Remembering Anne Rice: The Author Who Made Outsiders Feel at Home

It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly four years since Anne Rice went on her grand adventure into the great unknown.

I still remember that day vividly. I woke up to dozens of missed calls and text messages, and even before opening a single one, I knew something was wrong. When I read the news, my heart sank. The world had lost one of its most distinctive literary voices — and I had lost someone who had shaped both halves of my writing journey.

Being dyslexic, I grew up hearing stories long before I could truly read them. My parents would read to me first, and later, it was the voice actors in audiobooks who carried me through worlds I couldn’t yet access on my own. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I finally learned to read without assistance.

The first book I ever completed — on my own — was Interview with the Vampire.

Anne’s words didn’t just tell a story; they opened a door. Her lyrical, gothic prose did something no textbook or classroom exercise ever could. It made reading feel like magic. It made me feel capable. That single book taught me that reading wasn’t an obstacle — it was an awakening.

Finishing Interview with the Vampire gave me something I’d never had before: confidence. It lit a fire that carried me forward, driving me to keep improving, to keep writing, to believe that maybe — just maybe — I had something worth saying too.

Years later, when a few of my essays began circulating online, readers began asking when I would write a book. Me? A book? The idea felt absurd. I wasn’t supposed to be an author. I was the kid who couldn’t get through a paragraph without help.

And yet… here I am.
Five published books. Two more on the way. Over fifty essays a year.

And through all of it, Anne’s influence has lingered — like moonlight over a New Orleans courtyard, haunting in the most beautiful way.

Anne was also the first “big name” author to acknowledge my work publicly. Her doing so brought an influx of her readers into my world — people who became my earliest fans, my earliest supporters, and in many ways, my extended literary family. I owe her more than I can ever repay.

Next week, her son Christopher Rice will host a long-awaited celebration of her life — a gathering that promises to be as luminous, passionate, and mysterious as her own body of work. Fans, friends, and fellow writers will come together to honor the woman who redefined gothic fiction and gave voice to those of us who have always felt a little out of place in the world.

I’m deeply grateful to Christopher for opening that space to us — for allowing those of us who were touched by Anne’s imagination the chance to say thank you, goodbye, and until we meet again.

Anne Rice didn’t just write about immortality — she achieved it. Her words continue to breathe through millions of readers, across generations, across languages.

May her memory — and her magic — be eternal.