The Thief of Always

If there was ever a novel that I could say inspired my writing and development into an author the most, it's Clive Barker's The Thief of Always. I read it when I was a kid in the early 90s and it fundamentally changed the way that I looked at every aspect of story creation – it was a window into the craft and became a literary lighthouse that guided me forward. It's still one of my favorites. The Thief of Always is a "children's book", but it's also a masterclass in mature storytelling. The novel deals with complex themes like the passage of time, the nature of fulfillment, and the cost of desire. This helped show an immature me how to weave deep themes into a story in a way that's accessible and engaging. The Thief of Always captivated me with its ability to evoke emotions like fear, joy, and sadness, all amidst vivid descriptions and an imaginative setting. It's got strong, memorable characters and is rich in subtle symbolism and allegory. Most essentially though, Barker’s unique approach to storytelling inspired me to challenge conventional norms and experiment with my own voice and style. It was all extremely aspirational – I still strive for such lofty heights in my writing, to have readers feel as enthralled as I did the first time I read The Thief of Always. Every story is a new world to escape into, to live and breathe along with the characters. To share in their struggles and triumphs.

I try to infuse this into erotica as well. I'm not going to say that the best erotica is like top-shelf junk food, compare it with world-class horror, and call it caviar or some shit. It's not. Great writing is great writing and transcends genre.

A fusion of horror and fantasy itself, The Thief of Always importantly served as a gateway into Stephen King and HP Lovecraft, both of which had a big impact on me. Sure, I've devoured many a great novel and series, but none of them has so special a place in my heart as The Thief of Always.

'The great gray beast February had eaten Harvey Swick alive. Here he was, buried in the belly of that smothering month, wondering if he would ever find his way out through the cold coils that lay between here and Easter.'

-D