Riders of the Storm

To Sheila E. Gilbert

There are people you can’t imagine your life without, even though you’d never imagined them part of your life years ago. After all, what would a Canadian biologist and a New York editor have in common?

More than you’d think.

Certainly more than I thought, twenty-two years ago (oh, yes) when I sent out my first novel and began that dream. Sheila Gilbert, after all, of DAW, publisher of my favorite books. If our paths ever crossed, I hoped not to gibber like an idiot.

Fourteen years ago, we did speak. On the phone. Which she answered. Herself. Nothing’s more terrifying on a cold call, believe me. The brain slides off the desk and lands with a splot. There was gibber. Eventually, as we worked by phone, fax, and e-mail, I became immune. Okay, no. I’d freeze at her name like a deer in the headlights.

I was on my second novel for Sheila when we met in the flesh. Huge hotel lobby, mass of intimidatingly famous sorts, and there she was, smiling at me. I couldn’t believe my eyes. You see, I’d worked for years with a tiny, mind-like-a-steel-trap editor who knew everyone and everything in her field, had the work output of thirty normal beings, yet was incredibly gracious and easygoing in person. Sheila? Multiply all that.

I knew then I had a friend on my side, and there was nothing to fear but the writing itself. As I’ve aimed higher and wider with each book, Sheila believes in me before I do. If I soar a little too wide, I can trust her to swat.

What we have in common? A love of family, of the absurd and wonderful, of big ideas. Our labors together are marked by visits and long conversations, puzzles and DAW Dinners™, and by friendship. Sheila’s part of my life.

Wasn’t she always?

© 1997 Michael Gilbert