Dragonwriter (31 page)

I was thrilled she was doing so well, but the year had been draining for me. I began to feel as if I had lost touch with myself. Because Michelle was still so medically fragile and dependent on the machines that now decorated half of our living room, I rarely left the house. My only friends were the home health nurses who came every day to attend to Michelle's needs while I got some sleep or spent time with my other children. I looked forward to the nurses arriving every day. Adult conversation was such a treasure. It was then that my husband brought home our first computer. I wasn't very sure about the new addition; my computer skills were limited to data entry and Lotus spreadsheets. I had never encountered the internet, but he suggested it might help with the cabin fever that had begun to set in after a year of isolation.

I was curious and liked the shiny, bright, newness of it, but doubted it could actually help me feel less lonely and isolated. It was just a box sitting in the den. Then he showed me how to get to the interests section of AOL and said something like “You like to read; you can search for authors in here.” We clicked on the “authors” button, and a list of names appeared for us to scroll through. I was so clueless the first time I clicked on Anne's name and entered a strange new world. I had no idea how popular Anne was or that there was such a thing as fandom.

I wandered from one click to the next. There were new marvels to be found with every refreshing of the screen: tons of scrolling text discussing books and series written by Anne that I didn't even know existed. But it was the personal stories that were scattered across the message boards that really caught my attention. For the first time, I realized my experience with Anne's writing was not unique. I read dozens of stories that day, all of them describing the various ways her writing had helped someone through troubled times. All of this would have been merely a day's distraction if an instant message hadn't suddenly appeared on my screen wanting to know if I was going to be joining everyone in the dragonrider room.

I admit to being more than a tad bit alarmed when this message appeared from out of nowhere. I didn't know what a dragonrider room was, and I certainly didn't know who “everyone” was. I politely typed back that I hadn't been planning on joining them and didn't know how to get there. I closed the window and went back to reading. Another window popped up with explicit directions on how to navigate to the room. It was soon followed by several messages wanting to know if I was coming. With a sigh, I realized that whoever this was, they were going to interrupt my exploration of the Anne McCaffrey message boards until I joined them.

To say entering the chat room was a culture shock would be putting it mildly. A chorus of greetings and dragon noises sent by a barrage of Pernese-sounding screen names scrolled by faster than anyone could read. I sat stunned by the overwhelming visual noise and was about to quietly leave the room when I got a very calm message welcoming me to the gathering and explaining a few logistics. The meeting was called to order, and an actual discussion of the Pern series began. In all the years of reading the books, I'd had no one to talk to about them. Before long, simply “listening” to the discussion wasn't enough. I stumbled my way through figuring out how to join the conversation. There was a language shorthand that took me a while to figure out, but I was having a blast. Then I recognized a name from a story I had read on a message board earlier, and all of these silly anonymous screen names scrolling past suddenly became people. I began to pick out what she was saying and hear it in the context of the personal tragedy she had shared on the boards. Her reactions took on deeper meaning, and I began to see past the irritating level of silly that kept cluttering my screen to the heart of what was really going on: there were genuine bonds of friendship and trust mixed in with the juvenile remarks. And for some reason, several of my new friends decided they weren't going to let me slip away.

I was bombarded with invitations to join various clubs and with questions about my writing ability. Not sure why this was relevant, I replied that I had written lots of stories when I was a kid and did quite well with creative writing classes in school. My mailbox was suddenly overflowing with guides, rules, and writing examples. For a week, every time I turned on the computer, someone would send me a message wanting to know how I was doing and if I'd read their guide. I began to look forward to the Monday night gatherings in the dragonrider chat room. No matter the odd hour of the day or night when I would find myself awake and alone with the beeping of Michelle's monitors, there was always someone from the Pern community online to talk to. The loneliness began to fade, and I decided that if writing was the rite of passage to remain part of this community, then I would write a story.

Courtesy of Anne McCaffrey fandom, I now have a new appreciation for the phrase “gateway drug.”

I joined a weyr, created a character, and wrote a story. Then I wrote another story. I joined another club. When I wasn't looking, I somehow became the leader of a club. Then I got invited to join many of my online friends at a gathering known as Dragon*Con in Atlanta.

I hadn't been away from Michelle for more than a couple of hours at a time in the first two and a half years of her life. The thought of leaving her for an entire weekend was terrifying, but my friends and family convinced me I would be better able to care for her if I remembered to also care for myself. I decided to go. Once again, having no clue what I was getting into, I entered the next level of McCaffrey fandom as a wide-eyed innocent.

I wasn't given much time to adjust. The same fandom forces that had maneuvered me into running my own club had also talked me into being on several panels. I somehow managed to survive the experience and never looked back. For the past sixteen years, I have been one of the movers and shakers of Weyrfest at Dragon*Con. I love interacting with people who truly love Anne and her work. Their personal stories inspire me as much as the friendships I have made sustain me.

I spent several years enjoying my annual romp with fandom before the next wave of unexpected life change happened. In 1999, Anne decided to return to Dragon*Con. I had heard stories from fans about how wonderful it was to meet Anne. They would sit and talk for hours about every nuance of every moment spent with the Dragonlady. The level of adoration was a bit daunting at times, but given how deeply she had impacted my own life, I understood why many of them could be moved to tears at the very sight of her. As one of the worker bees, I had more of an opportunity to interact with Anne than most of the convention attendees. I was thrilled to shake her hand and see for myself the sparkle of mischief that was always lurking in her eyes. The sheer number of people trying to get close to her, and the impressive number of people trying to keep her safe, intimidated me. So I kept to the edge of things and did my best to bring a tiny bit of order to the chaos that was Weyrfest that year. I ended up having some amazing conversations with a member of her entourage. He was intelligent, funny, and encouraging when the topic of writing came up. It was later when my new friend was on a panel that I realized Todd Johnson was Anne's son.

