I just hated the law. I wasnt cut out for it. I couldnt imagine spending my life doing that, so I quit before I began.

To make the reader afraid, I had to be afraid.

If the hairs on my neck stand up while Im writing, I figure the reader will get the same kind of shock.

Horror, for me, is not defined by the thing that provokes ones fear, but the human being who has contact with it.

Your melancholy. Or depression. Along with nine-tenths of the afflictions I've studied, diagnosed, attempted to treat. Call them whatever you like, but they're just different names for loneliness. That's what lets the darkness in. That's what you have to fight.

I just hated the law. I wasnt cut out for it. I couldnt imagine spending my life doing that, so I quit before I began.

Theres something in human nature that says we need to have at least one symbolic place where chaos and dark desires can live.