I’ve actually been trying to write this story for a while. I started with my fear of flying—which I’ve always thought is a bit of a misnomer, because I’m fine with flying. What I’m actually afraid of is the constant potential of falling. But I believe in trying to write about what scares you, so I tried to turn the idea of free fall into a story.

“Spidersong” by Susan C. Petrey first appeared in THE MAGAZINE OF FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION in September of 1980, just two months before the author’s death. Of Susan’s stories published in that magazine, it is the only one which does not take place in the universe of her gentle healing vampires, the Varkela. It is also the most reprinted of her stories, though it has not been in print for decades.

Societies have their rituals for grief. We have wakes and we have funerals and we have our lists of expected—and acceptable—behaviors. We have unofficial rituals as well—when someone famous dies, we go back and we read their stories or watch their movies or listen to their music. Grief is a big thing.

I’d been working on a big space-opera called “The Lacing.” The editor who was interested in it—Richard Evans—died and I was more and more involved in political activism; I also ceased to believe that I was, or could be, a writer of SF rather than fantasy. So I bundled up every single good SF idea I had ever had—except for the ones which were allocated to “The Lacing,” in case I ever went back to it—and thought of a story in which I could use them all.

In this setting, the terms “magic” and “scientific” could only combine in an oxymoron. Magic is about the power of will, but for that power to be applied it has to be controlled and focused. There are techniques for that, many of them very difficult, which have to be learned and practiced. So it’s definitely more of an art than a science; talent comes into it, but so does study and practice

I spent my first twenty-five years as a musician in a family of musicians. The funny thing is, none of them were into rock’n’roll. Classical, Dixieland, Chicago jazz, early polyphonic choral music, even screech’n’fart, as we fondly called stuff like Charles Ives and Arnold Schoenberg. As a child I was told that rock’n’roll is a gateway drug to heroin, so I didn’t discover it until I went to college. But music is music, eh? Kind of my point in this story