Tim was up late last night playing with the VCR, figuring out how tp record things, experimenting with the Jean Seberg Jeanne d’ Arc. I remember watching that movie as a child, but I suspect I ran to hide behind Dad’s chair when they burned her because I have no memory of that scene.

I worked on Fritz’ corrections and relayed to Charlie what Fritz had told me, that he wanted the manuscript shipped that week to David Hartwell. Charlie seemed doubtful about this. Said he’d rather Fritz submit it via an agent.

When I was a little girl in Slidell, my father’s armchair was set against a corner of the room, making a little niche behind it. Any time something scary came on, that’s where I would go, so frequently that my parents ended up putting on old cassock back there for me to sit on.

One of Charlie’s more endearing qualities was his protectiveness towards writers, especially Golden Age writers like Fritz. Charlie could be a bit hidebound, and he may have seen Hartwell as a flashy newcomer.

David Hartwell was an editor, publisher, critic who worked at Tor. I never met him, but his was a name I heard frequenly at Locus, Charlie offering bulletins about whatever colorful outfit Hartwell wore at the latest SF convention and making sure a picture was included in the next issue. (Which may have been one reason Hartwell wore them.) Hartwell died just a few years ago at 74, after a fall down the stairs in his home.