In the early 1960's a number of extraordinarily gifted SF authors made their debuts. This remarkable group included Samuel R. Delany, Thomas M. Disch, Ursula K. Le Guin and Roger Zelazny, who went on to become a true master of speculative fiction. Bursting on the science fiction scene with a series of dazzling short stories and an innovative first novel, This Immortal, Zelazny had arrived and quickly established his presence with numerous works of exceptional imagination.

One year after the publication of THIS IMMORTAL, Zelazny's second book, Lord of Light, was published. The novel, which many consider to be his masterpiece, won the Hugo Award. Following hot-on-the-heels of this success, Zelazny began his immensely popular Amber series, which grew to 10 volumes, and, to date, has sold more than one million copies in the United States alone. The phenomenal success of the series led to a companion volume Roger Zelazny's VISUAL GUIDE TO CASTLE AMBER, written with Neil Randell.

Throughout his 30-year career, Roger Zelazny produced major works such as THE DREAM MASTER, DAMNATION ALLEY and HOME IS THE HANGMAN. In doing so, he helped to shape modern Science Fiction and fantasy. A major star in the SF firmament, Zelazny maintained a high level of commercial popularity and critical acclaim. His prodigious output of more than 30 books included both novels and shorter works. In all, he won six Hugos and three Nebula Awards.

As Paul Anderson said, "Roger Zelazny is one of our very finest writers, a master of prose both sinewy and lyrical, a teller of tales evocative, suspenseful, thought-provoking."

Roger Zelazny died June 14, 1995, survived by his three children and his companion, novelist Jane Lindskold.

Roger Zelazny Appreciation
by Jane Lindskold

Roger and I met through letters, starting with brief, formal notes which evolved into long, rambling novellas that required several stamps and stressed the carrying capacity of an envelope. Roger's daily entries would often begin with a weather report and I fell into a similar habit so that, despite distance, we had a strong sense of proximity. We discussed everything -- religion, politics, music, art, family, friends, books, and writing.

These latter two fascinated both of us. I had just finished my Ph.D. and, with a teaching job to bring in the rent, was ready to pursue my long-time dream of becoming a writer. Roger read my early efforts and offered constructive criticism that never tried to make me into a Zelazny clone. He mailed me books. I mailed him books. He turned me onto the comics Grimlack and Sandman.

We met for the first time in 1989 at a Lunacon in New York - a meeting that rather than being a meeting of strangers was are union of best friends who somehow had never met each other before that moment. We didn't see each other frequently thereafter -- once, maybe twice, a year at some convention or other. Then, at the end of 1993, I realized that my marriage was running on momentum. When I told Roger I was getting a divorce, he asked me if I would come and live with him in Santa Fe.

I agreed and we started all the planning that the move would necessitate. We were having quite a good time, right up to the day that Roger (who had been feeling a bit low energy) decided that if I could pack up and move to a state I'd only visited once before, he could go and get a check-up. (Like many of us, he was a bit reluctant to visit the doctor). The check-up found a tumor. Further tests confirmed that not only was it malignant, it was situated so that surgery would be difficult. Chemotherapy was an option, however, and Roger started a few days later. He offered to release me from my promise to come to Santa Fe. I told him he was crazy -- where else could I be at such a time?

By June of 1994, I had made the move and started what I can sincerely say was one of the best years of my life. Despite the reality of Roger's illness, we didn't really focus on it. People often asked us how two writers living together managed to keep from driving each other crazy. I don't know how it works for other writers, but it worked great for us. One room of our house was a single car garage that had been converted into an office. My computer went at one end. Roger's typewriters went at the other. Bookshelves lined the walls and a couple of really beat up chairs filled the center.

We worked in that narrow room together, periodically stopping to share an idea or read aloud a passage we particularly liked. Discussion never cut into creativity -- if anything, it added to it. In that year, I finished one novel and wrote an entire second one, along with a host of short stories. Chemotherapy sometimes made Roger too sleepy to write, but when he did he was quite happy with the results. Among his pieces were an Amber short story ("The Hall of Mirrors'')1, a lovely, poignant piece called "Epithalamium. 112 He also worked on DONNERJACK, started Lord Demon, and edited three anthologies.

We fell into the habit of reading rough drafts aloud to each other. Sometimes Roger would tell me what he was planning for unfinished projects, not the vague hints he had given before, but developed ideas.

Rough drafts were not the only things we read aloud. Many evenings were happily spent sharing favorite children's books that way -- Mary Poppins, Dr. Doolittle, John Bellair's marvelous Gothics, the Bunnicula books, Edward Eager, and more. In February, during a visit to my dad, we discovered that we could work crossword puzzles and ciphers together and many a happy evening was spent side by side on the sofa, heads bent over a folded scrap of newspaper.

Although we were given only a single year together, Roger and I managed a great deal of living. We traveled -- most notably to New Zealand -- wrote, role-played, and developed good, solid friendships with many of the New Mexico writers.

Everyone knows the end of this story. Eventually, the cancer won. Roger died on June 14, 1995 with friends and family around him. I've gone on, but his picture is in my office and his memory remains in my heart.