It could be understood that the person who gives the spark to write is the person you are indebted to for the rest of your life. The issue with this understanding is that many people can start up your flame, after the extinguishing effects of actually living. So to say that I have a debt to this man is to say I have a debt to millions. The only way I can explain the profound effect he had on my writing is to liking his ignition to a miracle. The flames flew in a spouting fire, pouring out in the oxygen deprived barren land we call realistic college. Today I will write nothing in honor of him, but this. Think of this as an epitaph to a man who inspired me as a writer.
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