I immediately dropped my dreams of becoming a lucrative cartoonist (ahem) and decided instead to adopt the lifestyle of guzzling caffeine and eating cold beans out of tin cans. But it did bad voodoo to this boy’s brain. “Why,” you may ask, “was that such a terrible thing?” Oh, it sounds like a nice idea on the surface. I promptly found as many of the author’s other books as I could get my greasy fingers on, and sucked them down like marrow from bones. Two weeks later, I was both scared out of my mind and enraptured to the core by this book. Still, I remained undaunted, and chewed through the book like a beaver through pine. On the cover was some mean-looking scarlet-faced fiend not the kind of face I’d seen before, and one that terrified the pee-juice right outta me. Damn thing was over 950 pages long (and could’ve been used to bludgeon an attacking Rottweiler). Lewis, and then suddenly, my sister pressed into my palm a paperback book called Swan Song by Robert R. I was twelve, still reading Lloyd Alexander and C.S. I wasn’t yet a teenager when my sister did a terrible thing to me.
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