Introduction
We invaded his house. It's a [sic] simple as that.
For four days we occupied the peak hours of Roger Zelazny's day. Days when he should have been writing the ninth Amber novel. Or something about unicorns. Or cats. Or maybe even lords and light.
But he put up with us, all four of us. Todd Hamilton and Jim Clouse peppered him with question after interminable question about Castle Amber itself, and later about the art of the Trumps. Bill Fawcett, who organized it all, extracted even more information. I sat in the corner, reading the as-yet-unreleased Sign of Chaos. It was an honor, and I won't easily forget it.
And with each new question Roger Zelazny would stop, and raise his hands, and then put them back down and let the words pour forth. Often he would close his eyes as he talked, recalling every last detail about the world he created — or perhaps discovered — over the course of eight extremely popular novels. Sometimes he would hesitate, as if unwilling to tell us some Amberian secret, but in the end he would relent, and let us know what he was thinking about. Those thoughts — always — confirmed his belief in his world. Then we all began writing and drawing...
To read the artist's words is an unqualified privilege. But to watch an artist's mind at work — now there's something worth being alive to see.
To Roger Zelazny, our greatest thanks. For his help, for his hospitality, and for letting us watch him uncover the world he loves.
— Neil Randall March 10th, 1988