from: A Midsummer’s Nightmare

My grandmother gave me my first book when I was about seven. It was “Old Yeller” and I cherished it as a spiritual gift from the greatest emotional benefactor a child could ever want. I loved the book, but it was more so the initiation to the salvation of reading that she passed on to me. It wasn’t long however, before I was reading Edgar Allan Poe. I was on a camping trip in the Colorado Rockies with my cousins when I found a little paperback book on one of those squeaking, rotating, metal book racks in a little souvenir shop in some small mountain town. The cover of the book reached out and grabbed my eyes and then my hand, heart and mind. And Before I knew it I was hooked. I first wrote the idea for A Midsummer’s Nightmare down as a poem from a recurring nightmare I had as a young boy. Then years later I wrote the whole story as a screenplay. And finally I have spent the last year or so writing it as a book. It is much like exorcising demons for me, writing. And I have finally abluted myself of these particular fiends, at least for now. And I have laid them here to rest in the pages of this story for a sacrifice to you, the reader. If you will receive my offering. And if it pleases you, or if it does not please you, there will be more oblation to come. Forever yours, S.H.


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