“Good news,” he announced with a smile. “Since you’re here, I can share it with you. Paramount just bought rights toWizard . Two million dollars outright. They want Scan Connery for the title rote, Tom Cruise for the part of the Prince. What do you think?”
The interviewer smiled appreciatively. “I think you’re two million dollars richer. Congratulations.”
Kraft gave him a short bow. “Wait until the merchandising kicks in. That’s where the real money is.”
“Do you write your books with an eye toward movie sales?” the interviewer pressed. He wasn’t getting nearly enough out of Kraft to satisfy either himself or his magazine. Kraft had published three books in two years and dominated the bestseller lists for most of that time, selling more than five million copies in hardcover. But that was practically all anyone knew about him. For all his notoriety and success, he was still very much a mystery. He claimed to be in exile, but he wouldn’t say from where. He claimed to be a political refugee.
“I write to be read,” the author replied pointedly. “What happens after that is up to the consumer. Sure, I want to make money. But mostly I want to be happy.”
The interviewer frowned “That sounds a bit …”
“Disingenuous? I suppose it does. But I’ve done a lot of things and been a lot of places, and I don’t have much to show for any of it. What I have is myself, and my writing is an extension of myself. It is very hard to separate the two, you know. A writer doesn’t just punch a clock and go home at the end of the day. He carries his work around with him, always thinking about it, always polishing it up like the family silver. If you’re not satisfied with it, you have to live with your dissatisfaction. That’s why I want to be happy about what I do. More important to be happy than to be rich.”
“Doesn’t hurt to be both,” the interviewer pointed out. “You’ve had an amazing string of successes. Do you ever think about what it was like before you were published?”
Kraft smiled. “All the time. But I sense an attempt at an end run. I have to remind you that try though you might, you won’t get me to talk about my earlier life. Ground rules for this interview, right?”
“So you’ve said, but my readers are quite curious about you. You must know that”
“I do. I appreciate the interest.”
“But you still won’t discuss anything about yourself before you were published?”
“I made a promise not to.”
“A promise to whom?”
“A promise to some people. That’s all I intend to say.”
“Then let’s discuss your characters and try coming into your life through the back door, so to speak.” The interviewer harbored hopes of publishing a book himself one day. He fancied himself very clever with words. “Are they based on real people from your old life? For instance, the misguided King of your magic land, his inept court wizard, and the snappish dog who serves as his scribe?”
Kraft nodded slowly. “Yes, they exist.”
“How about your protagonist the renegade wizard who saves the day in each book? Is there some of you in him?”
Kraft cleared his throat modestly. “A bit.”
The interviewer paused, sensing he was finally getting somewhere. “Have you ever dabbled in magic? You know, played at conjuring spells and the like? Has that been a part of your life?”
Harold Kraft was lost in thought for a moment. When he came back from wherever he had been, his face turned serious. “I’ll tell you what” he said. “I’m going to make an exception to my rule of never talking about my past and tell you something. There was a time when I did play about with magic. Small stuff, really—nothing serious. Except that once I did stumble quite inadvertently on something that turned out to be very dangerous indeed. My own life as well as those of others was threatened. I survived that scare, but I made a promise to certain people that I would never use … that is, dabble, in magic again. I never have.”