Introduction
by Esther Friesner
Congratulations, you’ve just picked the sixth slick Chicks shtick.
Now trying saying that perfectly, ten times, quick! If you fail (epically, as is the custom nowadays) you owe me a drink.
Yes, you do. It’s a proven fact that whenever I include a request, suggestion, pipe-dream or Imperial Command in the Introduction to one of the Chicks in Chainmail books, someone somewhere out there in GentleReaderLand always seems willing to take care of fulfilling that li’l ol’ wouldn’t-it-be-nice-if. . .? for me.
Case in point: Ages ago, the Introduction to an earlier Chicks anthology contained my simply dreadful doggerel poem in praise of Lucy Lawless, then starring in Xena, Warrior Princess. (No, I don’t remember which volume contained said poem and my home library is in a permanent state somewhere between Category and Chaos, so I am unable to ferret out the hard data. Deal with it.) I also voiced the hope of someday acquiring an autographed picture of Ms. Lawless inscribed “To Binky.” (I am unable to explain why I wanted that particular personalization. I just did. What can I say? My Muse is the divine Adlibia, patroness of Whimsy.)
Fast Forward to an e-mail received from a fan in New Zealand. He reported that they’d just opened a Barnes & Noble in Wellington, told me he’d bought the aforementioned installment of Chicks, and asked if I’d been serious when I said I wanted that personalized photo from Ms. Lawless.
Because, you see, he was a stuntman on Xena, and he could get it for me.
Yes, please, thank you, and WOOT!
And behold, I was shortly thereafter in possession of that which I had so lightly requested, which just goes to show you that:
A. I loooooove the Internet
B. I should’ve asked for jewelry
and
C. You really do owe me a drink.
Unless, of course, you managed to say, “I picked the sixth slick Chicks shtick,” per the above guidelines, in which case, I owe you a book.
Hey, whaddayaknow? Here it is!
This is the point in the Introduction where you may thank me for not saying it’s been a long, strange trip, even though it has. What began for me as a flash of inspiration in the middle of a science fiction convention art show has been with us for nigh unto twenty years. The first eponymous Chicks in Chainmail anthology was published back in 1995, as thousands cheered. This means the project is more than old enough to vote, to drive, to register with Selective Service, to marry without editorial consent, and is nearly of an age to drink legally.
(Hmmm, again with the drinks? I am beginning to detect a pattern here. On the other hand, since I have been wearing the triple crown of creator, editor, and contributor within the Chicks in Chainmail universe for a couple of decades, I’d say that I am entitled to the occasional cup that cheers.)
It delights me no end to reflect upon the longevity and success of the Chicks in Chainmail series. I don’t know if anyone expected these funny tales of women and armor—in whatever guise—to do so well for so long. Back when it all began, I invoked that tidy little put-down in joke’s clothing:
“How many Feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb?”
“That’s not funny!”
In other words, Feminists can’t cope with a joke.
Goodness knows that the Internet and the assorted airwaves have shown us many examples of jokes who couldn’t cope with Feminists, but the reverse? Untrue.
You want proof? You’re holding it. Twenty years and six anthologies making light of the Grim-and Gritty Woman Warrior, with nary a “How dare you?” reaching my shell-like (conch) ears.
Maybe things are looking up, civilization-wise. Maybe it’s okay to laugh. Maybe laughter is being recognized as one of the best measures of empowerment and security. Maybe most of us are willing to toss aside our Agenda Sticks rather than brandishing them mightily as we leap aboard the Righteous Rage bandwagon du jour.
And maybe—oh please, oh please—just maybe enough people are realizing that it’s a bad thing when a good cause gets taken over by the ideology equivalent of ’roid rage and becomes a Noble Crusade.
(You remember the Crusades, right? Origin of such Noble actions as the massacres of the Rhineland Jews, Richard the Lionhearted’s slaughter of nearly three thousand Muslim prisoners, and the sack of Constantinople, where huge numbers of Christian civilians were slain. Wow. Way to perpetrate full-service, all-embracing ecumenical atrocities, people.)
O what a Work-in-Progress we are. But as long as we’re not a Work-in-Regress, I’m willing to hang on if you are.
I’m also hoping we can share a few laughs along the way.
Editor’s Note: As of the writing of this Introduction, I have no idea as to what the cover of this book will look like. Please be aware that such matters are entirely out of my hands, though given the title of this series, I would be very much surprised if it did not feature one or more women whose bodies are covered to varying degrees by chainmail, plus a measure of other textiles, fabrics, tanned hides, and/or gewgaws.
If you don’t like what you see, smite me not from out of the House of Virtue and Rectitude. Yea, rather do I bid thee unleash thy chastisement where it might do some real good, like against those who still stand between women and equal pay, decent healthcare, and the simple, precious right to live secure lives.
It doesn’t matter if we choose to wear a chainmail miniskirt or a Mother Hubbard when we take on the trolls of this world, as long as the job of troll-slaying gets done. Go smite someone else. I’ve had a hard day, and I am this close to throwing my cat at anyone who gives me yammer about the cover art.
She weighs eighteen pounds. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.