When I write I simply follow my heart. And my flights of fantasy. It is not done with a conscious effort. I’m continually inspired and write reflexively.

I loved reading the Dalai Lama’s words: My religion is loving-kindness. I realized that meant loving-kindness to everyone in my life: past, present, and future; and that meant loving-kindness to myself-in my pain, in my jealousy, in my fear.

Nothing is more dreadful in life than the profound thought that death may only greet you with eternal nothingness.

I’ve always found it easy and natural and, more importantly, necessary to articulate thoughts and feelings, and fierce emotions, through the written word. Fantasy and horror came to me when I was very young.

My writing, like everything I do, comes profoundly from my heart. I believe that if you follow your heart you will be successful in one way or another. Old-fashioned as that might sound, the philosophy is true.

I appreciate all of the attention I get in my career. I am a loner and live a rather secluded life so sometimes I do get overwhelmed, but I am always very appreciative of everything, and honored.

We will all, someday, experience death, and become obsolete as a dead leaf falling from a tree, crushed by passersby to ashes underlying the earth.

I am the epitome of a walking contradiction for various reasons, only one of which being that I feel my existence is of heaven and hell.

My imagination completely controls me, and forever feeds the fire that burns with dark red light in my heart by bringing me the best dreams. I’ve always had a wild imagination, a big heart and a tortured soul so I feel that dark fantasy, love and horror are in my blood.

For years, well into my adult life, I had recurring nightmares about that desk. I'd be walking past it, barefoot on a cold, hard floor. I'd hear a sound like wind rushing through a tunnel and feel a magnetic force sucking me inside. I'd be pulled, helpless, underneath the scarred roll-top and into the cubbyholes where the papers were stashed. I'd find myself in a room with a dirt floor, strapped to a table, and people would be standing around branding ugly names on my body with hot irons