 Great. Thank you, everyone, for your patience and thanks to Galen and Emo and Dan, who have been working so fervently to get this all worked out. Welcome to Library Out Loud. Good morning. I am Caledonia Sky Tower, and the cute guy next to me, he is next to me. Oh, good he is. The cute guy next to me is Shandon Loring, and we are the co-lead staff of the Shoniki Library. The world is dark and light is precious. Come closer, dear friend. You must trust me. I am telling you a story. This is the opening quote from Kate de Camillo's Newberry Metal novel, The Tale of Despero, and it can be found on a stone slab outside the doorway of our library. Virtual worlds are full of stories in realms where people can reach out and take on forms that they've only dreamed about, where the inner soul can be let loose to express itself with a new set of creative tools. Where those who may not be able to run in their real lives can fly and dance on the fleetest of feet, there are so many stories to explore, and even more stories to create. The Metaverse is a rich tool for writers and poets to envision, explore, and re-envision their literary journeys. Everything from role play to anything falling under the popular new phrase gamification can enable us to drop ourselves into someone else's narrative or into one that we can create with others. There are some marvelous presentations being made on exactly these subjects here at this conference, and this presentation is about something just a little different. How could a library, in the traditional sense that we think of libraries, find a place in this very fertile storied virtual soil? And what purpose could such a library serve? Back in 2007, Shanaki Library's founder, Derry McMahon, was challenged to take on this very question. Possessing, in the real or corporeal world, a masters of library science, she spent most of a year traveling to different libraries across the second life grid where Shanaki Library originated and observing what it was that worked about those places. What she found were a lot of very beautiful bills with many books linked to outside sources and lots of literature on note cards. What she didn't find were residents, avatars, virtual beings reading those carefully linked books or laboriously copied note cards. So the Shanaki Library was founded in March of 2008 based specifically on Derry's conclusions. Avatars do not read books. People read books. Shanaki was created as a library dedicated to literature as a vital breathing, as vital and breathing and brought to life through the tradition of oral presentation as an acknowledgement that stories of all kinds, including works of literature, are a vitally important aspect of the human experience. Shanaki means storyteller in Irish, and that's how it said. Shanaki Library became a library out loud. Literature, poetry, stories of all kinds, including original works, presented live in voice to a virtual audience. Within its first year, the library grew from just one or two volunteers in attendance at story sessions of half a dozen or less to a program producing sessions with the talents of some eight volunteers, and regular attendance at seven weekly sessions averaging eight to ten avatars. I say avatars because we very quickly learned that in some cases depending on the material being presented, sometimes there was more than one person listening behind that single pixel being. In the first full year of operation over one hundred and fifty individual titles were presented. Short stories, selections from novels, as well as entire works, poetry, essays, classic works, contemporary authors, Newbury winners, Hugo winners, Pulitzer Prize winners, even Nobel Prize winners, as well as works by brand new authors just starting out. Today, Shanaki Library still exists in Second Life, where we're part of the Community Virtual Library producing six to eight hours of live voice programming to an average of 70 unique visitors a week. In May of this year, we held our first preview of the Shanaki Library on the Kitely Grid, where we've expanded our reach into the open metaverse, welcoming Kitely residents as well as hypergrid explorers to our storied worlds. So, what is our vision? In the nearly seven years that the Shanaki program has been active, we've learned several things. People of all ages love a story well told, presented with enthusiasm, full expression, and honoring the work of the author. Virtual worlds afford a unique opportunity not possible in the real world, a combination of a very intimate storytelling experience, as headphones and speakers make it seem that a live storyteller is presenting just for the listener. With a very communal environment where you can share observations in typed local chat without disturbing the voice performance in progress, something which would be considered quite rude out in the world of the air breathing. People like to be responsive to the theme or period of a work being presented. They like to dress up to fit the work being read, like to share what they know and other interesting tidbits in typed local chat. People are always, always interested in knowing more about an author or a title. In fall of 2009, we ran a survey for six weeks and asked our library guest to tell us what the experience of hearing a story or book read to them in a virtual environment led to. We wanted to find out if there was any secondary activity created by attending a session at the Shoniki Library. Sorry, I'm checking something that's being typed in Skype. So there were six possible responses available in that poll. The top answer with an 87% response was it led to looking into other works by a particular author online at a bookstore or in a library. That was 87%. The next highest answer was 75% response was led to looking into a particular subject. Followed along at 66% was buying a particular book for myself or someone else and tied at 58% were checking out a book from a library and investigating other works within the genre. The final question gave us the most telling information of all as not a single response was logged to the last question in the poll. Leads to nothing, I just listened. At over 300 sessions annually with a huge diversity of titles and sources, the Shoniki Library presents everything from simple presentational sessions very much like what we're all experiencing now, a person talking in front of a few simple props to literary presentations which surround them in every direction and almost entirely obscure the convention of a traditional library building. Shoniki sessions are as varied as our volunteer staff with continued emphasis on quality, voice presentations of the work featured, a style of presentation which is short of acting but more than simply reading closer to the realms of recitation or dramatic interpretation. Our recent expansion to Kytley was a key step in expanding the degree of detail and depth that we can create in a literature inspired environmental experience. With our continued commitment of course to live performance as the backbone of what we do, without the live story sessions everything is just a pretty build and there is no one there. So that brings us back to the question, what can a library do in a virtual world? Among the observations that went into our library's creation was that most people are primarily motivated by social interaction, sorry. You may visit a nice build several times but if there's no one there and nothing's ever going on and nothing changes the chances that you'll go back less and significantly. Visit some place where you are personally