Edgar Allen Poe and Other Forms of Torture

In honor of my middle sister’s birthday, I’ve been reminiscing about all of the torture that she put me through. I was a sweet, innocent youngster (a holy terror) who looked up to my older sisters. The oldest has always had the

Me, Susan, and Wanda

kindest heart (when she wasn’t beating me with her flip-flop) and been a second mother to me. My middle sister was a different story altogether.

I annoyed the hell out of her followed her around lovingly and she responded with torture. If I moved while she was fixing my hair, she would slap my forehead with the hot curling iron. I was not deterred by her threats of violence, she was everything I wanted to be. She was beautiful, talented, and smart (still is).

As another way to get rid of her pesky little sister, she began reading stories that should have terrified me. Edgar Allen Poe was many times the author of choice.

It backfired, big time. Of course, I would get scared, but then I would crawl into her bed. I began to beg her to read my favorites and with a sigh of defeat, she relented. My imagination flourished under her “torture” and I began reading on my own and even started writing some dark short stories.

So, in short, thank you Wanda, for your torture. It made me the avid reader and author I am today. Oh yeah, and


Who encouraged you to begin reading for fun?

Published in: on June 2, 2010 at 9:22 AM  Comments (2)  
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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Funnily enough, it was my sister as well. We got a dog when I was about six or seven and she named him Buck. A few years later, I asked her why she chose that name and she said it was because of Jack London’s The Call of the Wild. I read it and I was hooked. By the time I was in 6th grade, I’d read anything that was put in front of me.

    Happy birthday to your sister 🙂 Older sisters can be such a pain, but in the end they’re worth suffering through, lol

  2. It was my whole family and my laziness. I discovered that not only could I disappear with a book and escape them all, but they couldn’t find me when they wanted me to do something. They soon learned to look in the ‘loo’ first, but I lived on a farm and there were lots of nooks to hide in. I preferred the fantasy world of my books to that of my ‘real’ life.

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