A few weeks ago, I received an email from my book editor at St. Martin's, forwarding me a review from Kirkus. Now, let me say one thing before talking about Kirkus: I do not feel like a real author. Yes, I have a novel coming out. Yes, I've written a whole lot of comics in the past, and I continue to do so. But I feel like, any day, I can be outed as a fake, a fraud, a phony, and never be allowed to write another word again (and, should that day come, quite honestly I have no idea what I'd do with myself). Do all writers feel this way? Probably, to a degree. I can't say for certain--all I know is, deep down, I don't feel like I belong, and I'm just waiting to be ousted.
As most of you know, I'm a big horror fan. I wouldn't have written Curse, Hoax Hunters, Burning Fields, and other horror-fueled fiction if I wasn't. It's no surprise, then, that October is my favorite month and Halloween is my personal favorite holiday. And every year, I dedicate the month to watching horror movies (some new, some old favorites) and reading horror novels.
This year is especially exciting for me because, to be honest, my Halloween tradition has been on hiatus for about three years. Not for lack of love of the genre, but a different reason: