Dragonholder (7 page)

Betty liked
Dragonflight
. She liked it enough to sign a contract for its sequel before a single word was written. And writing
Dragonquest
would prove to be a great trial for Anne and a huge triumph for the editor/author relationship.

 

A
nne was never working on just one story at a time. While she was writing the stories that would become
Dragonflight
, she hadn't forgotten about
The Ship Who Sang
and wrote several more stories in that universe. The story that she had submitted to Milford at the same time she gave Virginia the unfinished
Weyr Search
to read was polished up and sold as
A Womanly Talent
.

 

I
remember once back in her study when she showed me a slide — it was a picture of a spaceship floating on an ocean. The editor of
Worlds of If
magazine, Judy-Lynn Benjamin, had bought the art for a cover and was looking for someone to write the story behind the picture. She tried and tried with that one and finally came up with a story to match the painting:
The Weather on Welladay
. It was the first time Anne and Judy-Lynn worked together as author/editor, and it was a rewarding experience for both of them.

 

W
hen the check for
Restoree
came in from Ballantine, Anne
put paid to Wright's taunt about paying the phone bill — she not only paid it but
bought him the sailboat he'd been ogling. Wright stopped taunting her about the money, but
not about the writing. For him, science fiction was not “real” literature — not the
sort he could brag about to his business contacts.

Only once did he and Anne connect over her writing — when she showed him the early draft of
Dramatic Mission
— one of the stories in
The Ship Who Sang
. Wright was really impressed — he felt that it should be a novel and that she should have gone into the psychological trauma the people were having. The disagreement grew so great that I was dragged into it — I can't remember who asked me but I do recall reading that draft. I was only twelve or so — as a twelve-year-old I thought the story was boring and was not convinced that exploring the psychological trauma wouldn't make the story more boring — but it might not. In the end, Anne told Wright that if he wanted to write a novel like that, he should go ahead, but it was not the story she was telling. It was the last time that Anne tried to interest Wright in her work.

 

A
nne was not incapable of taking criticism — her survival at Milford was solid proof of that. More evidence came when she finished her first draft of
Dragonquest
.
Dragonflight
had done very well, garnering such positive reactions that Anne could not help but feel that the sequel would have to be better. She worked hard to that end.

So, when she sent the manuscript up to Virginia Kidd, she was in high spirits. Virginia read
it carefully and said the two words agents only rarely say to authors and authors dread:
“Burn it.”

Anne did. “Virginia was absolutely right,” she says now. “It was awful.”

If the relationship between a writer a publisher is complex, it is nothing compared to that of the relationship between a writer and an agent. The strength of the relationship — and the friendship — between Virginia and Anne has never been so evident as in Virginia's conviction that she could be so honest in her criticism, and that Anne could be so accepting.

While Virginia could often tell Anne where something went wrong and give her an idea of how wrong it was, she was not an editor.

After Anne had burnt the original Dragonquest, she set the project aside and didn't return to
it for six months. When she did, she started completely from scratch. She got all the way up
to page 170 and the story stopped. “It just wouldn't write.”

The contract for
Dragonquest
was with Ballantine Books. Betty knew that Anne was going through a lot of stress, so she invited Anne up to the Ballantine's Bearsville home for the New Year's break in January, 1970. While Ian Ballantine took Todd and Gigi skiing, Betty and Anne worked.

“Well,” Anne says, “anyone may think that they've had their work taken apart bit-by-bit, phrase-by-phrase, but you haven't until you've had a topflight editor like Betty Ballantine sitting and making you explain, expatiate, and clarify everything you have written.”

They were about halfway through that grueling process when Betty had an inspiration. “You
know the trouble with this story is, it's not about Lessa and F'lar, it's about F'nor and
Brekke.”

And with those words, the frame was set. Back in Sea Cliff, Anne finished the novel in record time and sent it off to Betty. Betty said, “I like your idea about the white dragon.”

Anne explained that the idea had come from the great science fiction writer, Andre Norton, who had said that Anne ought to have a sport dragon and he should be white and small. Betty agreed, and said that Anne ought to do more with the white dragon. And so they signed a contract for
The White Dragon
in the summer of 1970.

Neither of them thought for a moment that it would be nearly nine years before the book was delivered.

 

T
he tension that Anne was under in 1970 came from a number of things — some good, some bad.

The good:

In 1968, Anne felt that the writers in science fiction had given so much to her that now it was time for her to pass on the favor. She wanted to help new writers the same way she had been helped.

Back in 1965, to promote the interests of professional science fiction writers, Damon Knight had founded
The Science Fiction Writers of America
or SFWA. All the prominent science-fiction authors joined the new organization and it acquired great status in its efforts to help J.R.R. Tolkien get fair recompense in America for pirated sales of
The Lord of the Rings
.

Anne nominated herself for and won the position of Secretary-Treasurer. It was a two-year post.

It did not leave her much time for writing. She had to get out the monthly
SFWA Bulletin
and the
SFWA Forum
— particularly the Forum. As Secretary-Treasurer she inherited the old, cranky mimeograph machine. All too often the fragile stencils would tear apart while the Forum was being printed and would have to be rewritten.

Once a month, Anne would collect the pages in the great downstairs dining room and rope in
“volunteers” to collate them. Actually, it was a whole lot of fun because we had a huge
table and we'd place the pages all around it — so you'd do this dance around the
table, picking up a page and going on to the next until you came back to the beginning with
a whole
Forum
.

At that time I'd managed to find a fellow science fiction reader in my school and so often,
he, I, and my little sister, Gigi, would be the ones to help Anne pull the
Forum
together. Sometimes, Anne would have help from the local science fiction writers, and there
would be a large party atmosphere which made the work go very quickly.

