Requiem

All fled, all done, so lift me on the pyre.

The feast is over, and the lamps expire.

On this day in 1936, thirty year-old Robert Ervin Howard ended his life after penning the couplet above. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that, had he lived longer, he would now be remembered in the equal of Ernest Hemingway and Jack London in the pantheon of American writers. As it is, his creations, most notably Conan, are among the most well-known in popular culture and have inspired generations of writers and dreamers of all sorts. His death is all the more sad because, by many accounts, he considered himself a failure as a writer, which couldn't have been farther from the truth.

On a personal note, I've been very ill the last few days with a late Spring cold. I'm only now starting to recover, but I'm still exhausted and achy. Expect posting to be light for the next few days more, as I try to catch up with work I need to do, as well as my various other duties.