Broodhollow¬†is partly — maybe mostly — an exploration of some long-held fears and rituals I’ve accumulated. When Zane can’t look into a doorway cracked an inch wide for fear of seeing a face, that’s not invented. That is my fear. When Zane is terrified of forgetting what he’s already done, that’s me too. When he has dreams in which he’s compelled against sense to find the thing that will frighten him awake, that’s also been me.

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