welcomed and where you have an enjoyable experience along with others who are also enjoying themselves and you'll go back to that location again and again. Repeatedly the virtual world proves that if you build it they will come only works in baseball movies and there better be a game in the bargain as well because sitting in empty stands is boring. So a library can create community as library guests get to know each other on successive visits and take pleasure in the communal sharing of the journeys of the stories presented. A virtual library can also act as a reference and a resource. At our home in Second Life the community virtual library has a staff of volunteers that does act as a traditional library reference desk would. While Shanaki does not maintain such a function we regularly provide links to author pages and other related online resources so guests are encouraged to explore additional information even while the reading is still in progress. Time and again our regular guests have told us that they found a book or an author that they came to love because we showcased it in a session or a series. I myself have been introduced to countless authors and forums that I might never have encountered otherwise. Those testimonials are almost as frequent as the comment. I have to get that book now. People are always interested in knowing more about an author or title. Shanaki Library will always continue to do the very simple presentations. They reinforce our core emphasis on the live spoken word. And the more we explore the fully immersive environments complete with what we call clickables, links to online material references to the work and other media props and objects given out freely that reflect the work, the deeper we explore the experiencing literature in a new way. Our final objective always is getting people to read the books for themselves, seeking the story out in any of its forms and even sharing the work with others. We see ourselves as in addition to not instead of the act of reading a book, attending a play, sharing a film, storytelling as it exists in many forms. Oh, let's give you an example of what we do. Yeah, sorry, I was checking this Skype for a minute to see if there was something I needed to pay attention to. I don't know what they're doing. Okay, so we'll just keep going. So, the casque al Monteado. In case you're not familiar with this Edgar Allan Poe story or some of the archaic speech, a Monteado is a rare expensive wine and a casque al Monteado is simply a barrel of wine. Now the story also uses the word pipe, which in this case is the same thing as a barrel. Poe, being Poe, there are many levels of meaning to this story. And you can click on the fire bowl just behind us inside the cemetery here to be directed to an in-depth analysis of this story and its characters. You may also find some other interesting links amidst the set behind us, as well as a few other little surprises. And we've made this simple set, and I call this a simple set because it's not a fully immersive like we often use. This simple set is highly clickable, just for you. So if you hover your mouse around, you'll find lots of things you can click on and get information or freebies. We present this story to you now in a slightly non-traditional format, but true to the words and the speech of the master. And now, pose the casque of a Monteado. The thousand injuries of fortuneado I had borne as best I could. But when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. At length, I would be avenged. This was a point definitely settled, but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the Avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong. It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given fortuneado cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as with my want, the smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his immolation. He had a weak point this fortuneado. Although, in other regards, he was a man to be respected and even feared, he prided himself in his connoisseurship and wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part, their enthusiasm was adopted to suit the time and the opportunity to practice imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting, in gemmary, fortuneado, like his countryman, was a quack. But, in the matter of old wines, he was sincere. In this respect, I did not differ from him materially. I was skillful in the Italian vintages myself and bought largely whenever I could. It was about dusk one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season. When I encountered my friend, he accosted me with excessive warmth for he had been drinking too much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting party striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I should never have done rigging his hand. I said to him, my dear fortuneado, you were luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking today. But I have received a pipe of what passes for a Monteado, and I have my doubts. How? A Monteado or pipe? Impossible. And in the middle of carnival? I have my doubts, and I was silly enough to pay the full Monteado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain. A Monteado? I have my doubts. A Monteado. And I must satisfy them. A Monteado. As you are engaged, friend, I am on my way to Luchesi. If anyone has a critical turn, he will tell me... Luchesi cannot tell a Monteado from Sherry. And yet some fools have it that his taste is a match for your own. Come, let us go. Wither. To your vaults. My friend, no, I will not oppose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchesi can... I have no engagement. Come. My friend, no, it is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nighter. Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. A Monteado. You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from a Monteado. This speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm. Putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a rocalaire closely about my purse, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo. There were no attendants at home. They had absconded to make merry in honor of the time. Montresor had told them that he should not return until the morning. And he had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, he well knew, to ensure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as his back was turned. I took from the sconces to Flembo, and giving one to Fortunato, I bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vault. