I listen to the sounds of lives clinging to the last bit of dignity they have to offer before they end up little shoe boxes full of ashes no one claims. In life alone. In death, the fading ink on a piece of tape stuck on a frayed box.… more
I listen to the sounds of lives clinging to the last bit of dignity they have to offer before they end up little shoe boxes full of ashes no one claims. In life alone. In death, the fading ink on a piece of tape stuck on a frayed box.… more
Poetry gets rid of the chaff. We’re taught to not linger on the unnecessary. To hone something until it is bone on bone. And that absolutely helps in fiction. Writing is about making choices—what to leave in, what to include that may not seem obvious, and what to take out (lots).… more
The violence in my stories is how I come to terms with the terrible things in the world. Trafficking, animal cruelty, war, and murder are terrible things, so I write what I write to come to terms with the ugliness of it all.… more
Anything is possible with horror, nothing is off the table and that’s both what garners so much fear, as readers’ expectations are torn away, and also expands its reach. Social issues, personal fears, deep-seated dread about ourselves and our futures. There’s an endless trick or treat bucket to rummage through for new ways to do it.… more
People’s behavior is seldom as simple as some moral failing. Things like family, poverty, oppression, tradition, values and culture influence the situations people find themselves in. Even the worst characters want the same things we all want—joy, peace, love, and dignity.… more
Daniel Brown is a stand-in for a lot of outsiders I’ve seen. Ones that don’t fit into normal society. That get singled out because they don’t “look” right. The constant judging from little kids to senior citizens. And this person is weary. How can they not be?… more
Breaking Wallace Goldberg’s nose for being constantly late on the juice. Or the time I took a sledgehammer to Dennis Quinn’s legs and left him in an open grave in St. Anthony’s Cemetery. That’s as much as she knows about me.… more
I wanted stories with working class people fed up with the daily grind, waking up to the idea that our economic system is built for a small fraction of people and that the American Dream is a kind of lullaby they sing to us to keep us showing up to work on time.… more
I trusted without knowing how to trust. I laughed without understanding why we laugh. It’s why later in life I could inflict pain without care. It’s why I hide behind a poker face whenever I walk into a room full of people.… more
I wanted to create a character who was broken… deeply broken… a character who wanted to disappear from the world and be very quiet so as not to hurt others… but who nevertheless brought pain where ever he went.… more