Anne Rice, you died yesterday, breaking my heart. I first encountered you in the early nineties, in the form of my sister’s involvement in a mail order book club. I was probably ten, and my sister, fifteen, was so cool. Whatever she was into I wanted to be into. Her bedroom walls painted a rich purple and she listened to all the cool rock and roll from the 60’s, and she read your books.
One day, the Witching Hour came in the mail. The cover, the name, the length all bowled me over. This was something to know about. But that book at that time was too much for me, over one thousand pages.
Fast forward to today, I’ve since read the Witching Hour and many more of your books. I’m an English Literature, Fantasy Fiction nerd working on my first book. I can say that your work greatly inspired me on my own path. You were my fairy godmother of writing.
My favorite books of yours, currently are the Wolf Gift and Wolves of Midwinter, Marrick, Interview … The Jesus book, Violin, Cry to Heaven, The Beauty Books, and more that I can remember at this moment. All I know is that as a fellow writer of dark fantasy, you were a guiding light. I love you. I love what you contributed to the literary landscape. I love how you romanticized the vampire. I love Lestat. The blood drinking rockstar.
I admit, I confess, I’ve fantasized about you reading my debut novel. The one I’m still working on. It kills me that you will never read it, not in the corporeal flesh. But you will know it in the cosmic mind. You will know I help carry the torch for the beautiful monster. Thank you. Thank you, Anne Rice. May you enjoy your time in the sky.