My Main Reader Was My Wife Sheila,

There's A Lot Of Effort Expended Once You Begin To Completely Trash Your Life. Sometimes, Writing Feels Like This To Me.

I've Been Reading Peter Straub Since I Was A Teenager, And His Work Is Hardwired Into My Brain. A Dark Matter Contains Echoes Of All That Has Been Great About Straub's Previous Work And Builds Upon It. This Rashomon-like Tale Is As Spooky And Frightening As Anything He Has Written, But It's Also An Intense And Moving Celebration Of Love. Out Of The Darkness Comes, Ultimately, A Surprising And Haunting Sense Of Joy.

People Write Fiction In Their Minds All The Time - Every Time We Read A 'human Interest' News Story, Or A True Crime Tale, We Find Ourselves Fascinated Because We're Trying To Understand Why People Behave The Way They Do, Why They Make The Choices They Do, How We Become Who We Become.

I Can't Understand How People Can Settle For Having Just One Life. I Remember We Were In English Class And We Were Talking About That Poem By - That One Guy. David Frost. 'two Roads Diverged In A Yellow Wood-' You Know This Poem, Right? 'two Roads Diverged In A Yellow Wood, And Sorry I Could Not Travel Both And Be One Traveler, Long I Stood And Looked Down One As Far As I Could, To Where It Bent In The Undergrowth-" "i Loved That Poem. But I Remember Thinking To Myself: Why? How Come You Can't Travel Both? That Seemed Really Unfair To Me.

I Still Think About The Writers I Loved When I Was A Kid.