Ghost Writer in the Sky

by Piers Anthony

  Indeed, my readers are a vital part of Xanth. Some of them read the Author’s Notes before they read the novel. Critics hate the Notes, as do some publishers; in fact, nobody seems to like them except the readers. Maybe that’s part of the problem with publishing today: The powers that be seem not to know or care what readers like. Which has slowly herded me into self publishing much of my work. But that has consequences: The great majority of my readers were devotees of the mass-market paperbacks, and those are going. It’s a problem of dynamics: They print twice as many as will ever sell and pulp the leftovers. When authors self publish, they can’t afford that. Indeed, publishers can’t really afford such waste any more; chains and stores are going out of business, leaving ever fewer places to display those cheap editions. What wrought this change? Electronic publishing. The readers are flocking to it. My wife is an example. She was a mass-market paperback reader, reading maybe a book a day, and when she was done with them, she’d donate them to library sales a carload at a time, literally. But it got so she couldn’t find what she wanted. There were no bookstores within range, and the displays at department stores and supermarkets consisted of “Top 20” titles whose publishers paid for the shelving. No payola, no display. When you read hundreds of books a year, the top twenty chosen by that system lose their appeal. But when she went online and checked what the big electronic sellers had to offer, she discovered she could get any book she wanted, sometimes in seconds, cheaper than a physical copy. Further, she could have a hundred novels there in that one reader. Now she carries her electronic reader in her purse, so she can read anywhere, anytime, such as when waiting for a late appointment at a doctor’s office. She doesn’t even have to hold the pages open, and she won’t lose her place. So she was a hardcore paperback reader, but getting to choose for herself what she likes, rather than what a paid-for shelf offers, trumps that, and now she’s a hardcore electronic reader. I’m sure she’s one of millions. And I, as a writer, follow; now I publish electronically first and try to make my books available in hardcover or trade paperback for those who prefer physical copies, as I do. I regret losing my mass-market readers, but I hope that they will convert to electronic editions, where they can get just about anything of mine, anytime, sometimes at a substantial discount.

  So what about me, personally? Many of my readers want to know. Well, I have, at this writing, been married fifty-eight and three-quarters years, trying for sixty. I do housework, meals, and beds, as my wife is infirm and can’t stand on her feet long. One of my mental vignettes is that a feminist-type woman will approach me and say “You claim to make the beds?” and I’ll say “Yes.” “Can you fold a fitted sheet?” And I will explode, “No one can fold a fitted sheet!” And she will go away, satisfied. If you don’t get it, you’re not a woman. Ask a woman. I also accompany my wife to doctor appointments, shopping trips, and so on; I don’t like to let her go out alone because I want always to be there to support her in case there is any complication. She has CIDP, or Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyneuropathy, a condition in which the body’s own immune system attacks the myelin, or fatty sheathing around the nerves, in effect short circuiting them so that signals can’t get through to the limbs. She was slowly being paralyzed, confined to a wheelchair that she couldn’t move herself because her arms were weakened as well as her legs, and seemingly doomed, until we got the diagnosis and treatment. Now she is mobile, but limited, and must have special infusions every five weeks. We don’t travel. When an arduous shopping excursion threatens, we take along the wheelchair, and I push her around. I love pushing my wife around. :-) She can walk; this merely extends her range so she doesn’t overdo it and get in trouble. I remember someone saying of another wheelchair user, “I saw her get up and walk!!” As if that proves fakery. Get educated, folks, and help with a closing door if you see a wheelchair person approaching it. They are people, too, and doors can be awkward to navigate. She does volunteer one afternoon a week at a nearby shelter for abused women, as that is a seated job, mainly answering the phone. When I get a call asking for her that afternoon, I’m tempted to say, “She’s at the abused women’s shelter,” but I’m not quite sure they would understand. She used to cut my hair, but had to stop when the illness came on her, so I stopped getting it cut—I was not going out to a barber and leaving her home alone—and now I wear my hair in a ponytail. Yes, there are men with ponytails; no need to smirk. Yes, men’s hair does not grow as long as women’s hair; my daughter’s hair reaches down to her knees, while mine is maybe eighteen inches. Ah, well. I rather like it; it waves naturally. I tease my wife that if her hair curled like that, she’d wear hers long, too. Meanwhile, she does what she can, and it really helps. She does the laundry, as pushing buttons on the machines does much of it, and she keeps our accounts, which are beyond me, as they are complicated, even with modern computer programs that supposedly make them easy. We have been together a long time, and we’ve had our ups and downs, including grief. Our elder daughter, Penny, died of cancer in 2009, but we do have our youngest daughter, Cheryl, and granddaughter, Logan.

