William Gibson: As I wrote "Neuromant"

William Gibson. Photo: Hubert Kang

"Neuromant" was written to order. I can not imagine how many years it took me to work on it, if I wrote this novel at random. If you asked me about this at the end of the work, I would answer “10 years”, but it is possible that this would simply not have happened. There are such oddities on the path of life. In general, the life path consists of oddities.

I was 34 years old, I had my first child, a spouse, I recently received a bachelor of arts degree in English literature. I published several stories in Omni, a glossy magazine from Penthouse publishers. They paid about $ 2000 for the story, which is quite a lot (in comparison with the NF-journals, where they paid 10 times less). Omni left me no choice, and I had to write more.

Having cash their first check, I bought the best ticket to New York to meet a mysterious man whose editorial will led to such an unexpected success. Robert Sheckley, a funny and courteous person, and a writer whose work I admired, invited me to dinner at the expense of Omni and gave me two tips: I should not in any case sign contracts for several books, and in no case should I buy "This big old house." I followed the first advice.
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After I sold a few more stories to Omni, Terry Carr, compiler of the anthologies of the NF, contacted me. Terry once published a limited edition of the first collections for Ace Books, Ace SF Specials. Now he decided to do it again, and he asked me if I wanted to write a novel in the collection? Of course, yes, I replied, coming to a state of indescribable fear, in which I remained for the next 18 months, until I gave out the manuscript (violating all the terms of the annual contract).

I was late because I had no idea how to write a novel, but I decided that this could be my first and last time. I doubted that anyone else would ever offer me money in advance on the unwritten story. The book was supposed to come out in paperback, and the advance was more than modest. I imagined my success so weak that I decided - after an unfriendly reception, my book would stop being printed. And then, romantically turning yellow on the shelves of second-hand bookstores, she will wait until the moment when a circle of people interested in the esoteric in Paris or London suddenly stumbles upon it and considers it echoes of the work of Bester, Delaney or other authors I was guided by creativity. And this is all I dreamed of, sitting out the days at my Hermes 2000 portable.

But modest expectations are fraught with freedom, and fear (most of all, the fear of never ending work) is a great way to motivate. And I wrote a book for that imaginary future audience, and only for it. Message in a bottle. For me it was necessary to like only this audience, and I used everything that was suitable for this purpose, from my 34 years of experience.

At the end of the work, I sat staring at a pile of paper, as I now do every time at the end of the story, and I thought - what did I do now? Honestly, I do not remember this moment, and the moment when Terry paid me this job. I remember a meeting with Terry some time after I submitted the finished manuscript. Before that, he did not tell me anything at all. He descended the spiral staircase, from the upper floor of the lobby to the lower, in some hotel. Did he get my manuscript? Yes, he answered. “Will this come down?” I asked, worried. He stopped on the steps, looked at me strangely, then smiled: “Yes. I'm sure it will come down. ” And then continued to descend, then went to the bar. I probably never met him again.

There are such moments in life. It happens that a certain friendly force suddenly helps us, no matter how impossible it may seem.