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent and stood together on the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresor. The gate of my friend was unsteady and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode. Pipe? It is farther on, but observe the white web work which gleams from these cavern walls. He turned towards me and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the room of intoxication. Nighter? Nighter, how long have you had that cough? My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes. It's nothing. Um, we will go back. Your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved. You are happy as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back. You will be ill. I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchessi. Enough. The cough was a mere nothing. It will not kill me. It shall not die of a cough. True. And indeed I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily. But you should use all proper precautions. A draft of this meddock will, will defend us from the damps. And here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row. It's fellows that lay upon the mold. Drink! I said presenting him the wine. He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly while his bells jingled. I drink to the buried that repose around us. And I to your long life. He again took my arm and we proceeded. These vaults are extensive. The Montressaules were a great and numerous family. I forget your arms. A huge human foot the ore in the Führer's ore. And the foot crushes a serpent, a rampant whose fangs are embedded in the heel. And the motto? Nemo me impune la quesce. Ooh, good! The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the meddock. We had passed through walls of piled bones with cask and punches that are mingling into the inmost recesses of catacombs. I paused again and this time I had made bolder to see its fortune out of by an arm above the elbow. The nighter so it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We're below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we'll go back here. It is too late. Your cough. It is nothing. Let us go on. But first another draft of the meddock. I broke and reached my flag in the grave. He emptied it of breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand. I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement. A grotesque one. You do not comprehend. Not I. Well, then you are not of the brotherhood. How? Well, you are not of the masons. Oh, yes. Yes. You impossible a mason. A mason. A sign. A sign. It is this. And I produced a trowel from beneath the folds of my rocolaire. Oh, you jest. But, let us proceed to the amontillado. It so. I replaced the tool beneath the cloak and again offered in my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the amontillado. We passed to a range of low arches. Descended, passed on and descended again. Arrived at the deep crypt in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeau rather to glow than flame. At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains piled to the vault overhead in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down and laid promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones we received a still interior recess. In depth about four feet and with three in height six or seven, it seemed to have been constructed for no special use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs and was backed by one of the circumscribing walls of solid granite. Now it was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavored to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination, the feeble light did not enable us to see. Proceed. Herein is the Montiado, as for Luchessi. Well, he is an ignoramus. Interrupted my friend as he stepped unsteadily forward while I followed immediately at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche and finding his progress arrested by the rock stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In his surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain from the other of padlock. Throwing the links about his waist it was, but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist me. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess. Pass your hand over the wall. You cannot help feeling the entire nighter. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No, then I must positively leave you. But I first must render you all the little attentions in my power. The Montiado. True, the Montiado. As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones which I had before spoken. Throwing them aside I suited and covered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche. I had scarcely laid the first tear of the masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. And it was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tear and the third and the fourth and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes during which I might hark into it with more satisfaction. I ceased my labors and I sat down upon the bones. At last the clanking had subsided. I resumed the trowel and I finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth and the seventh tear. The wall was now nearly upon a level of my breast. I again paused and holding the flambeau over the mason work I threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within. A succession of loud and shrill screams bursting suddenly from the throat to the chain form seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated. I trembled, unsheathing my repair. I began to grope with it about the recesses. But the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs. I felt satisfied. I re-approached the wall. I replied to the yells of him who clamored. I re-echoed. I aided. I surpassed him in volume and strength. As I did this the clamor grew still. It was now midnight. My task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tears. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh. They remained but a single stone to be fitted in plastered in. I struggled with its weight. I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was exceeded by a sad voice which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the noble Fortunado. And always said... A very good joke indeed. An excellent jest. We shall have many rich laughs about it at the Palazzo. Over our wine. Ah, the Amantillado. The Amantillado. But is it not getting late? Will not the others be awaiting us at the Palazzo Lady Fortunado and the rest... Let us be gone. Yes, let us be gone. For the love of God Montresor. Yes, for the love of God. But these words I harkened in vain for reply. I grew impatient. I called out loud. Fortunado! No answer. I called again. Fortunado! No answer still. Just a torch to the remaining aperture and let it fall within. I came forth and replied only jingling at the bells. My heart grew sick on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end to my labour. I forced the last stone into its position. I plastered it up against the new masonry. I re-erected the old rampart of bones for the half of a century. No mortal has disturbed them. Gimpoche Requea Scots. The end. I need to check and see where we're at. Okay. It looks like we're not going to get a Q&A. And it looks like we're actually not going to be able to finish our presentation. Because of the problems that we had and folks need to get on to their other things. I think they can hold on a few minutes. Are they going to give us five? I don't know. They can give us five since they took 25. Can you? Can you? Can they give us five? Can we get five? Five? Cool. Okay. I can wrap it up in five. And we'll just hang out if people have questions. Do what we can. We're all doing the best we can. So thank you. In bringing our program to the open metaverse, we've learned new things. In our Second Life program, because we run on no overhead hosted by the Community Virtual Library, we do our thing on 850 square metres. And our library building works somewhat like a theatre. With seating, roof, windows and even some extra effects goodies all controlled by a staff hut. On our Kitely property, we're not nearly as space constrained. What you see behind us is a quarter of our Kitely home world with some slight modifications to fit the grid. We brought it all along as an additional example of what we do and what we envision for our work. Okay. It looks like we're being told we've got to stop. So that's where we're going to stop. Thanks a bunch. And we're going to stick around here until 10 o'clock. If you have any additional questions, let us know.