Jack Kerouac and Lord Henry asked me why I wanted to be a writer and I told them I loved them.

Siddhartha and I walked through the woods, searching for enlightenment. For years we traveled, but each suggested path to enlightenment only turned out to be a dead end. After another false trail to Nirvana, I finally said, “Siddhartha, this is a waste of time.”

He replied, “No, it’s not. We have spent our lives searching for enlightenment, not an albino whale.”

Ray Bradbury and I were perusing a bookstore and came across a book of his. I commented, “Ray, this book of yours, it wasn’t accepted as well as the other ones.”

He replied, “No, they didn’t like that one very much did they?”

I said, “Ray, it’s a great book, but they ignore it. That just kills me.”

Ray said, “Sure they hated that one, but they loved Fahrenheit 451. Eric, don’t live and die on every book.”

Dalton Trumbo asked me to join the communist party. I said, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

My name was on the list anyways.

I was stuck in a hospital bed next to Johnny from Johnny Got His Gun, and we had many conversations. We talked about the war, philosophy and government. I supported my arguments with many good points. Eventually my wounds healed, but before I went home, I told him some more impressive arguments that supported my opinions. They were so great that when I walked out that door, I left him speechless.

Sitting in the park with Johnny, I wanted to talk about clouds and trees, but he is a man of few words.

Atticus Finch and I sat on the back porch looking over the small town. He puffed slowly on his tobacco pipe and I read the newspaper while Scout played with Dill. Atticus occasionally looked up at me and muttered little bits of wisdom. I really enjoyed sitting in the sun, acting the perfect gentleman.

You know, I was on that bus with Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters. As we cruised all over the USA, having poetry jams and philosophical conversation, I asked Ken Kesey about One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest. We talked about the language of the book and the poetic beauty. But I was more intrigued by the metaphor and the purpose. One day, I finally asked, “Ken, what does the fog that Chief Broom sees represent.” Ken gave me a slight smile, and said, “You know Eric, a Magician never reveals his secrets.”