Sometimes, we can point definitively to the locus of our inspiration, that precise moment our dreams crystallized and help set forth that road which--one way or another--we were destined to sojourn. Other times it is more elusive--we cannot recall any specific moment which set us upon this course, but nonetheless abide it, a covenant blood writ, and which courses though our veins. Indeed, when I'm writing I so often feel, this is what I'm meant to do.
While I can't pinpoint an exact moment, I can attest how my father reading us Edgar Allan Poe stories when we were little, kindled and stoked my earliest literary embers. Murders in the Rue Morgue might have been the first, and to this day, my favorite. My first dabblings were in fact of the macabre variety, and I would be remiss if I did not today, on Poe's birthday, acknowledge the great master. Here's a look back at one of my favorite guest posts I was fortunate enough to pen on the terrific site of the wonderful KM Weiland.
Happy birthday, good sir; rest assured, you have through your work achieved immortality, and in this vein may I implore permission to adapt a hallmark phrase every slightly: quote the raven, forevermore...
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