Oddly, the thing that strikes me most about the passing of Robert Asprin is that if you’re looking for a better example to disprove the fallacy that substance abuse can create better writing, you couldn’t find a better example than him: it’s no secret that alcoholism turned his promising career to shit for a good swath of years, and no surprise that he used co-authors in his later years to keep up his expected output. You can even read his autobiographical allusion to his own alcoholism in one of the later Myth books (I think it was Sweet Myth-tery of Life), wherein he essentially scolds himself for being a bad alcoholic and letting it impede his career – which didn’t help him much.
It’s a pity, because the stuff he co-authored years later doesn’t come close to his early solo work, which is outstanding comic fantasy. I’m not sure how much of that had to do with his drinking problem (which I understand he eventually came to control) and how much of it with the simple degredation of talent that comes with age to ninety percent of all creative types. But when he was on, he was on.