I believe that the mainstream publishers, DC and Marvel, need to catch up as well. Out of the fifty-odd books that are published each month, just a handful are written by women, and even less of those are written by women of color. It's not right, and it's not good for the companies in the long-term. It's also not good for fans, for readers.

I've been going to San Diego's Comic-Con every year since 2007 or 2008. The first time I went it was an overwhelming experience because I wasn't expecting all the people; I wasn't even expecting all the joy. I came from a background where, when I was about eighteen or nineteen, I found comic-book fandom. But it was the fandom of online communities. And within those communities there was a tremendous amount of excitement and joy, but I'd never been around people in such a large group setting where this joy was pouring out of them. It was a revelation.

I listened to the wind bury winter; and when I tasted his grace, his grace had no name; only, night became something else in his presence, as though darkness had a soul, here, swaying to heartbeats roaring.

Moscow was, as some said, the most beautiful mistress a man could ever want, but never cross her: like any good woman, she might just cut off your balls for the hell of it.

The extraordinary thing about comic books and graphic novels is that they cannot exist without the art. If my words disappeared tomorrow, well, whatever. This is a visual medium in which the eye and the mind work together to bear witness to story, to lives.

I've seen a tremendous shift especially in indie comics. I see all these young women who are out there creating. They're making these great web comics. Their graphic novels are getting published. They're making all this wonderful art. They're powerful. There's this vital energy about it that's really, really beautiful that years ago I knew existed but I didn't see so clearly.

Being alone was easier. No risk, just loneliness. No one ever died from that.