He insists that there must be evidence of higher Martian life forms in the canyon. Joanna begs him to stop, tells him that he is making a fool of himself in the eyes of the others. Ken cannot and will not stop. In desperation, Joanna accuses him of trying to manufacture a spectacular find so that future missions will be sent to Mars—at the expense of the poor and dying people of the Third World.
Vosnesensky, already strained by their arguments and Ilona Maleter’s flirting, loses what little patience he had and calls Ken an idiot to believe that there could have been an intelligent civilization on Mars. There is absolutely no shred of evidence even hinting at an ancient civilization. Even Ilona fears that Ken is behaving this way because he wants to justify his presence on Mars and be the “star” of the team.
But Grainger, driven by his dreams, keeps on insisting. He has told no one about the dreams, not even Joanna, for fear that they will consider him unstable or even insane.
We see a classic confrontation: The scientist who has a vision, an idea, a goal that he must pursue, the man who is driven by inner demons, facing the skeptics who think he is dead wrong and perhaps even dangerously insane. What the man with the vision regards as evidence the others regard as a fluke or no evidence at all. This confrontation is made deeper, deadlier, by Tony Reed’s treachery.
In desperation, Grainger tells Reed about his dreams—in strictest, stammering, red-faced confidence. It’s not so much that Reed is the team’s psychologist (as well as M.D.); Ken seeks out Tony’s advice because Reed always seems so unruffled and above the turmoil of personal conflicts. He has acted as an arbiter when arguments between the scientists became too intense. But Reed, who has secretly had his eye on Joanna for months, betrays Grainger and tries to get him sent off to the orbiting spacecraft and have the backup geologist sent to the surface to replace him.
Shocked, angered almost to the point of murder, Grainger takes off on his own for the great rift valley. Alone, he will find his Martians. Or die.
End
***
Piers Anthony
Piers Anthony was born in Oxford, England, in 1934. His family was doing relief work in Spain during the Spanish Civil War, so Piers spent a year in Spain. The new fascist government expelled the family from Spain, and Piers had his 6th birthday on the ship to America. He was not a great student, taking 3 years and 5 schools to make it through first grade because of his trouble learning to read. Yet in due course he became a writer, making his first story sale in 1962 and going on to have 21 novels on the New York Times best seller list. Today he lives with his wife on their tree farm in backwoods Florida. He is still writing stories and novels.
My career as a novelist followed the normal pattern: at the beginning I had to write and submit the full novels, and keep submitting them until they found publishers, or were retired. Once I was established, I wrote and marketed summaries, and wrote only those novels that had publishers lined up. Later, notably with the Xanth series, I marketed novels from their titles alone, and figured them out when the time came to write them. Later yet, no longer living hand to mouth , as it were, I returned to writing full novels first. That was because I wanted to write what I chose, and that meant difficulty finding publishers. The rule of thumb is that you can’t readily sell the worst or the best of what you write; you have to stick to the middle range, if you’re doing it for money. So today I am going to small press, or even self-publishing much of what I write, bypassing Parnassus (the restrictive publishing establishment).
Being a Green Mother was in that second stage of my career. I pencil wrote a first draft of a summary, fleshed it out in a typed second draft, marked corrections, then did a formal submission draft of the summary for the publisher. The story would fill out enormously when the full novel was written, but the brief second draft summary does show the essence. This was the fifth in what became an eight novel series, so much of the background already existed and didn’t need to be described.
—Piers Anthony
Being a Green Mother
By Piers Anthony
Second draft summary
This is to be the fifth in the series Incarnations of Immortality, the final volume, to be of similar length and type as the others, to be delivered by June 1, 1986. This one concerns Gaea, the Incarnation of Nature.
The protagonist is Orb, the daughter of Niobe and Pacian Kaftan, born and raised in Ireland. From her father she inherits a special magic talent with music that amplifies her singing voice with the authority of a hidden orchestra. She has a small magic harp that intensifies the effect. At the age of 18 she leaves home and goes on tour as a musician, joining a group that has a variety of entertainments. The money is good, but basically she does it because she likes the company and the chance to perform worldwide.
