A quick
Piers Anthony story:
Nearly 20 years ago (oh, how time flies), I was passing
through Orlando, Florida and stopped at one of the local malls
to stretch my legs. Wandering about, I spied a store in the
mall that catered to my ilk. There were comic books,
RPG gaming stuff, and science fiction/fantasy books.
I wandered in and had a look around for a bit.
After a while, I noticed that there was a good deal of
Piers Anthony merchandise. Now this was in the day, when
Anthony seemed to be publishing a new Xanth novel every
quarter and some other story every six months. And even
taking into account the pure volume that seemed to flow from
Anthony's publisher, this store had a truckload of his
work.
I mentioned the huge volume of Piers Anthony stuff in the
shop to the guy behind the counter, and he related like a
war weary veteran the fact that Anthony often came in the
store. He said that he came in nearly every other day, gracing the store with his presence and acting as if he was
lord of the manor. Anthony would wander about the store
loudly letting the patrons know his thoughts on other writers and in some cases, openly mocking
people who did not purchase his work.
Not that I was ever terribly impressed by Piers Anthony's
writing, but this encounter along with his Letters to
Jenny in which he seems to put forth the notion that his
letters and stories helped heal a girl who had been put
into a coma after being struck by a drunk driver and gave
her a reason to live pretty much sealed my opinion of Anthony as a raving egomaniac.