What I'm always trying to do with every book is to recreate the effect of the stories we heard as children in front of campfires and fireplaces - the ghost stories that engaged us.

It is a hundred-year-old witch book, bound in human skin and probably written in ancient cum...YOU lick it!

You have endless ways you can commit suicide without dying dying.

I suppose it’s comfort, perhaps a sense of self-control, doing worse things to yourself than the world will ever dare inflict.

Ask yourself: What did I eat for breakfast today? What did I eat for dinner last night? You see how fast reality fades away?

The only thing I shy away from is non-consensual violence. I can't write a story where someone is a simple victim because it's boring.

Think of spoiled cat food and ulcerated cankers and expired donor organs. That's how beautiful she looks.