Jack London was one of my favorite authors as a kid. I remember loving The Call of the Wild and White Fang. And I remember adoring his short story “To Build a Fire.”
It’s apt that he was born on January 12, because when I think of him, I’m reminded of a winter’s night. That’s how I’d describe his writing: deep, dark, quiet. And I say quiet in a good way, the type of quiet that allows for introspection.