I unfollowed you on Twitter . . .

 Okay, I've been pulling on a certain plug for weeks, and I'm about to completely yank the cord and removed that connection. It started with just unfollowing every single person and entity that I follow on Twitter. It's not the app it was, by any stretch of the imagination. When it first went south, I remember a few diehards planting their feet and saying, "I shall not go," but I never felt that impulse whatsoever. 

Sure, over about fifteen years I got the followers built up to four digits -- that kind of ego-salve is hard to give up. But it was one person's massive ego that really ruined Twitter in the first place, and that seems a bit of a lesson and warning in itself. And lets get real here -- that follower number is largely due to the BBC Sherlock explosion of last decade. Most of those folks have probably drifted off, and ninety percent of them never clicked the links to go to any of the blog posts or podcasts anyway. It was a pretty number while it lasted, but for practical purposes, not worth much.

Sherlockiana has never been a large numbers field for most of us, as the highly collectible nature of its books, monographs, and other limited creations will attest. If you can reach a hundred Sherlockians with a non-pastiche bit of writing, you're doing good. (And probably even with a pastiche -- those things are the true oysters of Sherlockiana that a modern Sherlock Holmes could babble about whilst pretending fever.) The internet has connected us more, given us more range, and Zoom has done some wonderful things, but we still have a lot to learn about its best uses. We're evolving.

Whilst none of us know what path the future will take with this stuff Bluesky has really become the best tool for weaning one's self from Sherlockian Twitter. (If you need an invitation to that and I know you're a real human, let me know and I'll send you one.) And Facebook is still the eternal Facebook it always was, just as problematic but wonkily useful.

So if I unfollowed you on Twitter lately. Sorry about that, but you do what you gotta do.

The Eight-Three Men Who Gave Us Sherlock Holmes

 It's not often I feel compelled to write a blog post that's a direct sequel to someone else's blog post. One would expect that such a post would be an argument against points made in the earlier post, but in this case the inspiration comes from both the other new blog post and the fact I was rewatching Into the Spiderverse for a while this afternoon.

The post is Rob Nunn's latest "Interesting though Elementary," entitled "The History of this Terrible Business." Go give it a read, if you haven't already.

In his conclusion, Rob points out that the tragedy of the bloody breakout and mutiny that destroyed the prison ship Gloria Scott was part of the chain of events that led to Sherlock Holmes becoming a detective. Without all the horrible events of that dire place in Canonical history, Sherlock Holmes wouldn't have become the hero we know today.

The 2018 film Spider-man: Into the Spiderverse, which dealt with multiple universes where different Spider-man stories occurred, had a concept called "Canon events" which were moments that had to happen in every Spider-man's life, no matter what other circumstances surrounded him. Parts of his origin, later tragedies . . . the story of each depended upon certain events to keep them "Canon" and not destroy their entire world. (Ruining the story, one might say.)

So if the destruction of the ship Gloria Scott is a Canon event of importance to Sherlock Holmes lore, that means eighty-three people must die in every universe to create one Sherlock Holmes. We are given the full tally of people aboard the ship: 

"She was a five-hundred-ton boat; and besides her thirty-eight jail-birds, she carried twenty-six of a crew, eighteen soldiers, a captain, three mates, a doctor, a chaplain, and four warders. Nearly a hundred souls were in her, all told, when we set sail from Falmouth."

Nine people are known to have survived the tragic end of the Gloria Scott. The math is pretty straightforward. Eighty-three men died to create one Sherlock Holmes on November 6, 1855. And think about that for a moment . . .

There are those who would like us to believe that Sherlock Holmes was born on January 6, 1854, based on some party-animal's love of his brother's birthday and some suspect year calculations. But didn't we just say that the event that made Sherlock Holmes who he was occurred on November 6, 1855? A date which birthed a man whose utter fascination with crime and criminals, some criminality in his own soul, and a desire to fight against those same criminals. 

What if the Gloria Scott was releasing the souls of eighty-three soldiers, sailors, and criminals into the ether at the exact moment a baby came into the world needing some soul matter of his own, and through some strange and spooky spiritual event that would have been right up Conan Doyle's alley, Sherlock Holmes became the reincarnation of eighty-three men, with the strength in mind and body of multiple men and the desire to occasionally dress up like a sailor.

