It became addictive, this business of dropping to the center of my psyche, where my darkest and oddest fantasies dwelled, to extract the source material for my fiction. I've never felt the need for therapy, for instance, because, if something got so frantic within me that it became a problem, I would just use my developed skills to, first, turn it into a metaphor that would contain the problem, then write it out. 

​     And I could never go back to, you know, "writing for the markets" or whatever that even means anymore.

CONTINUE