A somewhat less than standard declaimer.
A work made in love is not to be sued for, do you hear me? Tribute, not copyright violation!
The Chronicles of Amber have been an integral part of the landscape of my imagination for slightly less than half of my life. Only recently have I realised just how deep the effects of my early excursions into their worlds run, as I looked back over my progression as a writer. My work as a fictionalist (a term which, while unsatisfactory and fabricated in my own mind, is better than any of the actual terms in existence) is really a hobby compared to my poetry, but my fiction was nearly non-existent until the age of nine. Only about half a year after the writing of the earliest dated piece of prose I have, my style was altered completely, and this is no gradual evolution of talent. Within the space of a month, my literary voice changed from a whining child's suprinino to the hoarse, raspy, pre-natal sound of the adolescent. I was not, nor am I yet, good, but I had found my potential.
Looking back, I realise that that winter marked the entrance into my life of two very potent, and very formative force: puberty, and Nine Princes in Amber. So, while Amber, her children, and her shadows are far from mine, I think I can be forgiven my trespassing within her sphere; I am, after all, a pilgrim.