lazy Sunday morning seemed like a good time to see what thoughts I didn't follow up on, see if there are patterns, etc.

The first is only a title, but the title shows it was intending to review a third season episode of Elementary. Late spring of 2015 was about the time I had decided to give up on the constant Elementary reviews, so this makes sense. Two drafts later, an actually pretty well developed entry titled "The Epic Failure of Joan Watson" sitting in the bin confirms this, as it looks like I still had some thoughts on the matter, but was willing to start letting them go.

Shortly after that is the start of another piece of Sherlock Holmes and Dinosaurs fan fiction, a fandom within a fandom that blossomed beautifully for a time, but now has mostly gone silent. Alas.

Some blog posts get basically finished but never published, and when on comes to one where the topic is a political mixture of the Conan Doyle Estate, Steve Dixie, and Confederate monuments, it's easy to see how a reluctance to miss the mark on tone could hold up hitting that "Publish" button.

In an odd bit of synchronocity with today's headline, the next on the list was inspired by the moment Donald Trump claimed that John McCain was no hero, entitled "Was Sherlock Holmes a Hero?" I apparently got only two sentences in and never bot back, but those two sentences are enough to identify exactly what inspired it.

Hypocritcial Sherlockians, the quiet kids, Zen Sherlocking, BSI shillings, the hundred dollar sandwich, Mary Morstan versus the patriarchy, bullets in a jar, worms in apples, "Mazarin Stone," hardships of Sherlockian pioneers, personal Facebook rules, "racing engine," the chosen fans, stewards of our community, tweetalongs, words, a Sherlockian's Sherlockian, Ichneumon GO!,  whisteria . . . a lot of partial essays out there in that file.

But then, blogging has always been as much an exercise in the doing for me, rather than the response. It's basically an open diary that I throw out on the web in the hopes that it might be of use to someone else. Since it's open, however, some entries do hit a point where they seem to have no possible benefit to anyone else . . . or just lose my own interest before they reach any kind of conclusion or natural stopping point. And those are the ones that wind up in the draft file.

If you think about Sherlockiana as a whole . . . the pastiches, the researches into minutiae, the social gatherings . . . most do follow a similar pattern to my blogging habits. We enjoy Sherlock Holmes in the way that works for us, then delight when our fellow Sherlockians come along for the ride. Perhaps their company does give us some motivation, but there is a good amount of this that I suspect we'd just do anyway. Sherlock Holmes is our excuse.

And no matter what your approach to enjoying Mr. Sherlock Holmes, there is always going to be collateral wastage. Whether it's books you didn't really need, interesting facts you pick up along the way, or just a weird statue of a duck that stares at you as you type, even now . . . . yipes.

Discovering a Canon-amount of drafts out there wasn't a real surprise. Just how much thought had gone into them, then was left behind, however . . . that was a bit of a shock, even with a decent understanding of the thought behind each abandonment. Yet it's just a result of the richness of this hobby.

Sherlock and Sherlockians never fail to fascinate.

Ferrell and Reilly

And here we go.

With the release of the new poster image for Holmes and Watson, starring Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly, the prejudgments and the prejudices are starting to roll out, and with all the negative connotations to those words, in this case, I have to let the haters off the hook, despite the fact that I am, quite honestly, looking forward to loving this movie!

I've been a fan of Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly, together and separately, long enough to know that a whole lot of people just aren't going to go for any comedy they put together. Talledega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby was the gold standard for wacky comedy, and even it has haters. Holmes and Watson, I have every confidence, will probably be more of a Bewitched of Semi-Pro. The director,  Etan Cohen, who directed Ferrell in Get Hard, is working with his own script for the first time, though, so who knows how that will go . . . and yet . . . .

Comedy.

Most good comedies come in around 50% on Rotten Tomatoes, and when a comedy gets anywhere close to a hundred percent on that site, you know it may not be as funny as it could be. Critics like messages and relevance and the best comedy is both irrelevant and not worried about making sense, which are Will Ferrell's movie strong suits.

Yet Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlockians, tend to be about making things make sense, so this movie is going to have a hard climb with the Sherlockian fan base. (You know how "the base" can be. Chanting "LOCK THEM UP!" about Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly at a Holmes film gathering does not seem out of the realm of possibility.)

I would come out and already predict it won't have a sequel, but how many seasons has Elementary had at this point? You just never know, as it's the non-Sherlockian world that decides these things, not us. Yes, I know, some Sherlockians like Elementary, but the dead silence about it from the larger share says something. There's a kindness there that I don't think we'll be seeing applied to Holmes and Watson.

But, hey, Sherlock Gnomes made it through the big-screen mill without Sherlockian rioting and vicious web-troll attacks, so we shall see come December.

I, for one, can't wait!

An appreciative reading.

