Short for CONvention COMmittee. These are the fans who handle the details of putting on any give convention–making arrangements with the hotels, arranging the program, selected guests, encouraging participation, providing technical or other services. The smaller the convention, the fewer fans are needed to make up a ConCom–there have been a few in our history in which only one fan did all the work. Many early Worldcons had as few as two or three people on the Convention Committee. The modern Worldcon can (and most often does) have a few hundred.


Either a prophylactic or all the people who attend conventions, or possibly both.


A first-hand report of a convention, initially printed in fanzines but now including reports posted to the internet, tending toward the anecdotal; in most cases. The intent is generally (but not always) to entertain rather than provide information, so with rare exception they don't aim to tell you about every item on the program, just the ones the writer attended and what the writer and others said and did in a general way. On the internet, Evelyn C. Leeper (who has been nominated for fan writer Hugos) is one of the better examples of those who emphasize the “report” in that she generally provides detailed notes on panel discussions, telling without interpolation who said what and reporting the back-and-forth discussions that generally ensue.


(1) Short for CORrection FLUid, effectively a "white out" for correcting mistakes on mimeograph stencils.
(2) The name of the first annual convention for fanzine fans that is passed around between different fan centers and fan groups. The second and thus far only other is called Ditto. But see Autoclave.


What Claude Degler called the male fans who joined his Cosmic Circle, presumably short for COSmic MEN. No telling what women were supposed to be called, for all that they had a Significant Role to play in Claude's proposed scheme, since they would be inseminated in his "love camps" in the Ozarks to produce the slan-like race that would rule the sevegram. All fans were slans, in Claude’s view, but it was unclear whether they or only Cosmen would be called upon to perform that duty. (See SLAN.) Most fans felt themselves to be part of a minority, subject to minority persecution, so they felt empathy for the slans in the A.E. Van Vogt novel of that name. But they did not believe themselves to be super beings, so the overwhelming response to Degler was laughter. A line of Jack Speer’s that demonstrates this popular view is still often quoted: “I have a Cosmic Mind – now what do I do?


The non-programmed part of any convention during which the fans entertain themselves with food and/or drink and/or conversation. Any party, open or closed, other than those sponsored by the convention itself qualifies, as does forays by any two or more fans outside the convention hotel to explore the city or to have a meal together. It’s virtually everything that happens when the official programs close down, although many of them take place while program items are still going on.


What many fans call a media con put on by mundanes whose only purpose is to make money. Does not have panels, dance, parties, art show, or anything to make it a "real" con in the traditional fannish sense.


Short for CRItical FAN ACtivity. Some aspect of fan activity deemed more important than others, i.e., meeting your minimum activity requirements in an amateur press association at the last possible minute. Coined by Charles Burbee and usually (but not always) used with self satirical intent.


Surprised/dazed/brought up short. "I was croggled when you said you used peanut butter in lieu of mimeo ink in my Gestetner."


A term, implicitly a food, first used by Dean Grennell in his fanzine Filler in 1953:
But if you don’t like crottled greeps, why did you order them?
The derivations are from (1) “crottles,” the curved lines in cartoons indicating that a character is falling over backwards and (2) “grippe” (influenza) as spelled by the English and pronounced by the French. It is said that crottled greeps are to food what blog is to drink; many fans have presented their ideas of what the true recipe for both must be, even though the Geneva Convention expressly describes the transmission of the true recipes of either by any means as a Crime Against Humanity punishable by a fate at least as bad as death.


The Canadian Unity Fan Fund. Inspired by TAFF and other similar fan funds, but this one is to promote unity and foster personal communication between fans of the Western and Eastern regions of Canada. The boundary is defined by the Ontario/Manitoba border. Since 1988, the sponsored trip has usually been to 'Canvention,' where the Auroras (formerly Caspers) are handed out, which is effectively the Canadian national convention.


An apa started in the mid-1950s by Peter Vorzimer, so-called because it has 13 publishing Members. It also has an “active” waiting list of five members and an “inactive” waiting list of an indeterminate number. The Cult is a “rotational” apa–the publishing members publish the OO, subtitled and subnumbered The Fantasy Rotator, one at a time in rotation, on a schedule of one issue every three weeks (so the individual publishing member only had to publish one FR every 39 weeks). They were sent out first-class to the members and active Waiting Listers (or WLers for short)–and as many or as few of the inactive WLers as the individual editor wished. The more-frequent-than-monthly schedule was considered high-speed fanac in the days before the internet and the local weekly apas. Members and active WLers were obliged to respond to at least every other issue. In the 1960s, the invective and venom flowed with such intensity that it would make a full-scale internet flame war look like a weenie roast, and for that reason the members began, not entirely tongue in cheek but self-deprecatingly calling themselves the Nasty Bastards of Fandom.


After Walter J. Daugherty, a member of LASFS who was often satirized by insurgents Charles Burbee and Francis T. Laney for his grandiose schemes that never came to fruition. Hence, any fannish project that is overblown and highly unlikely to be brought to a successful conclusion.


