My Heart Was Simultaneously Broken And Filled

A Story Begins With This Nebulous Feeling That’s Hard To Get A Hold Of And You’re Testing Your Feelings And Assumptions, Testing What You Believe. They End Up Turning Into Keepsakes And Mementos –like Amber In Which A Memory Gets Trapped.

He Looked So Profoundly Disappointed In Me That I Wondered For A Moment If He Was Someone I Knew.

My Saturday Night. My Saturday Night Is Like A Microwave Burrito. Very Tough To Ruin Something That Starts Out So Bad To Begin With.

Horror Grows Impatient, Rhetorically, With The Stoic Fatalism Of Ecclesiastes. That We Are All Going To Die, That Death Mocks And Cancels Every One Of Our Acts And Attainments And Every Moment Of Our Life Histories, This Knowledge Is To Storytelling What Rust Is To Oxidation; The Writer Of Horror Holds With Those Who Favor Fire. The Horror Writer Is Not Content To Report On Death As The Universal System Of Human Weather; He Or She Chases Tornadoes. Horror Is Stoicism With A Taste For Spectacle.

With Patience And Calm, Persistence And Stoicism, Good Handwriting And Careful Labeling, They Would Meet Persecution, Indignity, And Hardship Head-on.