Nat Parson Says It's The Devil's Mark."

Love Not Often, But Forever.

I Don't Think I've Ever Had A Mentor. The Closest Thing Is My Friend Christopher Fowler, Another Writer. Chris Kept Me Sane For A Long Time Before I Made It.

Children Are Knives, My Mother Once Said. They Don’t Mean To, But They Cut. And Yet We Cling To Them, Don’t We, We Clasp Them Until The Blood Flows.

The Process Of Writing Is A Little Like Madness, A Kind Of Possession Not Altogether Benign.

We Came In The Wind Of The Carnival. A Wind Of Change, Or Promises. The Merry Wind, The Magical Wind, Making March Hares Of Everyone, Tumbling Blossoms And Coat-tails And Hats; Rushing Towards Summer In A Frenzy Of Exuberance.