'Tis a pity that November 6 has already passed us by this year, for it might just have cause to be a new Sherlockian holiday. Thanks for that, Rob!

Sherlok (sp) November

 Ten days into "Watsowrimo," as I'm calling National Novel Writing Month this November, the writer's block has officially hit. My tale of Sherlockians dealing with a mystery has played out to the point it has played out before and come up dry. One of the characters went to Walmart -- that's how bad things got. Sherlockians go to the Mysterious Bookshop, they don't go to Walmart. (Well, a lot of us probably do, but not in our Sherlockian mode . . . I mean, what's the last Sherlockian item you heard of being at Walmart?)

So here I am taking a little blogger break. But, then, what do I have to blog about?

How about a copy of Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters?

Masters was a law partner of Clarence Darrow who originally aspired to be a poet, writing poems about the local folk where he grew up in the middle of Illinois where the Spoon River winds around through a bunch of small towns. Working my aunt's antique store during an annual event called the "Spoon River Drive" I took a little interest in Masters and picked up this book. And what is its marginal tie to Sherlock Holmes that makes it blog material?

Its bookplate.

In 1965, this book was owned by a guy named Sherlok V. Miller. Try googling that and you'll get Johnny Lee Miller every time.  Dropping that "c" out of "Sherlock" is a curious thing. Merely parents who didn't know how to spell? A time-travelling fan of the 2015 Ukranian Sherlok TV show? (And if it's a time traveller, maybe it's Paul Thomas Miller with his brain attic dishevelled by the transit.)

There's a Sherlockian Chronologist Guild newsletter for me to work on, if my writer's block continues. I probably should dynamite the narrative of my November novel to blast the writer's block out of there. If it's anything like past works, it may just wind up in the closet come December, but the exercise is always good. Like many another thing, the journey is the real reward of doing the thing -- something that is definitely going to be lost on the more eager AI adopters, trying to cheat actually being creative. But that's a conversation for another time.

November continues.

Grasping Sherlockiana with One’s Mental Tentacle

 Fellow blogger Rob Nunn likes to ask Sherlockians to define the word “Sherlockian” when he conducts his bloggerviews, and nobody seems to have an issue answering his question. Most of us have an answer to what makes another person Sherlockian in our eyes. But there is a tougher question, one which I’ve seen seriously invested Sherlockians struggle with over the years. Identifying as a Sherlockian is easy. Identifying your current location on the Sherlockian map, however, is something entirely different.

If you go to an amusement park, a zoo, or many another attraction with a landscape, you’ll usually find a map with a “You are here” arrow pointing to your current location. The Sherlockian landscape, the mental amusement park where we spend our fun time, has never had a visual map. It has lands within lands, and those lands have connecting borders. Original Canon land borders Actual History land, Pastiche land, and Literary Academia land. But where does Movie land and its parts and offshoots, like Cast Cottage and Movie Universe Fic Forest, lie? 

And while we might park ourselves in one spot for a time, one can’t help but wander Sherlockiana. People come to be familiar with us along certain paths, other folks in areas we seldom  visit, not so much. And we can get so enthralled with a given attraction in Sherlockiana world that we can even forget, for a time, that there are other people right next to us in our explorations of the lands. Or that people in one area can hear folks in other areas. Folks can get on a Sherlock sort of sugar high and crash into folks as they run through the attractions. Others just quietly do their part in keeping the machinery of the established rides running. A few Sherlockians have such a history with Sherlockiana that they become side attractions themselves when they leave the field. (Jim Hawkins setting up John Bennett Shaw displays comes quickly to mind.)

For a small part of the big outside world, the lands of Sherlockiana are expansive and ever-growing. The “You are here” arrow moves a lot, even if you’re just sitting on a bench. And so we wonder. And wander. And wonder.

Nanowrimo versus AI

 Next month is National Novel Writing Month, the annual challenge for writers of all genres and levels to attempt getting 50,000 words under their belts in the month of November. It's been going on since 1999, and I've participated a few times with varying results. Going to try again this year, but there's one thing that's a little different this year . . . AI.

This is the first year that we're all painfully aware that a computer algorithm is out there that can write a 50,000 or more word novel in a much, much, MUCH shorter period of time. At this point, it's not good enough at it to write a great novel, or probably even a good novel, but you know there are already doofuses out there with no scruples or talent having AI write them novels and trying to sell them. Trying a self-published book by an unknown has become much more risky.

