The Warlock Rewritten

There's a problem with sequels, as anybody who has seen The Empire Strikes Back knows.  The first book sets up the world, the third one shows us the final battle and the wrap-up afterwards... but the second book is left hanging.  I had the same problem with The Oathbound Wizard, but luckily my editor, Lester Del Rey, worked me through it.  Among many other things, he suggested the title, and the plot twist that generated it.

My first published novel (and first published story) was The Warlock in Spite of Himself, in 1969.  Lester Del Rey was a reviewer at the time, and was kind enough to devote some space to my book.  His review began with the words, "This novel definitely has the worst title of the year."  My heart sank down to my boots—but the second sentence was worse, proclaiming that I had committed the grave mistake of trying to use fantasy in the same book with science fiction (an amazing comment coming from the author of Day of the Giants, in which a Minnesota farmer is drafted into the army of the Norse gods just in time for Ragnorak).

However, he went on to say, "Somehow, though, Stasheff makes it all work."

I picked up my heart and put it back in place.  Then Mr. Del Rey went on to list my story's good points, ending with the immortal sentence, "There is room for a sequel.  I hope Stasheff is working on one," a phrase which, if I had St. Peter's job, would certainly have qualified him for a halo.  I wasn't working on a sequel at the time, but I began working on King Kobold that day.  When it appeared in print, I watched the pro-zines eagerly, holding my breath and hoping for a favorable word from the man who, I now realized, must indeed by the most insightful and knowledgeable alive.

I found his column—and put on the brakes.  He first reviewed a novel by another author, beginning with words that have engraved themselves in my memory: "This novel has all the mistakes of a second book by a talented writer."  As I read it, my heart sank, realizing that I had committed every single one of those errors in my sequel... although when Del Rey went on to review King Kobold, he was kind enough not to point them out.  He did, however, catch me on several other errors, and ended with a sentence that showed he was trying to be kind: "It's not a bad book of you don't expect too much of the evening spent with it."

That, I think, was when I learned what the phrase "damning with faint praise" meant.

A few years later, though, the Garland Publishing Company hired Del Rey to put out a twelve-volume treasury containing the top classics of science fiction—and The Warlock in Spite of Himself was one of them!

I had to thank the man.  A few years later, at a convention, I had the opportunity—I actually shook his hand!  When he saw my name tag, he smiled and said he hoped the Garland edition had done me some good.  I assured him it had.  He then asked me why he hadn't seen any more of my work, and I explained that the editors weren't interested.  He said, "Well, then, send it to me!"  Considering that Ballantine had just appointed him to run his own publishing imprint, that was quite a compliment.

I hammered out a fifty-page proposal for what would become Her Majesty's Wizard.  He sent back a three-page reply, complimenting me even more, but pointing out a few things that didn't jibe, such as Stegoman's inability to fly.  He also made suggestions that made it a much better book.  I revised the original outline wholesale and sent it back to him.  The Stegoman of the original outline was supposed to speak baseball English, but in the draft I sent him, I had decided to make him speak Shakespearean instead.  A lesser editor might have turned it down.  Del Rey kept it.

Thanks to his patient guidance, the book sold well—very well for a very young author like myself.  I found this out at the next convention, when one of his assistants told me just how well, and suggested I write a sequel.  Keeping in mind the lessons in sequel-writing I'd learned from Del Rey's book review years earlier, I carefully wrote the outline for the first Wizard in Rhyme sequel and sent it to Del Rey (I think the working title was The Witch Doctor, but that's another story).

Del Rey, and his wife Judy-Lynn, were every writer's dream—editors who encouraged you, supported you, praised you as often as they corrected you, found your every mistake and persuaded you to change it.  He replied with just as many helpful ideas, such as Matt having to find his way back from a foreign kingdom because, in a rash moment, he had sworn an oath to do so—thus, the wizard being oathbound was Del Rey's doing.  It fitted perfectly with one of my main ideas—that words have power, so you have to be careful how you use them.  He also suggested an imaginary creature he'd invented—a hybrid of a dragon and a gryphon, who spoke baseball English.  Narlh joined Stegoman as a misfit monster who prefers human company—and speaks baseball English, so I finally delivered my promise from the original outline.  There were other ideas he gave me for free, so many I had trouble keeping up.  Finally it was finished.

This is the result.  The Oathbound Wizard is one of those novels given the gilded touch of Lester Del Rey.  If you haven't read it, I hope you enjoy it—and if you don't, you can always leave me a note on the forum in my website, christopher.stasheff.com.  I won't change this book—it's already published—but your comments might influence the next one.

I'll look forward to hearing from you.

Christopher Stasheff, July 2012

P.S. — My friend Peter D'Alessio has made up for my change in Stegoman's speaking style.  If you haven't met the baseball-English dragons in his novel Uncle Merl's Bar and Grill, I highly recommend you do.