I'd been resistant for awhile. I used to do a lot of gothic/industrial clubbing back in the day, blissfully unaware of why all the girls drew the eye of ra on their face with eyeliner. (I'm morbid, yes, but I'm not really goth.) When I found out, I dug my heels in. I wanted nothing to do with such pretentious nonsense.
Since then, I'd read a lot of Gaiman's other stuff. (You can't be a genre writer and not trip over it.) And when I got ill, I thought "Why not." Comics were all i had the attention span for. It was either read this, or the Preacher. I like the Preacher, but I felt bad enough already, I didn't need to whip my brain, too.
I am an idiot for not reading this sooner. I am in awe. And also, jealous as hell. I wonder if I could hold something this huge in my brain, all at once. I wonder how much was planted unintentionally early on, and how many things branched organically after the fact. How nice it must be to have artist collaborators bring what's in your mind to life. And how lucky am i to get to read it all in one fell swoop now, guilt-free. (I can't read other people's stuff much anymore. It makes me too anxious about not working on my own. Illness is a convenient excuse to indulge.)
Anyhow. I am better now. This cold pill tonight is my last. Tomorrow I'll be medicine free and clear headed and ready to dive back in to Moonshifted. My brain is full of lovely things now, though. This was a good, if unplanned, break. I tip my hat.