  Meanwhile, I exercise my mind and body, maintain my college weight, and try to maintain an active lifestyle. A few months ago, I tripped and fell twice on my exercise runs, getting scrapes on elbows and knees, and the second one brought me to the emergency room—my wife took me—because my shoulder was freezing up. They concluded that no bones were broken, though there were possible bone cracks, and that I should recuperate on my own. I did, though it was over a week before I could lie down; I slept sitting up in my easy chair. It was longer before I could resume my arm exercises, but I was able to walk in lieu of my runs, and in two weeks, I was running again. Now I run more carefully, my mantra being not speed so much as not falling. So I’m fairly healthy for my age. With the huge exception of my teeth. I take care of them, as I do of my body, but they go wrong anyway. I lost count after a dozen root canals and myriad gold crowns that still didn’t necessarily save the teeth. Now I’m getting implants. I have an imaginary trio of busty young women who go into titillations of mirth at the thought of a man getting implants, just as they do when I use girls’ hair clips for my ponytail. These are tooth implants, girls; they plant the artificial tooth deep in the bone of the jaw, and once it heals it serves as a tooth that never decays, cracks, pains, or loosens. I now have nine implants and am pondering six more. They’re great, except that they require dental surgery and months of healing, and cost, all told, about $5,000 per tooth. Ouch! Putting all that money into my mouth really chews me up. I will be most annoyed if I don’t get at least a decade’s use from them before I visit the bucket that says KICK ME—though, for some reason, no one wants to.

  I am a liberal agnostic politically independent vegetarian, as those who read my HiPiers column know. Some like to claim that vegetarians are unhealthy, but I’m a smart vegetarian, watching what I eat and taking half a slew of supplements. For entertainment, I play the card game FreeCell on my computer, which I think is the best solitaire ever, using the version that has the “solver” that tells me when I go wrong. Even so, some games are a real challenge to get through. I read books, which I review in my column, and watch videos I buy on sale or trade for, and I review them, too. I tackle the daily newspaper chess problems and the Jumble word puzzle. My wife does it, too; sometimes, she gets it while I stall out or I get it while she stalls. Sometimes we collaborate to solve one.

  What else is new? My agent is negotiating a deal for a Xanth movie option, which may or may not come to pass. Yes, an option is merely when a company buys the right to make a movie for a given period of time. Most options are never exercised, and even when they are exercised—that is, they decide to do it—the movie doesn’t necessarily get made. I have had several options exercised that didn’t make movies. So nothing is certain, but there’s always the hope that this time it will work out. Why do I bother when there’s such a high failure rate? Because the movie outfits come bearing barrels of money, an
d I’d love to see my characters and stories come to a kind of life on the screen. Wouldn’t you?

  What else? I was asked recently what heading I would like on my memorial. You know, after the bucket. I don’t plan on a physical one; I’ll be cremated, and my only legacy will be my books, which I hope will last for all time. But I remembered being asked a similar question over a decade ago, in 2002, for my epitaph for a book titled Remember Me When I’m Gone, edited by Larry King. I don’t know whether it was ever published, but I reread my entry, and believe it still fits me:

  Piers Anthony, maverick, liberal, agnostic, independent, vegetarian, health nut. No belief in the supernatural, yet made his living from fantasy. Wrote readable books, made readers smile, learn, and think; helped some to learn to read, write, publish, and live. Longed to understand man and the universe and to leave the world marginally better than he found it. Tried to do the decent thing.

  Note that I don’t claim always to have succeeded in doing the right thing, just that I tried. We are all fallible. I’m still trying.

