Dear Dawn,
I write this letter knowing you won’t be able to respond. And while I’ve no doubt that you’d expect me to use this opportunity to poke fun at you, I’m afraid that I hadn’t quite learned enough about you to know what was the line for you between good and bad taste.
I really, really, REALLY was looking forward to reading Andavan. I knew you were working hard on it and it sounded much like you might have been close to finishing it.
I was also looking forward to sending you the first draft of Dragonsblood — I had already decided that your input would be very useful. And I was going to be done this week — you probably would have found over eight hundred pages on your doorstep around Christmas.
I was hoping to see you at the Famous Writer Wannabe week (are we ever going to get a short name for it or should we just call it “feh-weh-weh”? Perhaps that’s for the best because then we’ll all sound like toddlers).
Also, I really, really, REALLY wanted to see your face when you sold your first book. And when you got your first award.
I remember you telling me at Dragon*con about Strider and the rescue dogs. I think I remember hearing you express some doubts, too — only to overwhelm them with confidence.
You gave your life trying to rescue a dog you were training to be a rescue dog. He got in trouble in the waves and you went in to save him. You took a risk, I’m sorry you lost.
But I know now for sure that there’s a Heaven. And I’ll tell you why. It was a story I was sent by the man who is J’lantir in Dragon’s Kin. The story’s long and I’ll bet you’ve heard it by now but here it is:
Heaven
A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it
suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them.
After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight. When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like Mother of Pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold.
He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side. When he was close enough, he called out, “Excuse me, where are we?”
“This is Heaven, sir,” the man answered.
“Wow! Would you happen to have some water?” the man asked.
“Of course, sir. Come right in, and I’ll have some ice water brought right up.” The man gestured, and the gate began to open.
“Can my friend,” gesturing toward his dog, “come in, too?” the traveler asked.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t accept pets.”
The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.
After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road which led through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.
“Excuse me!” he called to the reader. “Do you have any water?”
“Yeah, sure, there’s a pump over there”. The man pointed to a place that couldn’t be seen from outside the gate. “Come on in.”
“How about my friend here?” the traveler gestured to the dog.
“There should be a bowl by the pump.” They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it.
The traveler filled the bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog. When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree waiting for them.
“What do you call this place?” the traveler asked.
“This is Heaven,” he answered.
“Well, that’s confusing,” the traveler said. “The man down the road said that was Heaven, too.”
“Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That’s Hell.”
“Doesn’t it make you mad for them to use your name like that?”
“No. I can see how you might think so, but we’re just happy that they screen out the folks who’ll leave their best friends behind.”
So, you see, it’s pretty obvious to me that you must be in Heaven.
Well, now, you’ve no excuse not to get the book finished. As for editors, you should try either Judy-Lyn Del Rey or John Campbell — I’d go with Judy-Lyn. For that matter, you could ask Lester as well. Say hi to them for me, please. You’ll probably find a writer’s workshop there already — with Isaac Asimov, Poul Anderson, Roger Zelazny, John Brunner, Jim White (hi, Jim!), and Bob Heinlein (he’s got Ginny, now, which is good). And you can’t knock Damon Knight for critiques. And there’ll be conventions up there, certainly. Look up Bruce Pelz (who is probably running them) and say hi to Gary Louie, too, please. And when it comes time for a publisher, you can’t go wrong with Ian Ballantine — who fathered four publishing companies in his time (including Ballantine and Del Rey).
I’ll look for you in the dawn. I’ll look for you at night. I’ll look for you in the clouds — will you be riding a dragon? Or walking the dog? I guess it’s your choice, now.
All my love,
Todd