In India she meets a mime—a young man who is marvelously dexterous, able to silently mimic anyone, to juggle anything, and to regale audiences as a clown or acrobat. He calls himself Mym. But he doesn’t speak. She learns that this is because he stutters badly. He joins her group, and they develop a new act: her lovely songs augmented by his comic drama, as he pantomimes what she describes in song. He can even mimic her, so that he seems to be singing, with hilarious effect. This is very good for the success of the group; it gets invited to all the best places. But personally Mym is very shy and sensitive, and difficult to know. Orb gradually gets to know him, learning that he has a poetic sense, can write well, and is also skilled with weapons. When they get waylaid, knives appear in his hands, and he routs the attackers. Her interest deepens and finally becomes love. She teaches him to sing, and he is not bad, though not in her class.
He confesses his origin; he is a Prince of India, in hiding from his destiny. If his father the Rajah’s men ever find him, his life will never again be his own. Orb agrees to keep his secret. They have an affair and plan to marry—if they can find a way to do it without betraying his true identity. They hope it will work out some way; meanwhile they are in love. But it doesn’t. The Rajah’s men locate Mym and take him away. All he can do is kiss her and give her his magic ring and promise to return—but they both know that he won’t. The Rajah has power and magic; Mym will be forced to conform to his destiny. The men give her money: a payoff that will make her financially independent. And a warning: if she ever again sets foot in India, she will be subject to assassination.
After Mym is gone, Orb discovers she is pregnant. She refuses to abort the baby, but knows she cannot keep it. So she bears it secretly—the other members of the group cover for her—and gives it to a young couple she trusts, to be adopted. She passes along only the name—Orlene—and the magic ring. (Orlene and the ring are seen twenty years later, chronologically, in Hourglass*.) She resumes her singing career; there is nothing else to do.
In the ensuing six year period there develops a slow, somewhat devious courtship by a handsome stranger. The man is evidently attracted to Orb because of her singing ability. Indeed, he has similar power himself, and can sing with amazing clarity, mood and force. But Orb is wary for two reasons: first, she doesn’t want to have another romance cut off the way the one with Mym was, and the stranger won’t tell her his background, so she can’t be sure there isn’t something similar. Second, there are powerful voices raging against it. Indeed, they are the voices of the Incarnations, who approach her in turn to warn her away from him. These are surprising folk, for not only are they Incarnations, they are, in several cases, people she knows. One is with Thanatos, the Incarnation of Death. Another is even more surprising: Chronos, who informs her that in the distant future he has loved her daughter Orlene. He proves it, for he has the magic ring Mym gave her, that she passed on to her baby daughter; it seems that Orlene gave it to him in the future. He calls the ring Sning, and Sning visits her finger and confirms everything—but won’t tell her why she must break off the romance. And, surprising and awkward, there is Mars, who is Mym, her first love. They all plead with her to break off the relationship with the strange
man, but none of them will tell her why, or who he is, though they obviously know. Meanwhile the man takes her on a series of phenomenal vision-trips, to places she has neither seen nor imagined before. She is impressed despite her reserve, and stage by stage her reticence is overcome; she is falling in love with him.
Meanwhile, Orb’s power is expanding. Originally she could only affect a person if she sang while touching that person; the magic harp enabled her to evoke the magic orchestra at a slight distance. Now her talent is reaching out in a wider circle. It is a two-way process; as she touches others, they touch her, and she becomes aware of their essences. This is not mind-reading, but rather a kind of empathy; she can tell how they should react because she understands their situation. The effect broadens to include animals, and then plants, and then inanimate things. Thus there is a series of stages, her excursions to the visions of her romantic friend alternating with her growth in awareness of the things around her. Her growing love for the man seems to enhance the awareness, until at last her love is complete, and so is her identification with her environment. Now at last the truth comes clear: she has been in the process of becoming the Incarnation of Nature, called Gaea, the Green Mother, the most powerful of the Earthly Incarnations. Her rapport embraces all the world; she feels it, and she can affect it. The prior Gaea has been in office a long time, and has grown tired, only waiting for someone to develop the necessary rapport and take her place. That person is Orb. The former Gaea has gone voluntarily to the Afterlife, satisfied that her successor has been found.
