There is concern that beings from other planets are gobbling up publishing opportunities that ought to go to earth people. It’s hard enough getting a book published, without having to compete with interlopers from other worlds.
But before anything can be done about it, we must first learn to recognize books written by aliens. This can be difficult. However, I have studied the matter and I believe the following brief examples will be helpful.
***
The Texan’s eyes glinted in the moonlight as he peered down at what Paiute Bob held in his two hands. He couldn’t stop staring at it.
“Do you know what this is, Bob?” he whispered hoarsely. “Do you know what this is? It’s pure lint! Lint, I tell you! We’re rich, we’re rich–yeee-haaah!”
It should be obvious that no earthling could have written the above.
***
The candidate paused to survey the cheering crowd. It made the rafters ring. And up in the press box, Chris Crock leaned into me and said, “I get a thrill up and down my leg, every time I hear that guy! Don’t you?”
No writer born on this planet would even be able to imagine such abject groupyism on the part of a professional newsman. This is surely from the opposite side of the galaxy, where they simply have no self-respect.
***
Bumbollygon the Elf turned to Plopko the Dwarf. “We must all learn to respect diverse lifestyles,” said the Elf. “Yes,” agreed the Dwarf, “because diversity is everything. Diversity makes me want to do cartwheels.”
Sorry, I can’t go on with this example. You’d think even the most thick-headed publisher would realize that such twaddle is not of this earth. At the very least, you ought to be able to go by your instincts.
***
“Destiny, my love, there is something about me that you must know. I am one hundred and eighty-seven years old.”
“Oh, Josh! I thought you were eighteen, tops.”
“I cannot live without you, my darling.”
“Oh, my poor love! I’m only sixteen–so your first one hundred and seventy-one years of life must have been so lonely!”
“We are soul-mates, Destiny. You don’t mind that I’m a vampire, do you?”
“Of course not, darling. Vampires are just so cool!”
“Then let us go down to my place, my love. And I will show you my Tinker Toy collection…”
Fiction written by space aliens instead of human beings just doesn’t ring true. You could almost bite into the pages and taste the difference.
But don’t do that. You don’t know where they’ve been.