My Dad’s been reading my stuff the last week or so (from my thesis and some of the early-draft chapters of the new novel).  He said to me, “You’re either some sort of genius . . . or you’re totally insane.  Where does this stuff come from?”

 

Mostly, it comes from my head.

 

Jokingly, looking at the fallen angels and voodoo verses of the epic, he said, “All those years of good, Catholic school upbringing and where did it go?”

 

I told him it all went into a dark epic poem.