When I am writing about dark or ugly things, I go to a place where I do not dwell. I just visit. And when I am sloshing in the mire, I use what’s there to inspire the prose.

Stinkbugs. Creepy crawly crunchy . Squeeze them between your fingers, and they smell. . . bad. Stinkbugs in my mind. This is where my killer stalks, plots, attacks. I hang out with the stinkbugs.



One response »

  1. There is a fun little song by Bryant Oden where a skunk is a little too smug, and a brave stinkbug puts him in his place. Just because you’re bigger doesn’t mean you’re better… 🙂

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