Sometimes the Magic Works Read Free Page A

let him make
The Sword of Shannara
his first original fantasy publication and the centerpiece of the imprint’s launch. Ron, who admitted to knowing little or nothing about science fiction and fantasy but who trusted the del Reys implicitly, agreed.
    The end result was that Lester disproved those critics who had maintained that fantasy wouldn’t sell to a large audience.
The Sword of Shannara
sold in record numbers and changed the face of publishing. I had nothing to do with any of this. I watched it all from the sidelines, as amazed as everyone else, wondering for a very long time at my incredible good fortune.
    What are the odds against things working out in so serendipitous a fashion? Enormous, of course. It is the prototypical case of being in the right place at the right time. Six months earlier or later with my submission, and I would have been out of luck.
    Luck, with a capital L.
    Ultimately, I am conflicted. I was used as a guinea pig so that Lester could prove a point. The book was published precisely because it was so similar to Tolkien’s work, and for many critics and readers that was an unforgivable transgression. As a result, I was savaged in many quarters. Lester was not the least bit troubled by this. The reviews and commentaries were sent to me, good and bad. He dismissed them all, telling me to keep them, to give them the momentary attention they deserved and no more, and to remember that no matter what anyone said,
Sword
was a “damn good book.”
    At the time, I took it in stride. After all, the book sold well, so what did it matter if a few critics didn’t like it? Well, more than a few. The experience helped form my view of what it means to be a commercial fiction writer. It thickened my skin. Only later, when I learned the truth about how the book got picked up and anointed for special treatment, did I take time to wonder at the capriciousness of being published.
    A month before the release of
The Sword of Shannara
, I attended a launch party in New York City for the Del Rey imprint and met both Lester del Rey and Don Wollheim for the first time. I heard Lester tell Don that he owed the latter a dinner for sending over the manuscript for
The Sword of Shannara
. I heard Don reply that Lester owed him a good deal more than that.
    How much, then, do I owe Lester? And Judy-Lynn? Even after all this time, I have no idea how to calculate it. Conflicted or not by what I later learned, it is considerable. If my book was a driven man’s experiment, it was a successful one. I do not feel cheated or betrayed. The book was a labor of love for all of us, whatever our respective motives. Lester proved his point, Judy-Lynn had her launch, and I had my dream fulfilled.
    Not too shabby.
    I have decided, on reflection, it is best just to remember that sometimes the magic really works.

 
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    I am incomplete without my work. I am so closely bound to it, so much identified by it, that without
it I think I would crumble into dust and drift away.
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    Â 
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    W HY I W RITE
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    JUDINE BELIEVES THAT fiction writers are born to their calling. She believes that genetic makeup determines if you are suited to write stories for a living. Even if you decide that this is what you want to do with your life, you won’t be successful if your genes don’t allow for it.
    I understand her point. Maybe you have to live with a writer to understand why she feels as she does. Fiction writers are strange beasts. They are, like all writers, observers first and foremost. Everything that happens to and around them is potential material for a story, and they look at it that way. I am no different. I see something happen, read or hear about an event, and the first question that pops into my mind is, How can I use that in a story?
    The strangeness doesn’t stop there. Who else do you know who lives life in two worlds on a regular basis? Fiction writers do. I have already said so. They live in the real