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.