There is always a method to my madness. Mostly always. Okay, maybe some of it is just madness. But I’m sure if you broke it down, it’d be, like, 80% “No, seriously, I know exactly what I’m doing!” method-madness and only 20% full-on “Hoo hoo! Hee hee! Ha ha! To the funny farm!” madness-madness.

Maybe 70-30.

These past few weeks, I’ve devoted a lot of column inches to my new comics-in-progress: Two weeks ago it was the absurdist workplace drama, We are the Conspiracy. Last week it was the sci-fi family drama, Across the Universe. And in just a few moments I’ll be writing about my edgy new horror project, Hellbent.

But why? What’s the method? Am I just talking up my own projects for the sake of talking them up? Yes. No. Of course not.

Two weeks ago, in “Melbournesque,” I wrote about defining your own style. Last week, in “For Girls and Geeks Like Me,” I wrote about taking inspiration and creating something new.

Take an idea. Check. Make it your own. Check.

And today?

Today, I talk about madness.

A few months back ArchEnemies #4 hit the stands, and I still wasn’t sure what I’d do to follow it up. I spoke to my Dark Horse editor, Philip, and he suggested that I pitch a few different projects. That way Dark Horse could review them all and choose whichever they liked best. Or, best case scenario, all of them.

I knew I wanted to pitch Across the Universe, which I’d been carrying around in my head for more than a year at that point. And I knew that I wanted to pitch We are the Conspiracy, which I’d just finished the first issue script for. And I knew that I wanted to pitch a third book because, as we’ve previously established, I like things to come in threes…

Around this same time I was talking to my fellow writer/columnist/Drew Drew Edwards about possibly collaborating on a project together. (If for no other reason than that it would spare one of us—probably me—the embarrassment of having to explain that “No, the other Drew wrote that.”)

Drew had an idea for a comic that sounded cool but wasn’t really my thing. I suggested several changes that would make the idea more Melbournesque. Drew countered with several ideas that would have made the idea firmly Edwardsesque. It was pretty clear, pretty quickly that we weren’t going to agree on one take on the material.

I decided to put together a counter offer. I wracked my brain to come up with a comics idea that felt like it was equal parts Melbourne and Edwards. For him, I’d make the book a horror story, and I’d set it in Austin. For me, I’d fill it full of teenage losers and outcasts and focus on the relationships between the characters. And I started thinking about images.

And suddenly I had this horrible little story about the horrible little things that we do to each other every day. And it was called Hellbent.

And the more I thought about it, inevitably, the more Melbournesque it became. I tried pitching in it to Edwards, but it was clear that he wanted to do his thing and I wanted to do mine. We agreed to consult on each other’s projects, down the road, as necessary.

I knew I wanted to pitch Hellbent, and I knew that to pitch it, I’d have to have the story down. I’d have to do a ten to fifteen page outline to really understand what this thing was about. So I sat down on a Sunday afternoon, and I started typing.

And let me just say: Writing can take you to a weird place. Hellbent was a dark story to begin with, but the more I wrote, the darker it got: Rape. Murder. Mutilation. Incest. Public defecation. (I’m very much not kidding.)

About halfway through that day-turned-night I had to get up from my desk and get out of my room and go talk to other human beings. Or, barring that, to my roommate, who just kind of stared politely at me and nodded as I explained that my head was swimming with all of these evil, evil thoughts.

And then it was back to work.

Writing is weird that way. The ideas haunt you. No. They infect you. They take over.

We’ve all walked out of sad movies feeling sad. Or out of scary movies feeling on edge. Now imagine living with those movie for months.

I should probably write more comedies…

And I don’t want to give you the wrong idea about Hellbent. It’s as dark and twisted as you’d expect from the name, but I really believe there’s also something honest and good and optimistic at the heart of it. Ultimately, it’s a story about hope. Sort of.

And I really can’t give away much of the plot. Part of the high concept is tied up in a second act plot-twist. But I can tell you this much… I can tell you how it begins…

Five troubled teens find the devil locked away in a dead man’s closet. He can give them everything they’ve ever wanted. He can make them loved and respected and accepted. All they have to do is listen.

From there, as I said, it takes some turns. And don't worry. This is not another story of teen devil worship. This is something different. This is something much worse.

If there’s a method at work today—a lesson to be learned—it’s that sometimes inspiration can come from strange places and lead you into new and uncomfortable territory. And that’s not necessarily bad.

Sometimes the madness is the method.

In other words, if you think you’ve got a good idea...

Go nuts.

Next week, we'll talk more about Hellbent, about horror comics, and about building gimmicks into your work.

Drew Melbourne is the writer of this column, of Dark Horse Comics' ArchEnemies, and of various projects upcoming. Earlier this week, he accidentally hit the wrong button on his computer and deleted everything he'd ever written. Thankfully, later that day, he found the button on his computer that UNdeletes everything you've ever written. He has been curled up in a fetal position, slowly rocking himself back and forth ever since. For more insanity, visit DrewMelbourne.com.