It's always a difficult moment whenever I come across an item belonging to a white case. It's a profound thing that still chokes me up a bit, makes me feel like I need to catch my breath, and put into perspective just how fleeting life is.

It's not lost on me that we, as writers, have a unique ability to transcend our own mortality through the works, projects, and creative endeavors we leave behind—they become extensions of our impermanence, relics that shout across the eons of space and time, proverbial flags planted in the ground to signify we were here and existed. This port and its items are hollowed space, a sacred spot, a place where the present bridges with eternity.

In a strange way, it's fascinating being able to interact with a part of you, Joe. I didn't know you very well at the time of your passing—I was in one of my Dark Ages where I was offsite and not writing much. But, by visiting the vestiges of your creativity within your port, it appears you left an truly indelible mark on our community. You made a lasting impact. Your humor, your wit, and your ability to conversate with anyone still lingers in these ethereal time capsules.

This was a fantastic idea for a contest. Simple in design and request, but also thought-provoking and complex in response.

Where's the weirdest place your muse has been awoken?

I can say for myself, my muse comes and goes in very strong waves. She's either here and it's full-throttle, or she's vague and absent and I can't string two words together that are satisfactory —even if those words are "good job" or "Maybe tomorrow."

The weirdest place I've had my muse awaken would have to be right after I was involved in a life-threatening car accident. My car was rolled over in the middle of the intersection and I'm hanging upside down, unaware that I've been severely injured; adrenaline is a crazy thing! And in that moment, my dormant muse ran wild.

I pictured a character exactly in my predicament. But she was an intelligence asset in an urban fantasy story. The door to her car was ripped from its hinges but a anthropomorphic rhinoceros henchman of the story's antagonist. The entire story, characters, places, beats, plots and subplots, all washed over me in this intense wave.

And then, like me character, the door to my car was tore away from the car. But this time with the metal teeth of the Jaws of Life.

I haven't thought about that accident or that story in a long time. See, Joe, you're still having an impact on people even today. Wherever your energy is at in the Universe, I sure wouldn't mind spending some time with it when I return to eternity. Just to say hello properly and let you know that your writing and your memory lives on in the words you left us with.

Thank you for creating spaces like this for fellow writers that needed a home.

Rest easy knowing that that mantle is in very good hands now and has been taken up by some many of us to carry on your legacy.