A reader advised me that the main thing at issue in her divorce settlement was custody of the collection of Anthony novels. Well, that seems reasonable to me.
And my daughter’s horse, Blue: at this writing she is thirty-two years old, and still spry though her head is turning gray. When Blue came into our lives, horses galloped into my fiction, as you may have noticed. Unlike Seqiro, Blue can not read minds—I think.
I had a sore tongue during this novel. Finally, on the last day of editing, I figured it out: there was a roughness on a tooth, and my tongue was rubbing against it as I read my text to myself—I do that to hear it as well as see it, because I relate to it with more than one sense. That chafing was awful. So my wife hauled me in to see the dentist the same day. Sure enough: a gold onlay (not inlay) had worn through, and there was an edge. Maybe now my tongue will heal.
Meanwhile the problems of the world accelerate and population runs out of control and the environment degrades apace. We are headed pell-mell for end-of-the-world disaster. About the only saving grace I see is the dawning awareness of increasing numbers of people that this has to stop. My daughter Penny brought home a book titled How to Make the World a Better Place—A Guide for Doing Good, which tackles questions of the environment, hunger, socially responsible investment and consumerism in a realistic manner. Many other good books are appearing, and I am getting them as I do preliminary research for a major novel relating to this subject. I feel obliged to turn my resources increasingly to the service of the universe rather than merely to my own well-being, and the talent I have for writing is my chief instrument. I try not to proselytize unduly in my fiction, but this is the Author’s Note where I do speak my mind.
But let me finish on more personal notes, because these Notes as I see them relate not to lectures but to feeling. I’m sure my readers differ from me on many things, but I hope that we share the essence of wonder and longing for what we may never quite understand.
I have pictures in my study of my wife at age one and a half or two, phenomenally cute, with her father. I had been looking at them, and then the song “Scarlet Ribbons” came on and I suffered a certain siege of nostalgia for a situation I had never really known, for my wife was somewhat older when I met her. Our own daughters were like that, and they too have grown up. How precious children are! It is foolish to wish that time could stand still, yet tempting.
There was another episode in this period that touched my heart for inconsequential reasons. My mother visited for two days. She is in the neighborhood of eighty and travels by train, and naturally the hours are inconvenient. We had to get up early to get her to the station on time. We used the house speaker system to wake us: at 5 A.M. the local radio station blared on throughout the house. As I was blindly scrambling into clothing, a popular song played. It was a pretty one, with touching words, in contrast to my bleary mood. It suggested that he close his eyes and let her take his hand so that he could feel the beating of her heart. I have a mental picture of bittersweet young Colene taking Darius’ hand and holding it to her bosom, longing for love. Isn’t that the way we all are, in the hell of our anonymity?
Marsh 8, 1990: Harpy Reading!
P.S. Since writing this novel, I have addressed some of the problems discussed in this Note. Now you can get a sample copy of my Newsletter and catalogue. Call my “troll-free” number 1-800-HI PIERS. (e-book note: this phone number is no longer valid. For similar information try the official web site at http://www.hipiers.com instead.)
Copyright © 1991 by Piers Anthony
Cover art by Daniel R. Horne
ISBN: 0-441-86503-8