I never really read superhero stuff as a kid.

Well, I'm always working on my comic strip and trying to, you know, keep cranking that out.

I don't know, maybe it's because I was raised Catholic. Confession has always held a great appeal for me.

Basically, my work is play. It never actually feels that way - I'm always aiming to attain that state. But I get to do for a living what I did as a child for fun, and that's pretty cool.

I just met someone who read Gone With the Wind 62 times for exactly that same reason. She couldn't bear that it wasn't real. She wanted to live in it.

It was not a triumphal return. Home, as I had known it, was gone.

Was Daedalus really stricken with grief when Icarus fell into the sea? Or just disappointed by the design failure