ivory towers

In Ann Aguirre’s very sweet love letter to her husband, she mentions that Charles de Lint friended her on Facebook.

And I’m utterly, fabulously amazed.

Charles de Lint is one of the most influential authors I was exposed to as a teenager. “DREAMS UNDERFOOT” blew me away. I was floored, gobsmacked, entranced and absolutely in love with Newford, and for a while I read his books voraciously. He was this mythical mythmaker, a gentleman I imagined typing stories on a typewriter on the fourth floor of a brick walk-up apartment covered in ivy. I don’t know who the real Charles de Lint is any more than I know what exit to take to drive to Newford. And that’s okay. If he friended me on Facebook, I think I’d spontaneously combust with giddiness, and then die of embarrassment (what if he sees my pictures? Oh god, what if he wants to read my work!? I’M SUCH A HACK!)

Sometimes you need heroes in ivory towers.

I was going to pick up a new steampunk novel to read when I go canoeing this weekend, but I think I’ll dust off that old copy of “DREAMS UNDERFOOT”. It’s been a while since that old friend and I had a real conversation.


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