If I Pay Thee Not In Gold

AUTHORS' NOTES

For biographers, I was born in Chicago, June 24,1950. My father was the Chief Computer Programmer, Systems' Design and Systems' Analyst for first Sinclair Oil then Arco, nearly from the moment there was such a thing as a commercial computer. I have a Bachelor of Science in Biology with a specialization in ethology from Purdue University; I was for many years a computer programmer on the cutting edge of airline reservations programming, and I am firmly a technophile.

My husband Larry Dixon and I live in a lovely, heavily wooded area in Northeast Oklahoma, with rising hills and wonderful views. We keep our home acres and two ponds as wild as possible. We are wildlife rehabilitators specializing in raptors and the corvidae, and apprentice falconers. Larry is my "first editor" on everything I do. We feel privileged to have a "partnership," not only with each other, but with our editors. We believe that the editor and the writer work most successfully when they work together, and we enjoy our editors not only as wise counselors and advisors, but as friends.

Other than that, we are very private people, and while we don't feel we are creating High Art, we hope we are creating enjoyable writing, and we prefer to let our work speak for itself.

I too live in the forest; in fact I live on a tree farm whose pine trees I hope will not be harvested in my lifetime, and whose natural trees will never be cut at all. I am an ardent environmentalist, and in this way I am protecting my bit of the wilderness. We have deer, gopher tortoises, piliated woodpeckers, armadillos, and many other wild creatures, some of whom are becoming unconscionably rare elsewhere. And yes, we have raptors too; large owls and hawks nest near our house and forage in our yard, not seeming too shy; the young will snooze on branches outside our windows. We love it. The outside of our house gets messy with spider webs and wasp nests, because we leave everything alone that leaves us alone. Perhaps my favorites are the dragonflies, green, blue, brown, red, yellow, and two-tone, who will on occasion perch on an upraised hand. They hover marvelously, always wanting to know what I'm doing outside.

But this is about collaboration. Collaborations come in many varieties, and I've done twenty. There is no standard way; each is its own type. Overall, I believe this is my 99th book, so collaborations represent about one fifth my total, and I'm still learning from them.

This particular one was like an arranged marriage. Collaboration, it has been said, has the problems of wedlock, without the benefits. That's why most writers avoid it. But sometimes the vagaries of situation can force such a merger. In effect I went to Jim Baen of Baen Books and said, "Here's my notion, but I don't have time to do it myself; can you find me someone to write it?" He checked his prospects and found Mercedes (Misty) Lackey. "But I'm too busy too!" she surely protested. But he had an answer: "You're the best possible writer for a notion such as this. I wouldn't give it to just anyone." So she reconsidered, and concluded that she would have to make time. Thus it came to be. No, I never met Misty; remember what I said above about no benefits? My daughter Penny did, however, at a convention, so there was a tenuous connection. Daughters are marvelous creatures. I can't think why anyone would want to have sons. So Misty wrote it, and then I went over her text. This was no rubber stamp effort; anything with my name on it must meet my standards. I did a complete job of copy-editing and spot revisions and additions, exactly as I do for my own drafts, polishing the novel to my satisfaction and expanding it by ten thousand words. Those who are conversant with Misty's writing and mine will see aspects of both here, just as both of our ideas are represented. Thus I did the top and bottom of it, the summary and the revision. Picture a sandwich: I'm the two slices of bread. Most of the nourishment is in the center, but without the bread it wouldn't exist.

This particular notion had a considerable history. It started in 1979, as an offshoot of my earlier research in the Arabian Nights Tales for another novel. I'm a Nights fan; I have several multi-volume editions. In one of those tales a highborn woman incurred a debt, and the man to whom she owed it suggested that there were ways other than monetary to expiate it. She caught his meaning perfectly, and declared-ah, yes, I see you understand. Thus the title and heroine of this novel. The project had a thirteen-year history as I considered doing it for another publisher. But by the time I had figured out how to organize it, my relations with that publisher had soured, and I had gotten caught up in so many projects that I was writing and selling more than half a million words of fiction a year and still barely keeping up. Thus the compromise, and this is the result.

Naturally, as I reviewed it, fate stepped in. My belief in the supernatural is nonexistent; I write fantasy, I don't believe it. This may be why supernatural occurrences keep pestering me. In this case, just as I was reviewing the scene

in which Xylina contemplates suicide, I received a letter from a young woman who was doing the same. Her name was Julie, and she had a cross that she wore continuously, day and night, her most precious possession. She enclosed that cross, and it sits by my computer as I type this. By that token I knew that she was near the end. Yes, I'm doing my best to persuade her to take back her cross, but the issue is undecided at the time of this writing. I researched to ascertain what type it is, and concluded that it is of the general description known as pattée: that is, widening in the arms, in the manner of paws. Pattée means paw-like. And so I added a character in honor of that cross-a character who did not die. I hope. Further research satisfied me that the cross is actually of another description, clechée, meaning like an ancient key, but I decided to let Pattée the character be. There are limits.

Those who wish to order any of my books or newsletter "troll free" may call 1-800 HI PIERS. No, I'm not the one who answers that phone, but messages do reach me eventually.