So a computer program can write a book . . . and one day, we can imagine, it might be able to write a book as well as a lot of us. Why should we bother writing novels at that point?

Well, we already have robots that can run a marathon faster and further than a human. Why do marathoners still run? 

Because there have always been better runners, even when it was just us humans. Most runners don't run to win. Runners run for the experience, for how it improves their bodies, and a hundred other reasons.

It's the same with writing.

National novel writing month isn't about having a potential New York Times bestseller come December. It isn't really even about testing yourself to see if you can do it. It's about just writing and writing and writing and learning what all that experience will teach you. It might teach you that you can write a novel. It might teach you how to push past writer's block as the artificial deadline makes you learn to first-draft without self-criticism. It might show you parts of your mind that were just waiting to get out if only the other parts would quiet down and let them out. 

Ever watch a kung fu movie where the troubled main character has to go into a montage of repeating and repeating and learning and getting more skilled? Nanowrimo November is that montage for a writer.

Sure, an AI can write a novel or draw a picture for your lazy ass. But it sure isn't going to make you a better human. Remember that movie WALL-E and those lazy lumps that humans had become as the robots did all their work for them? Yeah, that, but for creativity.

As I've mentioned over at the John H. Watson Society website, this year I'm calling my own personal marathon of words "Watsowrimo" and inviting fellow Sherlockians to join in. We've still got over a week until November, so give it a little thought. You will definitely wind up a better person than those AI-using lumps pretending to be creative.

The Third Annual Pub Night at the Dangling Prussian

 Now, if you go to a lot of a certain kind of Sherlockian functions, you're apt to run into folks who ask a certain question: "Are you going to New York?"

Call it the Birthday Weekend, call it the BSI weekend, call it the Pilgrimage of the Potentials, but whatever you call it, the eldest community of Sherlock Holmes fans (by a smidge) spends a long weekend meeting and mingling with their peers. And it's where people go in January.

Well, most of us.

But if you read the headline to this blog post and have seen similar words before, you know that at least one person is committing to sitting in front of a Zoom screen for a long evening on Friday night January 12th. For many a decade, an alternative dinner was held in New York for folks who couldn't get into the annual dinner of the Baker Street Irregulars, and once Covid was done, the idea of taking that spirit to include all those who can't even get to New York (and a few who did, in past years) seemed like a good idea. So here we go again.

It's time for the third annual Dangling Prussian Pub Night. Here's the registration link, if you already know you're homebound come January 12:

https://us02web.zoom.us/meeting/register/tZckdeihrzguE9BngTJSLbDNjk1RUNGkjo73

Not sure what will make up the six hours. Most all of the folks who might do a presentation are going to be in New York. And it's far too late across the Atlantic for any of our European friends. Also, Zoom -- there are limits.

But after two previous virtual pub nights at the Dangling Prussian, as we call our Zoom alternative, somehow we make it through with a little program, a little gossip, and a lot of just hanging out, enjoying the company.

I might get back to New York City one day, but for now, I'm comfortable hosting a little virtual get together for those who can't. More on this to come, of course, as we figure out just what will happen in those six hours. But as invitations start to go out for the main event with the BSI in New York, it's time to start planning for everywhere else.

So Pika-Sherlock has a Watson now?

 So I went for a walk this evening, racing that rapidly closing window of daylight that exists between the end of the workday and autumn sunset. And I pulled up that little game I play on my walks sometimes, which I share with several other Sherlockian and non-Sherlockian friends. And then this guy appeared:

I'd seen him out there before, when the movie Detective Pikachu came out, but he wasn't using the magnifying glass so much. And then something different sprang up on my radar for Pokemon I hadn't seen yet.

There were just two new critters out tonight, so one has to suspect their appearance is connected. And if one is a "Sherlock," the other one in the normal sort of hat would seem to be his "Watson."

A little heavier than Sherlock, a little slower than Sherlock, and a different hat. Does that a Watson make?

It seems to be so in the minds of Nintendo, or whatever subsidiary runs Pokemon Go for them. A new game is out for the Nintendo Switch called Detective Pikachu Returns. Is his Watson in the game a Slowpoke type of Pokemon, or is that just something out in the wild for Pokemon Go?

I don't know, but it's time to start tossing those Pokeballs at Pikachus again!