I would be far more embarrassed for my cluelessness, except that I am grateful I didn't know who he was when we began talking. First impressions are important, and I have always seen Todd as my friend first and Anne's son second. It was his encouragement that eventually led me to attending writer's workshops and braving the terror of sending my first manuscripts into the great unknown.

By the time Anne returned to Dragon*Con, I had become one of the directors of Weyrfest. Anne had been through a lot since the first time I'd met her, and as a result, her health was no longer as robust as it had once been. As we made preparations for her arrival, I was worried. I remembered how chaotic the press of people had been the last time she had been a guest at the convention. At the opening of Weyrfest, we tried to explain how important it was for everyone to show their love for Anne by being gentle with her. We recruited a reliable Anne Guard who would accompany her everywhere, but this wasn't to keep Anne away from her fans—it was to make it safe for her to be near them. I had underestimated the majority of the people who had gathered to see her. Once again, I was impressed by how many people genuinely loved her and took great pains to keep her safe.

This time, I spent more time with Anne than I had before. I found myself swept along to meals with her, Todd, and an ever-changing cast of fascinating characters. There was always room to squeeze another chair at the table as her friends appeared. Each meal would end up a delightful mixture of famous and fandom, with Anne reigning over her adoring court like a benevolent queen. I will never forget the way she seemed to sparkle from the inside out. Her laughter was infectious, and she had a talent for drawing stories out of people. I would sit at the far end of the table and quietly observe the subtlety of her interactions. It was easy to think she was lost in a sea of sounds as everyone around her laughed and talked at the same time. But then someone would make a remark that would catch her attention, and she would turn the full force of her charm on them. With a light touch of the hand and an encouraging smile, she would soon have them pouring out every detail of whatever anecdote she found entertaining or moving. While watching this hypnotizing dance, I came to realize why Anne's fans were so fiercely devoted to her. The love and adoration they were lavishly pouring over her wasn't just being received; it was being returned. Putting Anne and a fan together was magical. They would both get a glow of joy around them that was humbling to see.

After the convention was over, I had the opportunity to be on the receiving end of that intense charm. Anne and I were sitting in the chairs that reappear in the lobby of the hotel once Dragon*Con is over. I was showing her pictures of my kids, and we were enjoying a nice chat. She asked me how things had been in the Weyrfest room, and I shared a few amusing stories with her. I also told her about a panel we had that year where everyone had a chance to share a “how Anne's writing touched my life” story. I briefly told her some of the things people had said that really stuck with me. She kept nodding her head and listening. Then came the touch of the hand and the smile as she said, “And what was your story?” I knew I'd walked right into her web. So I took a deep breath and told her about Michelle and Helva. She never said a word, just kept patting my hand even as both our eyes got a bit watery. When I finally finished sharing, she squeezed my hand and all she said was “Thank you.” Todd had told me how special
The Ship Who Sang
was for his mom; the dedication to her father at the beginning of the book merely hints at the deep emotions, inspired by the Colonel's death, that Anne poured into the pages. I understood and returned her hand squeeze. Then she grinned and tapped a picture of my older daughter, whom she'd met at the convention, and said, “Now that one is special!” The tears were replaced with smiles as we began another round of swapping kid stories. She was a crafty one who knew how to build a bond, applying equal amounts of laughter and tears.

Over the years I would be fortunate enough to have several opportunities to interact with Anne and observe the way people opened up around her. Somewhere along the way, in my eyes she stopped being the legendary author and simply became my dear friend's mom. While getting ready for an awards banquet one year, she was treating me to a delightfully embarrassing tale of Todd while I braided her hair and helped with her makeup. I was struck by the immense contrast between the fragility of her skin and the vigorous spirit shining in her eyes. The green eyes and freckles mentioned in that long-ago author's note were very much in evidence, and in light of the force of the personality contained within—the rest truly did change without notice. It was but the shell that carried around an incredible essence that not only compelled others to respond with openhearted love, but was brave enough to love in return. I hugged her and looked at our faces reflecting back a matching set of mischievous green eyes and realized how true my first impression had been. She was indeed the sort of person I could be, and amazingly was, friends with.

A few years ago, as we began the frenzy that is part of Weyrfest planning, whenever Anne would announce she would be joining us, Todd suggested we do a staged reading of
The Ship Who Sang.
I thought this sounded like a wonderful idea and was both honored and nervous when I was given the part of Helva. Few would understand how much it meant to me to be her voice, but Todd was one of them. Unfortunately, health concerns kept Anne from being able to make the journey. Instead, we filmed the presentation to send to her as a get well wish from all of us at Weyrfest. I can close my eyes and still hear the tremble in Todd's voice as he read, before the notes of the requiem sounded, “Softly, barely audible at first, the strains of the ancient song of evening and requiem swelled to the final poignant measure until black space itself echoed back the sound of the song the ship sang.” The powerful silence of a room filled to capacity with people moved to tears by the words Anne had written fifty years before was tremendous.

The impact on my life of that brief paragraph in the back of a book so many years before suddenly hit me. By reading one book, my life had taken a direction and been filled with people I never could have imagined. Those offhand words weren't just a clever disregard for the effect time has on a physical appearance; “the rest changes without notice” was life. Without my noticing what was happening, Anne managed to reach out and make profound changes in my life.

But now that I have noticed, I am forever grateful. Thank you, Anne. For every word, every smile, every tear, and every song.