At the tail end of any convention, after all the programs are over, the function rooms have shut down and reverted to mundane purposes, the out-of-towners have left the hotel and are making their way back to their homes and even the locals are wandering off, there is inevitably a final party for a small handful of fans who realize the convention is over but just don’t want to go home. Often put together with the left-overs from other (albeit earlier) parties, this has traditionally been called the Dead Dog Party.


Someone who joins an apa, pays dues but does not contribute even minac and thus receives a full year’s (or cycle’s) mailings without providing input or feedback. Alternatively, someone who remains a member of an apa by paying dues and meeting only the absolute minimum activity requirements, usually badly and at the last minute. Sometimes it's implied that there's a degree of fudging/gameplaying going on as well, e.g., writing and publishing the required number of pages but in 14- or 16-point type. Or printing four lines of bad verse per page.


Francis T. Laney said this of LASFS when he discovered the club’s exaggerated claims to 500+ members by the early 1940s was largely due to the fact that no one who'd ever paid dues as a LASFS member had ever been removed from the membership roster, even long after they failed to attend or pay dues. Charles Burbee reportedly asked Rick Sneary if death released fans from the Outlanders but Rick didn’t answer the question. Like many a Laney or Burbee catchphrase, "Death Will Not Release You" caught on with later generations of LASFS members, and on one notable reported occasion Ernie Wheatley, the dormouse of LASFS (so-called for a tendency to put his head down on his arms and fall asleep at after-meetings in local restaurants) woke up just as someone was using the phrase to add, "Even if you die!" – and then promptly put his head back down on his arms and went to sleep again.


To resume fanac after gafiating.


A particular style of fan article, first written in the 1950s by Boyd Raeburn in his fanzine A Bas, but later done to similar effect by others. The Raeburn version tended to revolve around (if not actually serving as the minutes of) fictional meetings of the Derelect Insurgents and Tommy Steele Record Boiling Society, in which actual quotes of contemporary fans were taken out of context and woven into fanciful satirical fictional “dialogues“. John D. Berry a.k.a. the American John Berry was one of the better practitioners after Raeburn stopped writing them.


Generally an affectionate (not necessarily derogatory) sobriquet for a professional writer. (But make sure you know them and that they know your intent; see comment with "FEELTHY HUXTER".)


An issue or mailing of an apa; short for "distribution". Also: disty-wisty-pooums, umpkin, chicken salad sandwich. Started out being used by local apas associated with local clubs, where more copies were handed out to people in attendance than were actually mailed. “Distribute” covers both.


(1) (n.) Brand name of a particular spirit duplicator, now defunct.

(2) (v.) To reproduce via spirit reproduction.

(3) (n.) Name of the second annual convention for fanzine fans (the other is Corflu), founded in 1988 by a group of fans who called themselves the Ditto Masters – Taral [Wayne McDonald], Mike Glicksohn, Alan Rosenthal and Catherine Crockett. The idea was to hold a second fanzine fan's convention, usually six months apart from Corflu and on the opposite side of the continent.


Acronym for Do Not Print (or, for Net purposes, Do Not Post). This is more important in fan etiquette than in netiquette; in the latter, it is presumed that it is Bad Form to quote someone else's email on a bulletin board without first asking permission, although some people still sometimes make the error of doing so. While letters technically remain the intellectual property of the writer, most newspapers, magazines and fanzines assume anything submitted to them is for publication. Saying, “The following is DNP...” indicates that you are withdrawing any implicit permission to print (or post) that part of your missive.


Acronym for Do Not Quote; see DNP. Something given to you with a DNQ attached means the information is for your eyes only and is not even to be talked about to your best friends. To be absolutely iron clad, try “The following is DNP/DNQ.” Commentary: Breaking someone else's DNQ or DNP can mark you as the kind of person who is untrustworthy; at the same time, it must be obvious that the DNQ/DNP can be misused to bad purpose, i.e., it's a great way to slander someone behind their back. The ethical question which arises is what is a fan to do if someone they hardly know slanders one of their best friends in a DNQ/DNP to them? An acceptable solution, if this should ever happen to you, is this: Advise the person who gave you the DNQ/DNP that you consider them back-stabbing low-life cowardly scum, but that you will abide by the DNQ/DNP this one time only. If they persist, on their heads be it – they have been warned and you are then free to tell your friend what they have said and done


For many years, upon arrival at any given convention, the first thing one fan would ask another was, “Where’s Tucker?” (Bob “Wilson” Tucker, of course.) The Traditional answer, whether the fan asked had seen Tucker or not, was “Down in the bar!” – since 90 percent of the time, if he was there, that’s where he would be. (He had to spend some time checking in and playing poker, after all.)


