Defy the Dark

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Since my very first library card, I’ve loved nothing more than books. Through them, a kid who lived in government housing could also live in a windswept house by the sea (thanks, Lois Duncan!), in a secret-filled hacienda (thank you, Isabel Allende!), and even in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (love to you always, E. L. Konigsburg!).

Long Saturdays at the Warren Library supported my habit. I burned through novels and anthologies, bereft when I had to wait for new ones to arrive. In the meantime, I fantasized about meeting my favorite authors: we would be great friends!

We’d have tons in common, and we’d do cool stuff together, and oh yeah, they’d love to write a new story just for me. Anytime, about anything I wanted! I got older, but I never gave up the fantasy of getting my favorite authors to tell me new tales. We were friends, after all.

I loved Stephen King’s anthologies especially because they were frequent and fat, and in them, he wrote letters. (To me!) In Skeleton Crew, he said a short story is like “a kiss in the dark from a stranger.”

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