From Janis:

Here’s a breakdown of the references. Anyone wanting to download it can go to my site http://www.janisian.com , and head for the Music – Free Downloads page. You’re welcome to disseminate/reprint it; all I ask is that the copyright info and writer credit be used.
And thanks for enjoying it! I love when music goes where it’s supposed to go.
Janis Ian

I learned the truth at seventeen
That Asimov and Bradbury — Isaac Asimov & Ray Bradbury
and Clarke were alphabetically — Arthur C. Clarke
my very perfect ABC’s
While Algernon ran every maze — Daniel Keyes’ short story “Flowers for Algernon”
and slow glass hurt my heart for days — Bob Shaw’s “Light of Other Days”
I sat and played a sweet guitar
and Martians grokked me from afar — Robert Heinlein’s “Stranger In a Strange Land”, and the Martin word “grok”, or in its verb form, “to grok”, as in “to share the same reality or line of thinking with another physical or conceptual entity” (Wikipedia). Really untranslateable, much like the Portuguese “saudades” or the Japanese “wa”.

Odd John was my only friend — Olaf Stapledon’s novel “Odd John”
among the clocks and Ticktockmen, — a combination of Harlan Ellison’s “‘Repent, Harlequin!’ said the Ticktockman” and The Wizard of Oz mechanical man Tik-Tok.
while Anne Mccaffrey’s dragons roared — the dragons of the Pern series.
above the skies of Majipoor — Robert Silverberg’s “Majipoor Chronicles”
Bukharan winds blew cold and sharp — M. J. Engh was the author honored when I was toastmistress of the Nebula Awards; as part of my preparation, I ordered and read her classic “A Wind From Bukhara”.
and whispered to my secret heart
“You are no more alone
“Welcome home”

Tribbles came, and triffids went — David Gerrold’s “The Trouble With Tribbles”, and the cult classic movie “Day of the Triffids”
Time got wrinkled, then got spent — the first hardback book I ever bought (and still own, inscribed now), “A Wrinkle In Time”, by Madeleine L’Engle
Kirinyaga’s spirits soared — referencing the collection of short stories, called “Kirinyaga”, by Mike Resnick – his story “For I Have Touched the Sky” influenced my own work heavily
and Turtledove re-write a war -i Harry Turtledove’s various alternate histories
While Scanners searched, and loved in vain — Cordwainer Smith, “Scanners Live in Vain”
Hal Nine Thousand went insane — the film by Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clark “2001: A Space Odyssey”, referencing the rogue computer Hal 9000
and Brother Francis had an ass
whose wit and wile were unsurpassed — from Walter Miller’s “A Canticle for Liebowitz”, first a short story, then a novel

Every story I would read
became my private history
as Zenna’s People learned to fly — Zenna Henderson’s “Pilgrimage: Book of the People”. More writers than I can count say Henderson was an enormous influence on them, from Orson Scott Card to Connie Willis.
and Rachel loved until we cried — “Rachel In Love”, by Pat Murphy
I spent a night at Whileaway — Joanna Russ’ short story “When It Changed”
then Houston called me just to say — James Tiptree, Jr.’s “Houston, Houston, Do You Read?”
“You are no more alone
“so welcome home”

Who dreams a positronic man? — the novel “The Positronic Man”, by Isaac Asimov and Robert Silverberg
Who speaks of mist, and grass, and sand? — Vonda McIntyre’s short story “Of Mist, and Grass, and Sand”, which became “Dreamsnake”
Of stranger station’s silent tombs? — from “Stranger Station”, by Damon Knight
Of speech that sounds in silent rooms? — from the amazing “Speech Sounds”, by Octavia Butler
Who waters deserts with their tears? — from Frank Herbert’s “Dune”, and the Fremen and Maud’dib
Who sees the stars each thousand years? — Isaac Asimov’s story “Nightfall”
Who dreams the dreams for kids like me
Whose only home is fantasy?

Let’s drink a toast to ugly chickens — Howard Waldrop’s “The Ugly Chickens”
Marley’s ghost, and Ender Wiggins — Jacob Marley, who haunts Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, and Ender Wiggins of Orson Scott Card’s “Ender’s Game”
Every mother’s son of you,
and all your darling daughters, too — Connie Willis’ “All My Darling Daughters”
And when the aliens finally come,
we’ll say to each and every one
“You are no more alone
“so welcome home
“Welcome home”

I believe that science fiction is the jazz of prose. An outlaw form, made for those of us who never quite fit in, who spend our lives with our noses pressed against the glass, who finally find a home in these stories, and their absolute, unshakeable belief that somewhere out there, we can find our own kind.

In today’s piece, I confess.  Check it out here–and then scan the site.  You’ll have fun.

So enjoy the song.  Share it please, along with the copyright, and say thanks to Janis.  Her website (with other free downloads and a place to buy her music) is http://www.janisian.com/.  You can download them here: http://www.janisian.com/mp3_downloads.html

Here are the new versions of the song, inspired by your enthusiasm for the original version.  I love them all.  It’s a great song.