I am having the best time with our local library discussion group. Each month bring some truly fresh insights to those age-old tales of Sherlock Holmes, and after tonight's meeting, the good Carter made a very interesting observation.

"I read the stories in a different way for this group."

I had been comparing the discussion group nights to the meeting's of Peoria's Hansoms of John Clayton, which met bi-monthly at member's Holmes for what was a mix of Holmes worship-service and a cocktail party. We had rituals to be followed in a pattern at every meeting like clockwork: The Clayton Ritual, the toasts, the announcements, the speaker, the quiz, Starrett's "221B" . . . I'm going to have to recreate the whole pattern exactly one of these days, as there was a bit more too it, but those things happened reliably each meeting. The key focus on the story (or two for a time) each meeting was the quiz, testing the members' knowledge of the tale . . . which meant you read each story for memorizable details.

Our groups, like the Occupants of the Empty House down south of us, forswore quizzes from the start, and looking back, I can see where they were right. Quizzes caused more friction in our ranks than any other part of Sherlockiana, and like I said, you read the stories to prepare for the quiz . . . a very different read than a read for enjoyment. It also had the side effect of members not reading the stories if they didn't plan to take the quiz, and thus were there just to socialize and talk about whatever was on their mind on that particular evening.

We had some good times, don't get me wrong. I don't want to hindsight critique a program that worked very well for its time, for many a club. But even then we often complained at the group getting off the topic of Holmes so much of the time, and I think the quiz-targeted story reads really had something to do with that.

Reading the story for the current group, with no set purpose in mind, one can light upon some little detail like the "bachelor quarters" at Watson's house and wonder at it, knowing it will make for a lively share with the group . . . and that quite often, someone will bring it up before you do! Did Henry and Nancy eventually get together for a final few years? Why was Colonel Barclay so afraid of the dark? What did the actual Biblical story of David have to do with a name whose actual purpose was theorized but never verified?

I never have time to follow all the rabbit holes I see before me walking out of the library every month these days, but that is a problem I don't mind having. After decades upon decades with these same old stories, they've become very new to me of late, and I have our local library discussion group to thank for it. It took us a little while to really get off the ground, but just over a year and a half in, we're doing well enough that I'd highly recommend starting a Holmes short story club at your own library if you have half an inkling. You might be surprise at the Sherlockians who come out of the bushes in a town you might have thought was Sherlocked out.

Discovered Sherlock Holmes fragment, fresh.

Let's talk some speculative potential adventure for Sherlock Holmes, shall we?

First, Watson will narrate:

"It was the week before my marriage, when wedding plans were being made in earnest and the job of the groom was simply to stay as far away from the process as a close companion might take him. In my case, that companion was my friend Sherlock Holmes, and the place was Yorkshire, where . . . "

Now, we want to start hitting some triggers here, so let's get right to the big guns:

". . . Inspector Lestrade had recently found a calling card upon the body of an ill-fated Beowulf scholar. The name upon that calling card, which was at that time unknown to me apart from the quite familiar surname, was that of "Mr. Mycroft Holmes."

Okay, so we have Lestrade for familiarity, Mycroft for intrigue, and Beowulf for something new to the lore. But why? Why are we going through this exercise, repeated by so many writers for decades?

Why, indeed. But Holmes needs to do something detective-y now, so we'll have to ponder that later.

"Sherlock Holmes had spent a full hour in the gardener's shed of Crosswick Manor, which was notable in that no gardener had been employed at the old country house for nearly a decade. He had instructed me to go carefully over every inch of the staircase upon which Professor Melbury was found with that fatal secateurs wound having pierced his femoral artery."

Sadly, that sounds like someone was just playing Clue and reporting their game-winning theory. We need something remarkable about this case to put in the title, like some podcast waiting for the one clever line they can sell their episode with.

"When Holmes emerged from the shed, he was not alone. Wrapped in his great wool coat and protectively shepherded with one arm was what looked to be a creature of some woodland fairy tale, an unnaturally pale creature with large eyes and a crown of holly and ivy. Holmes was speaking to this curious being in a tongue I did not recognize, save for the name 'Watson' which caused the creature to nod in a seeming wise agreement."

Now we're talking. "The Adventure of the Yorkshire Faerie" or somesuch will make a great title, before Sherlock ruins it all by explaining that he/she/they are an albino from Andorra who . . . well, we can't give alway all the goods at this point, can we?

"'Watson, I trust I can commend our new friend to your care, and that you will not allow Lestrade to take this poor soul into custody in my absence,' Holmes said, and as soon as the remarkable creature under his arm seemed comfortable standing beside me, was off and down the lane toward the main road."

Yes, yes, Holmes and Watson need to interact more, but this seems to be an outline of sorts. And actually, it's just a before-bed ramble at the keyboard, so any hopes of this being solved in this blog post are pretty non-existent and a hope for another day.

So with that . . . .

Poof!