Now that Orb is Gaea, nothing in nature can be hidden from her, once she thinks to inquire. She can grasp the mysteries of the weather, and of human emotion, of growing things and natural selection. She can travel to any region of the world simply by expanding her awareness to include all the world, then contracting it to coalesce in the place she wants it to be. She can assume any form and any size, being a lovely young woman or a cadaverous old one; she can become a bird or a bug or a tree or a thunderstorm. It is her job to keep the course of nature in order, to see that polar bears do not wander to the tropics, that tropical storms do not develop in the arctic, that puppies do not grow on trees or pine-cones on cows. The ramifications of her power are so extensive that it will take her years to unravel them all. But she starts with a simple bit of information: who is the man she loves, and why did the other Incarnations conspire to keep his identity secret? She gazes on him, and recognizes him at last. He is Satan.
Now the horrible truth comes clear. Satan knew that her destiny was to become Nature, and that her power allied to his would give him ultimate control of the world. So he courted her anonymously, to capture her love before she realized. She is furious. Her vaunted temper explodes with a fury amplified by her new power, as she searches for him to destroy him. The aspects of nature on Earth go crazy; storms develop of a severity never seen before, every volcano on the globe erupts violently, earthquakes shake every continent, the tides of the ocean sweep over the land, fires rage, pestilence rages ferociously, plague takes hold—all life on the globe is being destroyed. But as that happens, and she looks at the ruins of what had been, she realizes two things: she has destroyed the world, not Satan, who is secure in Hell; and—she still loves him. All this has been useless.
Too late, it seems, she is ready to listen and reason. Chronos returns, and advises her that he can undo the damage, with her consent. She consents, and he takes her back a short distance in time, to the moment before the Rage of Nature began. It has not yet happened to the world—but her memory and his remain intact. She has the chance to do it over. Certainly she will not again abuse her power like this—but still she loves Satan. He comes to her and protests that his intentions are honorable; he wishes to marry her. That marriage will put the world effectively into his power, for she would not act against her husband even if she did not support him. She knows that this was Satan’s plan all along, but also knows she is captive to it. She must either fight him or marry him, and she has already tried fighting him. So, reluctantly, she agrees to marry him.
This is the outcome the other Incarnations feared. They had known that either fighting or marriage was a disaster, and sought to divert her before she came into her power. They had not told her before, because she was as likely to renounce the office of Nature as to renounce Satan, and that would void the prophecy and generate a host of unfathomable complications that none of them, including Satan himself, wanted. So they had to play it through and hope—and that hope was vain. Now they must resign themselves to their loss; they will attend the wedding ceremony.
It is quite a ceremony. All the minions of Hell turn out, with absolute discipline and courtesy, to organize every detail. This is Satan’s triumph; he means to have no blemish on it. Every attending Incarnation is given a place of honor and treated with respect. A choir of demons sings with the voices of angels. Orb, as Gaea, comes to the altar for the exchange of vows, still distressed but compelled by nothing other than her own love. All the world watches, dreading what is to be, yet unwilling to condemn it and unable to stop it.
Then Satan appears, as handsome as any man has ever been. He turns to Gaea, takes her hand, and sings to her. All the world is filled with the power of his song, which is completely beautiful and loving and sincere. As he sings, brilliant smoke swirls about him, obscuring him—and when the song is done, the smoke dissipates and Satan is gone. All the demons and the spirits of Hell are gone too; only the mortals and the Incarnations remain. Satan has deserted Gaea at the altar, declining at the last moment to marry her.
