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The first three issues of 'Cemetery Dance' were mainly horror, but now it's really a cross-genre magazine. It's all just snowballed.

I have to confess that I've never been a great fan of Christmas or, as it's known in our house, The Monster That Ate the Last Third of the Year. It's mostly the rampant consumerism I object to, but I'm also a little wary of the annual crop of new Christmas stories and sometimes wonder why anyone bothers.

It's the time of year when the literati give advice on what we should be reading on our summer holidays. These terrifying lists often leave me appalled at my own ignorance, but also suspicious about the pretension of their advocates.

I detest 'Jingle Bells,' 'White Christmas,' 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer,' and the obscene spending bonanza that nowadays seems to occupy not just December, but November and much of October, too.

Holidays have been commercialized. It has become about material things. But the holidays are about sharing stories and being in each other's presence.

There was a time in the 1930s when magazine writers could actually make a good living. 'The Saturday Evening Post' and 'Collier's' both had three stories in each issue. These were usually entertaining, and people really went for them. But then television came along, and now of course, information technology... the new way of killing time.

There are a lot of magazines that are still sort of... that only cater to a certain demographic and only put certain people on their covers.

I think it's fascinating that there's a whole holiday dedicated to things that we fear and that's so interesting about the nature of humanity.

Around 1930, a small new phenomenon arose in Depression-ridden America, spawned out of the letter columns in science fiction magazines: fandom.

The only magazines I read are car magazines.