Art by M. D. Jackson
This posts begins: I don’t know if other writers have experienced this or not—that moment you became a hopeless slave. For me it was when I was twelve years old. I was visiting the local library in Dawson Creek. At that time the library had the most wondrous of things – free books. For a kid with zero money the stray Edgar Rice Burroughs novels that showed up there were instantly added to the collection. Forget any possibility of their being returned after being read. I was a collector, by fair means or foul. But that wasn’t the moment, only the opportunity.