Welcome Home (The Nebulas Song) u

Welcome Home 2 (The Nebulas Song) t

WELCOME HOME (THE NEBULAS SONG)
Words & music by Janis Ian

I learned the truth at seventeen
That Asimov and Bradbury
and Clarke were alphabetically
my very perfect A-B-C
While Algernon ran every maze,
and slow glass hurt my heart for days,
I sat and played a sweet guitar
while Martians grokked me from afar

Odd John was my only friend
among the clocks and Ticktockmen
while Anne McCaffrey’s dragons roared
above the skies of Majipoor
Bukharan winds blew cold and sharp
and whispered to my secret heart
“You are no more alone
“Welcome home”

Tribbles came, and triffids went
Time got wrinkled, then got spent
Kirinyaga’s spirits soared
and Turtledove re-wrote a war
While Scanners searched, and loved in vain
Hal Nine Thousand went insane
and Brother Francis had an ass
whose wit and wile were unsurpassed

Every story I would read
became my private history
as Zenna’s People learned to fly
and Rachel loved until I cried
I spent a night at Whileaway
then Houston called me just to say
“You are no more alone
“so welcome home”

Who dreams a positronic man?
Who speaks of mist, and grass, and sand?
of Stranger Station’s silent tombs?
of speech that sounds in silent rooms?
Who waters deserts with their tears?
Who sees the stars each thousand years?
Who dreams the dreams of kids like me,
whose only home is fantasy?

Let’s drink a toast to ugly chickens,
Marley’s ghost, and Ender Wiggins
Every mother’s son of you,
and all your darling daughters, too
And when the aliens finally come,
we’ll say to each and every one
“You are no more alone
“so welcome home
“Welcome home.”

Music © Mine Music Ltd./EMI Japan Publishing/Lyric © Rude Girl Publishing.  All rights reserved.  International copyright secured.  Used by Permission

That’s:

Music © Mine Music Ltd./EMI Japan Publishing/Lyric © Rude Girl Publishing.  All rights reserved.  International copyright secured.  Used by Permission

Welcome Home (the SFWA song) – At

Here are the lyrics.  Enjoy!

WELCOME HOME (THE SFWA SONG)
(Janis Ian)

I learned the truth at seventeen
That Asimov and Bradbury
and Clarke were alphabetically
my very perfect ABC’s
While Algernon ran every maze
and slow glass hurt my heart for days
I sat and played a sweet guitar
and Martians grokked me from afar

Odd John was my only friend
among the clocks and Ticktockmen,
while Anne Mccaffrey’s dragons roared
above the skies of Majipoor
Bukharan winds blew cold and sharp
and whispered to my secret heart
“You are no more alone
“Welcome home”

Tribbles came, and triffids went
Time got wrinkled, then got spent
Kirinyaga’s spirits soared
and Turtledove re-write a war
While Scanners searched, and loved in vain
Hal Nine Thousand went insane
and Brother Francis had an ass
whose wit and wile were unsurpassed

Every story I would read
became my private history
as Zenna’s People learned to fly
and Rachel loved until we cried
I spent a night at Whileaway
then Houston called me just to say
“You are no more alone
“so welcome home”

Who dreams a positronic man?
Who speaks of mist, and grass, and sand?
Of stranger station’s silent tombs?
Of speech that sounds in silent rooms?
Who waters deserts with their tears?
Who sees the stars each thousand years?
Who dreams the dreams for kids like me
Whose only home is fantasy?

Let’s drink a toast to ugly chickens
Marley’s ghost, and Ender Wiggins
Every mother’s son of you,
and all your darling daughters, too
And when the aliens finally come,
we’ll say to each and every one
“You are no more alone
“so welcome home
“Welcome home”

Music © Mine Music Ltd./EMI Japan Publishing/Lyric © Rude Girl Publishing. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Used by Permission

Watch American Idol.  I’m serious.

Here’s why.

First, the auditions are a good visual metaphor for the slush pile. Those 12,000 people you saw in line for Chicago’s auditions this week?  That’s 2 months of fiction slush at one of the Dell magazines.  Unknown writers vying for a slot in the magazine.

The selected candidates you see before the judges in the auditions are the memorable people.  They’ve gone through about four rounds of auditions with producers and others before seeing the famous judges.  The people moved to the famous judges are either the worst of the worst or the best of the best.  The judges have no way of knowing when they walk into the room.

Why do the producers of Idol chose the worst of the worst? Because they’re memorable.  Most of the 12,000 Chicago auditions were adequate at best–pretty voices but no personality; people who couldn’t sing but who weren’t awful; people who were pretty but had no voice.  To entertain, you have to be remembered, and the worst of the worst are entertaining in a sad sort of way.

But that relief you feel when someone starts singing well? That’s the relief an editor feels when she discovers a great manuscript in the slush pile.  The editor has no idea if the relationship will work out, but she knows it’s worth a try.

Hollywood Week is what happens when writers make it out of the first read pile in a magazine’s slush.  Your story hasn’t been purchased, but it’s good enough to give you another chance.  Usually that chance is an invitation to resubmit, often with a new manuscript. That resubmission request includes some advice on improvements.  If you watch Hollwood Week, you’ll see the same thing from the judges. Some contestants get angry. Some devolve into tears.  Others try again. And again. And again until they get it right.

The Competition isn’t as instructive for writers as the first month plus of Idol, but it’s still valuable–especially when they bring in the long-time professionals to mentor the students.  You’ll hear gems about how to remain a long-time professional in the arts.  I learn things from this part of Idol every year.  I’m sure you will too.

Yeah, there can only be one American Idol each year, but the savvy contestants who don’t win have careers too.  And if you watch, you realize why.  You can apply a lot of Idol’s lessons to writing, with one (happy) difference.  We writers don’t have to perform face-to-face.

Go forth and enjoy–and learn.