The night was dark and stormy. Cold wind chittered through the trees and made the shutters shudder while dark clouds hawked and spat, soaking the little log cabin in the woods. Within, near the warmth of the fireplace, a woman endured a long labor. Hours passed, the storm raged. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning so bright it blinded the owls and spiders, struck outside the window. The woman screamed, but her voice was lost in the crack and boom of thunder that shook the cabin and even the missile silo hidden deep beneath it.

And that was how I was born, which is pretty peculiar since this was an August night in Los Angeles.

Frequently, someone wearing a wary expression asks: "Why do you write horror?" Okay. That's really two questions and I'm going to answer both. (1) "Why am I a writer?" isn't a bad question, in fact, it's pretty impressive. But all that goes out the window when you add (2) "Why horror?" The answer to (1) is that I was born with a drive to write. It's a calling. The answer to (2) is I've been fascinated by the occult all my life. Okay?

All right, but "horror" still sounds a little ooky to most people. So to put this in perspective, find an MD, a proctologist, for instance. Ask him why he became a doctor. If he loves his work, there's a very good chance he will say he was born with a drive to become a doctor, a calling to the profession. But if you ask why he's a proctologist and he tells you he's been fascinated by assholes all his life, well, think about it. That "horror" stuff doesn't sound so weird now, does it?

Didn't think so.