Now back to my memory. The sketch books I was referring to earlier were of a different sort; once again think Stephen King meets Clive Barker. As I remember them they were filled with cross sections of dreamt up castles that you could see into and they were filled with all manner of horror. From the dungeons to the parapets there were skeletons hanging from the walls, bats flying around and vampires in their coffins and good folk being put in the guillotine. That was just a small sample from what I remember. This covered several loves for me; drawing the castles, coming up with the picture story line and transporting me away.
I am probably glad my great uncle never saw them; he is a psychologist and would have had a field day with them and me. I believe I drew them and kept them under my bed where I had my hidden treasures like my army men, my small coffins that had been filled with candy and my Hot Wheels cars. As I work on getting my first book out there I can see some of that early me on those pages and I smile at what most would have looked at and wondered. How I would like to think that those old sketch books still exist somewhere in my mother’s attic? That would truly be a find; maybe I could have them looked at and get some explanation for me. Better not.