Deeply saddened to learn of the death of Anne Rice last night. Her work held an immense place in my life for many years growing up, and continues to influence the cadence of my prose style. She taught me to look for the poetry in a scene; to invest in each character the humanity (or inhumanity) which makes individuals truly complex. She wrote romantic, mellifluous lines which unfurled like a beautiful secret. Her writing, for me, was a bulwark against the rampant postmodern nihilism of the 20th and early 21st century, and was vital in my development both as a writer and as a person. I will always be grateful to Anne (and to Mike Russell for introducing me to her work) for making me unafraid to disclose the beauty of the world, even when it is terrible. A cup of blood raised in loving memory.

Image credit: Time.com