Dragonwriter (25 page)

After she had moved to Ireland, her stable became a major focus of her non-writing life, and the horses she owned or boarded were increasingly part of the framework of her life.

Annie
got
horses as well as loved them. She could read their personalities and characters from their demeanor and behavior, and dealt with them accordingly. Most of the time, she wanted cooperation rather than dominance with horses; when this wasn't possible, she tried for minimal conflict with them, but maintained the position that the human was in charge.

About twenty-five years ago Annie and I attended the same book fair in Las Vegas, and one night over dinner, after debating the proper time to use draw-reins, we got into a lively discussion on bits, from snaffles to trammels. We ended up with her thoughts on the Kimberwick and mine on the short-shank elevator (high port with copper roller). The rest of the group had got that dazed look, so we changed the subject, to everyone's relief. At that same book fair, at another break in the evens, we ended up discussing saddle-pads.

We would from time to time exchange tales of our horses—she had more stories because she had more horses—and she was always an excellent source of information on problems. When my Norwegian Fjord mare Pikku became stall-sour during one wet winter, Annie recommended going on a short trail-ride in the rain with friends. It seemed to ease her irritation, and it's not the thing that a Californian like me would tend to think about, but Annie in Ireland was in a much better position to deal with that kind of situation.

What was most clear about these conversations she and I had was that Annie respected her horses and held them in great affection, even the annoying and headstrong ones. There was none of the kind of boasting that sounded as if she took credit for the abilities of the horses; instead she spoke as if she had been able to bring out some ability of her horses, which was as much to their credit as hers.

Once I asked her if I was right in detecting an equine undercurrent in the nature of her dragons, and she said that horses were easier to study than dragons—a clever answer that was neither confirmation nor denial; sometimes I wonder if she ever drew a line between them. Not that such a view of an imaginary creature does not have roots in known creatures—coming up with something that is truly devoid of any influence from actual human experience may be possible, but communicating it to others would take heroic amounts of work. Many have tried it, but most have not actually succeeded to pull off such a feat of the imagination.

Occasionally Annie and I would discuss our views of Pern: as the creator of the world, she always had the final word, as it should be, but I had some reservations about Pern as science fiction, although none at all as high fantasy. I know Annie saw Pern through a science fiction lens, and in narrative technique she was absolutely right. The turning from conventional magic for biology for the basis of that world is refreshing. And I had no trouble with equine dragons qua dragons, but I had reservations on equine dragons in terms of the economics of the society where they existed, and which was set up to tend to the dragons as a crucial defense system for the preservation of crops and forests. Knowing how much it costs to keep one horse, extrapolating what a number of her dragons would cost in coin or goods-and-services to maintain goes well beyond the kind of agrarian society that apparently prevails on Pern; the kind of social structure she offers in those books is far more like early fifteenth century Europe than a more urban society that rose, along with a middle class, some two centuries later. Pern, being more Plantagenet than Tudor, is therefore highly dependent on farmers and other agricultural workers, who would either be bound to the land or to the landholder in order to provide feed for and upkeep on dragons, which is only sketchily present in the series.

When we talked about this, she often said she wasn't interested in economics, or in what kind of labor might be involved, but in the need for dragons as participants in such circumstances as she used in her stories. And I admire the complexity of the stories, particularly the great use she made of the interaction of dragon and rider, which sustains the tone of the stories from book to book—no mean accomplishment for any writer. I may have had quibbles about her vision of Pern, but none at all at how well she held all the disparate elements together book after book. They are her stories and she is the one who calls the shots.

At one of the Brighton Worldcons (I think it was '87), Annie gave a Devon Cream Tea in her suite, and over crumpets and scones and jams and jellies and Devonshire cream, we, her guests, heard about her horses and her stable; it was apparent that Annie was deeply happy with her life, with her work, and with her horses. She enjoyed all three components of her life, and she wore her fame with aplomb—or if she didn't, it certainly looked like it. It is always reassuring to see writers gain recognition and gratification at the same time, and to be aware of it without lording it over their colleagues. I was glad for the example of professionalism she set for newer writers; I was delighted for her achievements, even those that had to do with horses rather than Hugos. I was sad when we lost her, her stories, and her great collection of characters—the ones in print and the ones on four hooves.

A professional writer for forty-five years, CHELSEA QUINN YARBRO has published over ninety books in a variety of genres as well as nonfiction. She has received the Grand Master award from the World Horror Convention, the International Horror Guild's Living Legend award, the Horror Writers Association's Life Achievement award, and has twice been nominated for an Edgar Award. She lives in Richmond, California, with two sublime cats.

A
nne McCaffrey loved Michael Whelan's covers—and so did the fans. One of the things that sets Michael Whelan above some other cover artists is that he reads the books before he illustrates them, and that brings a level of detail to his covers that really makes them shine.

When Isaac Asimov, one of Anne's favorite people of all time (they were utterly hilarious together), passed away, Michael Whelan was commissioned to do a memorial cover for
Asimov's
magazine. Not long after, some of the comps were on sale at a Worldcon. I saw one in particular, and I phoned Mum right away. She said, “Get it.”

“It's going to go for a lot of money, what's my limit?”

“Just get it.”

I got it, and it was hung on the door of Mum's office from that day on.

It's both fitting and an honor that Michael agreed to do the cover for this piece. Here Michael has kindly shared sketches and notes on the creation of the many famous covers that helped introduce readers to Pern.

IN THE THIRTY-SIX
years since I painted
The White Dragon,
I've done more book cover illustrations than I can count. For each book cover commission that was completed, there were anywhere from two to twenty-five concept sketches (or “comps” as they are known in the trade). These are small renderings of potential approaches to a particular cover painting, done for the art department and marketing people at a publisher so they can have a hand in selecting which approach would best serve the sale of the book. Sometimes, too, it would often happen that a book was so engaging that I couldn't decide on just one scene to single out for the cover. In such cases, I would do several comps and leave the decision up to the publisher and author.

When I became acquainted with SF conventions and fantasy and science fiction fandom, I was gratified to learn that there were collectors eager to own some of these preliminary pieces when they were available, and so most of my old comps have disappeared into private collections. Also, in the early years of my career, I neglected to document many of them, so my personal archive of these preliminary works is regretfully less complete than I would like. Still, I did manage to photograph or scan enough of them to provide a peek into the alternative ideas behind my works for Anne McCaffrey's Pern novels.

My approach to creating concept sketches has always been dictated by my subjective feelings about the book they were concerned with. Since I believe that the arrangement of lights and darks is the most important part of an image, and that the color scheme is the most malleable part of a painting, the majority of my comps over the years have been in monochrome—that is, either in black and white or limited color, sometimes with a suggestion of the warmer and cooler colors I thought might work well for the final image. However, on many occasions the colors were there in my mind when the idea for an image came to me; in such cases, I would go ahead and do the comps in color.

The preliminary works shown here are culled from six of the Pern cover art projects I worked on. All of these were painted in acrylic.

It was like winning an illustrator's lottery to have the opportunity to contribute to such important and popular books, books that were both a joy to work with and which inspired some of my most popular cover paintings. Anne's generous and steadfast enthusiasm for my work throughout the years is something I will always treasure and feel grateful for.