Acronym for the Down Under Fan Fund which helps send a fan from North America to attend either the Worldcon or National Convention in Australia/New Zealand and, in alternate years, helps send a fan from Australia/New Zealand to attend a Worldcon or NASFIC in North America. Founded on the model of TAFF, the first winner was Lesleigh Luttrell in 1972. Two or more fans run against each other in any given DUFF race; fans pay a voting fee to cast ballots, donated items are auctioned to offset the costs and some conventions and other fan groups make regular donations as well. After the fan attends the convention, they become administrators of the fund for the next two years (one electing a fan to come to their country, one electing a fan to go across the Pacific and replace them on their return). The administrators distribute and count the ballots and act as liaison with conventions where items are auctioned. Costs for this lengthy travel being what they are, in many cases DUFF has only been able to defray most but not all of the delegate's expenses.


A boost to the ego. Primary egoboo comes from seeing your name in print for a contribution you have made to a fanzine (with its implicit value judgment that at least the editor thought it worthy of publication). Secondary egoboo comes from people discussing in a positive way what you write or contribute (and this includes things you’ve written on the internet, not just in fanzines), being favorably credited with helping to put on (or taking part on a panel at) an sf convention, being talked about positively with regard to one’s accomplishments in any fannish venue. (Negative comments are called negoboo.) Since so much of what is done is fandom is done on a voluntary basis, egoboo is the fannish medium of exchange, the “coin of the realm,” if you will. See Egg O'Bu in The Enchanted Duplicator


The first quick look through the pages of any newly received fanzine in which the recipient naturally skips insignificant matters – e.g., announcements regarding the imminent death of science fiction as we know it, the decision to stop holding Worldcons and giving out Hugos, the dissolution of old and/or venerable fannish institutions, etc. – in search of something truly important, i.e., if and where the fanzine contains any mention of their name. Trufen have a slight edge in such matters since they have the power to tell if a fanzine mentions them merely by holding their hand over the front cover, but they still have to track down the page(s) with the actual mention(s) just like any fan of lesser abilities.


Another name, and a generally fond one, for the Fantasy Amateur Press Association (FAPA), fandom’s oldest apa. As probably the most prestigious apa in the microcosm, and the one with minimum activity requirements that are at or near the lowest (eight pages a year), FAPA tends to be the place where old semi-gafiated fans go to “retire” – or, as one wag put it, where the microcosm’s old elephants go to die, since it’s fairly easy to drag the process out, hanging on for years, just in case they might change their minds and decide to get active again.


Bronzed Lemon spoof awards (after L. Ron Hubbard, pulp sf writer who invented [the word is chosen with care here] the "science" of Dianetics and religion of Scientology) for the Worst Sf Novel, Worst SF Film, Worst Contribution to SF, etc., given by the former British Columbia Science Fiction Association (now West Coast Science Fiction Association) at their annual SF convention V Con beginning in 1971. John Norman (of Gor novels fame) had won 15 Elrons as of 1995.


Written and first published by Bob Shaw and Walt Willis in 1954, The Enchanted Duplicator is probably the most frequently reprinted work in the microcosm. Fact is, there’s an extremely readable version on this site at:

Often called a “Pilgrim’s Progress” of the microcosm, it chronicles the progress of Jophan from the land of Mundane to the Tower of Trufandom, where he ultimately obtains the enchanted duplicator, a.k.a. the magic mimeograph, so that he can achieve his heart’s desire and publish the perfect fanzine. Jophan’s journey provides genuine good advice for meeting and overcoming the many pitfalls one can encounter as one enters fandom.


As the cost differential between Third and First Class mail in the U.S. narrowed and eventually disappeared, large (24pp+) and regular (bimonthly/monthly/biweekly) dead tree fanzines generally became a thing of the past. With few exceptions, large fanzines with an editorial, contributions of articles, columns, essays and/or fiction and a lettercolumn fell to publishing schedules of quarterly at best, which reduced their sense of immediacy. Small "personal" editor-written fanzines could be published more frequently, but lacked a fanzine's usual sense of participation on the part of its readers. Enter the "ensmalled" fanzine, in which the editors put an editorial, a couple of short articles or columns plus a lettercolumn into no more than 8pp. This could be mailed at the same rate as a first class letter. Fast & Loose, Pong, Izzard, Wiz, Apparetchik and Squib were some of the better titles and marked the line of non-APAleptic succession, for all that it appears to have died out in recent years.


Jack Speer became one of fandom's earliest historians, introducing his concept of Numbered Fandoms (which see), initially covering First Fandom, Second Fandom and Third Fandom. The microcosm being as young as it was, some of these "eras" lasted only a few years. Every numbered fandom has its own focal point fanzine (for all that many of these were determined retroactively, since the concept of the focal point was not originally part of it) and a slightly different slant regarding fandom's "purpose". But fairly early on, Speer discovered he hadn't started his history of the microcosm early, on revising his original, he dubbed this earlier period "eofandom" and the fans who were active there became "eofans". Its usage makes it possible to write a sentence which makes perfect sense when read but seems like nonsense when spoken aloud: "An eofan can never be a neofan."

Updated June 26, 2006. If you have a comment or question about the content of these Web pages please send a note to rich brown. Comments or questions about the pages themselves should be sent to the Fanac Webmaster. Thank you.

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