ABOUT THE AUTHOR

An Apology

[PARKE GODWIN has been repeatedly warned by the Publisher to put the comedy in the book, not after it in biographical material, which should be dignified and factual. He has been frequently reminded that SF/fantasy is a genre of noble mien and purpose, blessed with mature, dedicated artists and discriminating readers; that he stepped from poor taste to lèse-majesté in characterizing several contemporary masters of fantasy as needing “a stiff drink, a roll in the hay, and a long blue pencil,” or his own hardworking editor as a fugitive sled dog. As of the present volume, the Publisher served notice that no more of this questionable levity would be countenanced. Accordingly, the Author submitted the following biographical notes, which he maintains are completely factual. – ED.]

Born: Harold Parke Godwin, Brooklyn, NY 1/28/29. Blood: O-pos. No allergies. No religious affil.

Education: Unimpressive. No degree. Once failed Lunch.

Marital Status: Divorced since 1968. Instinctive bachelor.

Politics: Liberal Democrat. Always regarded with suspicion by Republican aunt in Scarsdale.

Passions: Music and theater, good prose, good comedy, good friends, good cooking, poker.

Dislikes: Evangelists and airline food, yuppies, writers who spend more lime at conventions than work.

Regrets: As a young man, ignored many chances to be kind. Once voted for Eisenhower.

Disposition: Not misanthropic but solitary. Articulate as hell when drunk but tends to fall down. Given to nostalgia for lost things like America. Would like her back when she gets over Falwell, North and other agonized patriots. Tends to laugh over things that make him weep, like his country, because no one wants to listen to a middle-aged writer soap-box his audience into troubled sleep.

Salient faults: Quick temper as quickly cooled. Occasionally caustic, sometimes given to snap judgments and lecturing of friends on what’s good for them, but improving with age.

Work Habits: Messy. Writes longhand, paces, mumbles, chain-smokes. Revises endlessly on an Italian typewriter that resembles a Polish joke. Worries over structure; a crashing bore on the subject of tightness. Clumsy, the natural prey of mechanical devices and typewriter ribbons.

Current: Recently moved from Manhattan to California. A dog fancier all his life, has found two cats, one stoic and the other mad, that he actually likes.