Here we have Autumn A. Gonzales’s offering for your reading delight, used with express permission:
Thio Isobel Moss suggested we write a story based on a font. I—unfortunately—struggle to pick just one thing. Therefore, I present my disaster, The Great Font Committee, for your enjoyment:
THE GREAT FONT COMMITTEE
“I now call this session of the committee to order.” Garamond glimpsed casually to the side. “STSong, this session is for most readable and highly used serif typefaces only.”
“I am highly used.”
Garamond exchanged a look with T. N. Roman, smiling. “Is that so?”
“It is.” Song arranged her hands primly on the committee table. “I am now used exclusively by at least one author whose work comprises over 400 open documents.”
“That’s really not—”
“Oh, let her stay,” Roman interrupted. “At least she’s prettier to look at than you are, you old fart.”
“Excuse me, I have a highly loyal and established base of clientele. My history of service in both commercial and non-fiction is impeccable. I was in Harry Potter!”
“But you look mean,” Song interjected.
“Beg your pardon?”
“You look mean. My favored user says so.”
Garamond blinked. Looked to Roman for support. Courier and Constantia both shrugged their shoulders as he looked back to Song. “I... do not. I haven’t a clue what you even mean.”
“I think it may have to do with the sharpness of your serifs. You know modern readers are very sensitive to serifs. Neurodivergent types, at least.”
“Oh god, not the neurodivergents. If we could begin with the session—”
“Do they say anything about me?” Roman cut in.
“Oh, yes! You’re rather frightening.”
Roman grinned wolfishly. “Am I? Well, the Times did commission me for boldness.”
“Don’t be absurd—they commissioned you to save ink,” Garamond blurted indignantly.
“Ink cost is frightening. I’m a worthy substitute.”
Constantia raised her hand. “What about me?”
“The session—”
“You’re very bold, my dear. Feels a bit like yelling.” Song winced and reached across the table sympathetically. “But I know you’re lovely; you’re just marvelously crisp.”
“This is an absurd use of the committee’s time and—”
Baskerville coughed awkwardly. “I’d like to know what your user says about me.”
“She actually doesn’t mind you, but the hook on lower case ‘a’s isn’t her favorite.” Song looked down the table, pointing in succession: “Courier is too 1920’s typist, Palatino is too tall, and Minion—” She winced. “You’re disliked solely on the basis of your name. She doesn’t want little yellow anarchists destroying the integrity of her plots with oversized hammers.”
Minion frowned.
“This has been so enlightening,” Garamond grumbled. “But if we—”
Lucida Blackletter put her head through the door. “What about me?”
“Oh, you’re adored, sweet thing,” Song assured her, “but you’re also incredibly unreadable.”
“Calligraphic fonts are not invited to this committee!” Garamond roared.
Papyrus shoved his head in under Lucida’s arm. “Me?”
“Underrated. My user would never admit this publicly, but she used to write all her angsty poetry with you.”
Comic Sans appeared, goggling beside Lucida and Papyrus. “What about—”
The room erupted in a repeated chorus of get out, out, no one wants you here, go back to children’s birthday cards and cartoon characters, out, out, out!
When the door had shut, Garamond released a loud, longsuffering sigh. “Are you through?” he asked Song pointedly.
She blinked innocently. Roman chuckled in his New York accent.
“Very well. On the docket today is—” Garamond scowled at Didot fidgeting at the opposite end of the table. “What? You too?”
Didot looked pleadingly to Song.
“She loves your ‘g’s. So loopy. But also, distracting.”
Garamond massaged his brows. “I don’t deserve this. I was in The Hunger Games. I have been respected and beloved since 1530. My tenure alone should afford me some respect.”
“I didn’t say she didn’t respect you. I said she thinks you look mean. Those are very different things.”
“It is impossible for a typeface to look mean.”
Song tsked.
“And what is it exactly about you she so adores, doll?” Roman asked, smirking. “Just how pretty you are?”
Song shrugged. “It’s simple—I flow in her thinking space without distracting from her artistic process.”
Garamond tapped a finger against the table, considering. Nodded. “Very well. I believe we can all agree the artistic process of our users is half the reason there are so many of us in use.” Looked around the table, then leaned forward to retrieve the day’s notes. “If we may proceed now, I believe it’s time to begin. We will start by addressing Grand Central’s success in ACOTAR and vote on where he should be applied next.”
They all looked down to the far opposite end where Grand Central sat in all his thorny ‘R’d glory, smiling in shadow. “Hello, darlings.”
The fonts all groaned.