It was before and after such collating parties that Anne entertained numerous young writers including Jack Dann, Gardner Dozois, Pamela Sargent, and Patrice Duvic.

Anne attended more science fiction conventions — in those days the lifeblood of science fiction. In 1968 science fiction was something that teachers didn't want you to read, that parents loathed, and that rarely occupied more than a small number of shelves at the local bookstore.

Many books achieved good sales through word of mouth — and the patience, dedication, and perseverance of the publisher. Science fiction conventions were where word of mouth worked best.

That was the year that Anne brought me to my first science fiction convention — a
Lunacon
in New York City. I remember seeing Harlan Ellison doing one—handed pushups, talking with Isaac Asimov, and going out to dinner with Robert Silverberg. And I remember being entranced by Ian Ballantine's twinkling eyes and bushy eyebrows.

Every year there was one big convention — the World Science Fiction Convention known as
“Worldcon”. Like bees to honey, science fiction readers and writers alike would flock to the
Worldcon. Not only was the atmosphere always electric — alive with readers and writers
mixing together, swapping enthusiastic tales or exploring some new aspect of science —
but the Worldcon was the place where every year the fans awarded that year's best novel,
novella, novelette, and short story with the Hugo — named after Hugo Gernsback, one of
science fiction's early lights and great editors.

Shortly after it was founded, the Science Fiction Writers of America agreed that there should be awards voted yearly by its membership for the best novel, novella, novelette, and short story. The award was called the Nebula — SFWA's version of Hollywood's Oscars. But there is nothing like the Hugo in Hollywood — an award from the readers of the genre for what they consider to be the best in the field.

Although just back from Europe with Gladdie, Anne got Wright to agree to let her attend the 1968 Worldcon — partly because her story
Weyr Search
had been nominated for the Hugo award.

The world science fiction convention, Baycon, was held in Berkeley, California. There were student riots at the time. Betty and Ian Ballantine, who were staying at a different hotel from the main convention hotel, got tear-gassed on their way to the convention. Anne herself suffered a bit of culture shock, returning from her trip to quaint England and Ireland out to the modern Spanish architecture of the San Francisco Bay Area — and much more from discord between the ever polite Irish to the anti-war student rioters.

At the convention itself, Anne started to relax. She met David Gerrold, fresh from his success with the marvelous
Star Trek
episode,
The Trouble with Tribbles
. The two hit it off immediately. When Anne mentioned that she was Secretary-Treasurer of SFWA, Dave asked, “Can I join SFWA?”

When Anne asked if he had any credentials, David said just “The Trouble with Tribbles”, did
that count? And Anne replied, “Well, I'm Secretary-Treasurer and I say it does.”

Anne had acquired a
Carbineri
cloak from Wright's first trip to Milan for Dupont,
and it had become her signature at science fiction conventions. At one party at Baycon, it
was used as a prop for whomever entered the room. The cloak was made of black felt with a
red lining — most people chose to be a vampire in the classic Dracula pose, while
others would pretend to be the Scarlett Pimpernel. Robert Silverberg was the most ingenious.
Upon donning the cloak, he dropped to his knees in front of Anne and proclaimed, “I'm sorry
your Majesty, but we've had to cancel the Royal Foxhunt. Thy spendthrift ways have bankrupt
the nation!”

David and Anne discovered that they both had something nominated for a Hugo – Anne's
Weyr Search
and David's
The Trouble with Tribbles
.

David lost. Anne won.

“I remember being so ecstatic I could have flown home without a plane. Gene [Roddenberry] and Majel [Barrett] were complimentary and sincerely so — and Ian and Betty were delighted. Dave didn't win but he was as sweet as could be over losing. There were many parties that night and I remember Phil K Dick urging me to write as much as I could right now, and get the benefit of the award's publicity. He was very nice to me.”

“I remember phoning home to tell everyone my good news and I think even Wright was impressed. Betty and Ian took my plane tickets and upgraded me to first class so I could sit with them.”

The triumph of that occasion has never been paralleled. Anne McCaffrey was the first woman to win a Hugo award for writing science fiction. With her Hugo, no one could deny that she was a serious writer of science fiction.

 

T
he bad:

Some people had no trouble belittling science fiction writers – and others were still
ignorant. “Now that we've landed on the Moon, just what'll y'all write about?” asked one
society columnist assigned to cover a science fiction convention the year Buzz Aldrin and
Neil Armstrong set foot on the Moon. Harlan Ellison took the lady away, kindly but firmly
telling her to have her newspaper send over their science editor.

The landing on the Moon had not brought science fiction out of the closet and into social acceptance — nor raised it any higher in H. Wright Johnson's affections.

Higher in Wright's affections were gardening and sailing. Wright loved a beautiful garden — but he didn't like to weed. Fortunately for him, he had two growing sons who could do that little something to earn their keep. Unfortunately, Wright was never trained in the better styles of leadership — to put it mildly. So, while he was in the basement working with seedlings and sipping martinis, he expected his boys to be out in the hot humid Long Island summers gladly pulling up weeds to the greater glory of gardening. This division of labor might just have worked if Wright had not also insisted upon drafting the boys as waiters for his outdoor dinner parties and loudly boasting about how he did all the garden work himself.

When Anne funded Wright's purchase of the sailboat
Angel's Cloud
, a nineteen foot skipjack Chesapeake Bay clammer, she might well have hoped that it would improve the relationship between sons and father — because they all had a love of sailing. But Wright's manner soon cast such a pall on sailing that he was hard pressed to find a crew, and when the boat was swamped in a storm in the spring of 1970, he was the only one of the family who cared.