I Stumble Through A Carnival Of Horrors

Dear God, Help Me. Do Not Forget Me On This Tiny Cinder Lost In A Galaxy That Is Lost–a Heart No Bigger Than A Speck Of Dust Beating, Beating Against Death, Against Meaninglessness, Against Guilt, Against Sorrow.

My Heart Right Now Is Totally Connected To A Book Called The Servant Of The Bones, Which Is Not In Any Way Connected With Vampires Or Witches. It's About A New Hero, A Ghost, Who Really Doesn't Particularly Like The Job That He's Been Given. I'm In Love With This Hero And In Love With His Dilemma.

Obsession Led Me To Write. It's Been That Way With Every Book I've Ever Written. I Become Completely Consumed By A Theme, By Characters, By A Desire To Meet A Challenge.

But The Sky Was Never Quite The Same Shade Of Blue Again.

Wasn't It His Right To Listen To Opera, Read Poetry And Adventure Novels, Go To Europe Every Couple Of Months For Some Reason Or Another, And Drive His Porsche Over The Speed Limit Until He Found Out Who He Was?