  Now for the credits to readers who contributed ideas to this novel. As a general rule, I try to use ideas by new suggesters before using repeats by those who make multiple suggestions, but there are a number of multiples, and I have puns, talents, and ideas left over. It can be tricky to integrate everything and still have a readable novel. Well, maybe next time.

  Headache as a life form—Larry Miller

  Camelflage—Tim Brazeau

  Demon Sun; Talent of making pigs fly; Father, Son, Daughter Boards—Josh Davenport-Herbst

  The Genie family—Brian Jones

  Skeleton with fat bones—Owen Marrow

  Pocket Change; Flee Market—Darrell Jones

  Talent of making motions slow or freeze—Naomi Blose

  Infant Tile—Kerry Garrigan

  Shin Digs—Beth Stephens

  Tail Lent—Linnea Solomon

  Jelly Beans—Stan Niemann

  Zombies live in zombie houses, Sawhorse, Dogfish, Diar and Rhea, hummingbird hums tunes, Kelei with the color patterns, shoe horn, wanna bee (previously suggested by Tina Kelley in Isis Orb), Eau de Cay; Cheap skate, running nose—Mary Rashford

  Knocking the wind out—Steven Normand

  Cold Shoulder, and special credit for the Prince Dolin background—Thomas Pharrer

  The Pastree, with cupcakes; Self Esteem Engine—Steve and Thomas Pfarrer

  Acro-Bats—Thomas Pfarrer

  Crow Bar—A Sellers

  Emerald DragonGirl—Carina Terry

  Horse d’oeuvres; Y Knot—Misty Zaebst

  The Orbs, with Abs Orb—Howard Morris

  Safety Pin—Alex and Erica Sellers

  Amara, Immunity to love springs—Anne White

  Talent of knowing where something will be—Randy Gardner

  Deer Fly—Jenn Ramme

  Walking skeleton suffering from osteoporosis; Raining Cats and Dogs, Reigning Cats and Dogs, Computer Dog with Bark worse than Byte, love spring, summer, fall, winter; Bed Spring, Fall—Tim Bruening

  Self Storage—Douglas Brown

  Flying Buttresses employed—Patrick Stapelberg

  Patrick Stapelberg—Patricia Birkes-Stapelberg

  Rainbow Sherbet—Emma Archambault

  Magician of Time—Bernard Maynore

  Talent of Sensate Focus; the Goesinti—Andrew Fine

  Islands of Auntigua and Uncletigua—Dexter Smith

  Harper’s Fairy, Aqua tic, linguis tic, chap sticks—David Wells

  Fact-ory with Satis-faction—Wiley Kohler

  Jody, with talent of healing music—Rhonda Seiter

  Hate Spring as a Love Spring with a reverse wood tree; Wear-House, Where House, Ware House—Richard Van Fossan

  Book of Lost Answers (first mentioned in Board Stiff); cereal killer—Laura Kwon Anderson

  Personification of the Adult Conspiracy—John-Michael Warner

  Fowl Ball—David Seltzer

  Sun Glasses to see in the dark—Zed Dechant

  Noman is an island—William Elam

  Lesbian Princess—Tiffany Butterfield

  Cheese knife—Tim Brazeau

  Loco Motive—Donna Niemann

  And my credit to my proofreaders, Scott M Ryan and Anne White.

  If you enjoyed this novel and want to know more of me, you can check my website at www.HiPiers.com, where I do a monthly blog-type column and maintain an ongoing survey of electronic publishers for the benefit of aspiring writers. I do try to help others, as hinted in my epitaph.

  About the Author

  Piers Anthony has written dozens of bestselling science fiction and fantasy novels. Perhaps best known for his long-running Magic of Xanth series, many of which are New York Times bestsellers, he has also had great success with the Incarnations of Immortality series and the Cluster series, as well as Bio of a Space Tyrant and others. Much more information about Piers Anthony can be found at www.HiPiers.com.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Piers Anthony

  Cover design by Amanda Shaffer

  978-1-5040-3876-8

  Published in 2017 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

  180 Maiden Lane

  New York, NY 10038

  www.openroadmedia.com

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