Sword of Fire and Sea (The Chaos Knight Book One) (32 page)

H

ave you ever thought about doing something for most of your life, then actually sat down to do it and found yourself overwhelmed with the moment? That's me right now. How do you live up to that kind of self-induced hype? How does one write an author's note? Gryphon physics, no problem, but here I am talking to you, by default the awesomest and most important person, the Dear Reader, and I am verklempt. I can say: I hope you enjoyed the ride.

Every book has two stories: the one you see, between the pages, and the story that led to the book's creation, its long journey to reach you on your couch or in the bookstore. This second story is invariably large in cast. I owe a great deal to my parents (Verl, Patricia, and Diane), who, however disturbed by my young fixation with medieval paraphernalia and lack of fashion sense, withheld their comments long enough for Fantasy (and its sister Technology) to deeply take root. My husband, Jay, relentless cheerleader, finest imaginable partner, formidable talent in his own right. Scott Andrews, publisher of
Beneath Ceaseless Skies
, which printed “Stormchaser, Stormshaper,” the short story that led to Andovar's “discovery.” Michael DeLuca and Justin Howe, comrades-in-arms with Jay, Scott, and myself in the Homeless Moon. Jeanne Cavelos, Susan Sielinski, and the passionate if decidedly odd crew of the Odyssey Fantasy Writers Workshop, especially the class of 2005, who read parts of this manuscript. My sister Kim, amazing font of love and wisdom, who persisted in hunting down my work. Lou Anders, whose praises are sung by many, yet still fall short of a multifariously talented reality. Dehong He, whose cover art brings this world alive beyond my wildest imagining. The most excellent production folk at Pyr: Jill Maxick in marketing, Catherine Roberts-Abel in production, Bruce Carle in layout (whom you can thank for the beautiful fonts). Gabrielle Harbowy, copyeditor extraordinaire.

Beyond Brenda Cobbs and Kristin Jett, to whom the book is dedicated, this world that I now call Andovar has a peculiar history. It was 1995, I had just started high school, and had also discovered how to cycle America OnLine trial discs for handfuls of Internet hours (sorry AOL). On the fantasy and science fiction message boards I met Kristin—whose parents, ten years later, would be persuaded I was not an axe murderer—and Brenn. Together we roguishly decided that the available fantasy roleplaying groups were not for us, and so I started chiseling out a world map, various fantasy species (the main characters were all gryphons), and mythical histories. Brenn provided the Cherokee word for “home”—
qinasev
—and “Di'Quinasev,” our “second home,” was born. Our motley crew of e-mail storytellers grew at one point to forty crazy people spread all over the world, telling stories about folk and creatures that don't exist. Some friends by now have reconnected or never lost touch (Melissa, Zack, Cody, Annalise, Nicole), others still wander (Buffy “Skylance,” we miss you)—but without them this world would never have caught fire.

The Internet has already given its share of interesting stories for book publishing, but for me its core message is that all art is interactive. I now create fantasy worlds for gamers who connect with each other through symbolic realities across vast geographic distances, but the fact is that, technology aside, fiction has always done this. In fantasy we find our humanity, and reach out to each other with a personal electricity that will light up the world, if we let it. Thank you for joining the quest.

E

RIN HOFFMAN is a videogame designer, author, and essayist on player rights and modern media ethics. She lives in northern California with her husband, two parrots, and an entirely too-clever miniature dachshund. For more about her work, and the world of Andovar, visit
www.erinhoffman.com
.