Took a break earlier, away from the computer, with a nice cup of tea and some biscuits (fig rolls – some of the world’s finest biscuits, if you ask me). The mind tends to wander at such times. The results of that wandering, on this occasion: bad jokes. So. Bad jokes:
Q. How many fantasy authors does it take to change a light bulb?
A1. Only one. But it’ll take a long time. They have to prepare an obsessively and redundantly detailed map of the whole room first.
A2. Fantasy authors can’t change light bulbs. Only orphaned farmboys, destined from birth to change the light bulb in accordance with ancient prophecy can do it.
A3. Dozens. JRR Tolkien has to go first, to show everyone how to do it right, and then all the rest take turns removing and replacing the light bulb, in very slightly different and generally inferior ways.
A4. One, but they need an agent to hold the ladder. And then the agent is entitled to 15% of the resultant light.
Needless to say, I don’t necessarily subscribe to any of the pejudicial preconceptions implied herein. Except for A4. That’s not a preconception, that’s a truth.