I Think That Superhero Comics In Particular

Why Am I In Hell? It Hurts. It Hurts All The Time. Why Am I In Hell? I Just Want To Go Home And Lie On The Bed The Way I Used To. Please Take Me Home.

I Thought I Could Capture The Stories Of The City On Paper. I Thought I Could Write About The Horrors Of The City. Horror Stories You See. I Tell You I Didn't Have To Look Far For Material. Everywhere I Looked, There Were Stories Hidden There In The Dark Corners. . . . I Wrote And Still There Were More. . . . No One Would Publish Them. 'too Horrible,' They Said. 'sick Mind,' They Said. I Thought I Could Write About The Horrors Of The City But The Horror Is Too Big And It Goes On Forever.

I Write Dozens And Dozens Of Pages More Than I Need, And Then Edit Them Down To Size. It's More Like Sculpture Than Construction.

Burnout Is Grist To The Mill. I Write Every Day, For Most Of The Day, So It's Just About Turning Into Metaphor Whatever's Going On In My Life, In The World, And In My Head. Every Nightmare, Every Moment Of Grief Or Joy Or Failure, Is A Moment I Can Convert Into Cash Via Words.

I Write Every Day, For Most Of The Day, So It's Just About Turning Into Metaphor Whatever's Going On In My Life, In The World, And In My Head. Every Nightmare, Every Moment Of Grief Or Joy Or Failure, Is A Moment I Can Convert Into Cash Via Words. I Use Everything. Turning Life Into Stories Is How I Make Sense Of My Experience.