She cries, knowing that her dream is not to be. Her tears extend throughout the world, and there is gentle rain everywhere. But though she is in anguish, there is a compensation. For this is the proof that Satan loves her after all. He has no conscience, by definition; he is the Incarnation of Evil. He will use any ruse, destroy any person or any thing, do anything to win his ultimately victory. But he cannot destroy that single spark of good in him—the proof that even the Incarnation of Evil is not pure—which is his love for Gaea. To marry her would have been to destroy her, and that he could not do. Thus he has given up the victory that seemed within his grasp, and the world has been spared.
* Bearing an Hourglass. Book two of the Incarnations of Immortality series.
***
Michael Bishop
Michael Bishop has lived in Pine Mountain, Georgia, forty straight years. His latest publications include handsome trade paperbacks from Patrick Swenson’s Fairwood Press of revised versions of his novels Brittle Innings (2012), Ancient of Days (2013), and a Thirtieth Anniversary edition of Who Made Stevie Crye? (Aug 2014), released under the author’s exclusive imprint, Kudzu Planet Productions, both as book and e-book, with the photomontage illustrations by J. K. Potter from the original Arkham House edition and a brand-new Author’s Afterword. Count Geiger’s Blues, also revised, appeared from Fairwood Press/Kudzu Planet in the same formats in Nov 2014, and other Bishop titles, some brand-new, will achieve print and e-book status in the near future.
After finishing a novelization of my long story “Death and Designation Among the Asadi” (by adding to the narrative rather than simply expanding it from within), I called my book Transfigurations and pronounced myself ready to write a novel about human prehistory, specifically hominid evolution in Pleistocene East Africa. I had been researching this material for a couple of years, reading Louis B. Leakey, Jane Goodall, Richard Leakey, Roger Lewin, Donald Johanson, and Carl Sagan, among others, and had used some of this research in Transfigurations. David Hartwell, who had edited my mosaic novel—okay, my fix-up—Catacomb Years before leaving Berkley/Putnam for Simon & Schuster, indicated that he would prove receptive to a proposal for this paleoanthropological novel. To secure a contract at Timescape Books (the sf division of Simon & Schuster that David had recently formed), I needed to shape and submit such a proposal.
Frankly, I had no idea how to proceed. I had sold my first novel, A Funeral for the E
yes of Fire, to Ballantine Books by impressing Betty Ballantine with a novella in an original anthology of David Gerrold’s and then writing a longer work because Betty wanted to see a novel. I struggled with this project, but eventually, with lots of editorial help, brought it to completion. My long novella, And Strange at Ecbatan the Trees, sold to Harper & Row because my agent, Virginia Kidd, submitted the manuscript to Buz Wyeth and he snapped it up for publication. I had expected only a magazine sale. Learning that Harper & Row would release Ecbatan as a hardcover flabbergasted me. How had I gotten so lucky? As for my third novel, Stolen Faces, I wrote it in a little over a month, and Harper & Row took it, too. Catacomb Years, my fourth book, comprised a series of tales against the same backdrop, the Atlanta Urban Nucleus, material that I spliced together with interpolated bridge passages and several recurring characters. And Transfigurations? It wasn’t a conventional novel, either, but a long dramatic gloss on the text of a popular anthropological novella that I had published in 1974.
How did a writer put together a proposal—a prospectus—in short, a come-on—for a novel not yet written? Well, if anybody could do it, surely an sf writer could. In fact, I think I had read Robert Silverberg’s detailed proposal for his thick colorful sf fantasy, Lord Valentine’s Castle, in a fanzine not long before I sat down to write a proposal for No Enemy But Time. Sad to say, reading his proposal did little to help me with mine. Silverberg can plot, and he laid out his narrative strands carefully. I, on the other hand, employ haunting mental images and amorphous quasi-scientific notions as springboards and then leap in not knowing whether I will do a graceful Australian crawl or just flail about spastically and drown. In any case, I wrote the formal come-on that follows, and it led my agent, the long-suffering Howard Morhaim, to say that he had never encountered a client who wrote more egregious proposals than I.
The Synopsis Treasury Page 10