I’ve always loved Halloween. Always.
When I was a kid, there was always that one house in the neighborhood. The one that didn’t just hand out candy, it committed. And it didn’t take much back then, as this was the 70s. If a house had flickering lights in the windows and spooky music playing from vintage floor speakers, I’d be in awe. I’d stand there on the sidewalk, equal parts terrified and fascinated, thinking: That’s the dream. When I grow up, I want to be that house.
And I meant it.
When I bought my first home, I started small. Some store-bought decorations, a few jump scares I rigged myself, like a leaf blower that manually launched a spooky mask up a pole. It was crude but effective. Then I discovered projectors, and everything changed. The visuals got bigger. The ideas got darker.
By the 2000s I had moved into a custom-built home designed to look equal parts Addams Family house and Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion, so I had to up my game. I’d hang burlap to conceal my large front porch and stage scenes inside. Each year I’d pick a new theme—sometimes movie-inspired, sometimes whatever nightmare happened to interest me that season—and try to outdo myself.
The trick-or-treater count went up every year. First a hundred. Then two hundred. Eventually four hundred kids were showing up for candy (key advice: buy shit candy. It’ll save you a bundle and those little fuckers are too distracted to notice) and a chance to scream (and sometimes cry). That’s when I started bringing in the heavy artillery: air compressors, motion sensors, hand-built animatronics. I had an Exorcist bed that shook violently on its own, and one year I built a six-foot jack-in-the-box that launched a demonic clown into the air.
I learned quickly that nothing brings a neighborhood together like the sound of collective screaming.
Somewhere in there, Halloween became more than a night—it became a season. I’d start planning in September, sometimes August, sketching out blueprints, ordering parts online, figuring out lighting angles and trigger points. I moved the set from the porch to the garage, working on it every weekend.
My son once told me one of his favorite childhood memories is sitting on the couch watching Sunday football while I was in the garage, hammering away on some half-built monster. That’s the part that gets me. Because for him, Halloween wasn’t just about the candy or the scares, but about watching his dad completely lose himself in building something. It was about creativity, obsession, joy.
One year, I turned the entire garage into a 1970s disco from hell: mirror ball, strobe lights, demonic DJ, the whole deal. I even built a bar. That’s when I realized this wasn’t just about decorating anymore. It was storytelling. It was world-building. Every year, I got to create a new reality for one night, and people actually lined up to step inside it.
But time moves on. My kids grew up. So did everyone else’s. I stopped throwing the big parties a few years back. The neighborhood shifted. Fewer familiar faces at the door. More young families moving in.
And yet, I still feel that same old obligation. The torch can’t go out, not while there are new kids wandering the block in costumes too big for them, staring wide-eyed at the glowing house down the street. They deserve that rush of fear and wonder. They deserve to be scared just enough to remember it forever.
So yes, this year, the show goes on. My garage is transforming into an evil circus. I’m talking twisted clowns, unsettling carnival music, smoke machines, projections, strobe lights, and at least one thing that will launch at an impossible and horrifying angle.
Because Halloween isn’t a holiday for me anymore. It’s a lifestyle.
New episodes of my podcast Making It Up are out! Over the past month, I chatted with:
Episode 200: Michelle Jabès Corpora – Author, editor, and ghostwriter who’s written for a world-famous middle-grade mystery series and now pens her own novels, including His Face Is the Sun. Michelle and I talked about moving from ghostwriting to writing under your own name, the value of earning your success slowly, and how to stay true to yourself while taking feedback. We also celebrated Making It Up’s 200th episode by creating a story together using a line from her newest book.
Episode 199: Joe Hart – Edgar Award–winning and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of seventeen novels, including the newly released WYNDCLYFFE. Joe and I discussed how word-of-mouth can still be the best marketing, why dark thrillers continue to resonate, and how to build protagonists who feel both strong and real. At the end, we made up a tense, fast-moving story using a line from Karin Slaughter’s This Is Why We Lied.
Episode 198: Dwayne Goetzel – Attorney, father, and novelist who’s written nine books while building a career specializing in trademarks, copyrights, and licensing. Dwayne and I talked about pushing through publishing struggles, the power of community in a writer’s life, and the legal questions authors should actually understand. We wrapped up with a spontaneous story using a line from Mark Bowden’s Black Hawk Down.
Episode 197: Leigh Dunlap – Screenwriter of A Cinderella Story (Hilary Duff), The Standoff, and 16-Love, now turned debut novelist with Bless Your Heart. Leigh and I dug into how working in a Hollywood talent agency sharpened her writing instincts, how storytelling shifted post-pandemic, and the differences between writing scripts and novels. We finished with a quick creative sprint inspired by a line from Michelle Jabès Corpora’s His Face Is the Sun.
All episodes are available on my website, my YouTube channel, and wherever you get your favorite podcasts.
A wonderful Fright Fest event in the Atlanta Books-A-Million store with my fellow Poisoned Pen Press authors Marlee Bush, Darcy Coates, Mallory Arnold, and Daniel G. Miller.
REVIEWS
On the Page
How Bad Things Can Get, Darcy Coates (Poisoned Pen Press, 2025)
Look just above at the group photo. Second to left, that’s Darcy. One of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. And she writes BRILLIANT FUCKED-UP SHIT. Like, seriously dark. It’s been a long time since a book had disturbed my sleep, but Darcy’s did.
The novel opens with a promise of paradise: a week of games, sun, fun, and over-the-top rewards, hosted by a YouTube-style mogul named Eton on “Prosperity Island.” Guests—from influencers to superfans—come expecting parties, competition, and fame. But one of them, Ruth, is keeping a darker secret: she is the sole survivor of a cult massacre called Petition, and she’s been running from its shadow her whole life.
The result? A thrilling and horrifying high-stakes social experiment on a private island, mixing influencer spectacle, cult trauma, and bloody survival in one volatile cocktail. And when I say bloody, I mean BLOODY. Highly recommend, as long as you think you can handle it.
On the Screen
Black Rabbit (Netflix 2025)
Jessica and I are six episodes into Black Rabbit and consider me hooked. The premise is simple but magnetic: two estranged brothers whose reunion sets off a spiral of tension, lies, and collateral damage. What makes it work are Jason Bateman and Jude Law, who carry every scene with quiet intensity. The show looks incredible too, full of moody New York shadows and slow-building dread, and the tension keeps climbing with each episode. Every time we down an episode we chase it with an episode of Parks and Rec just to calm our nerves a bit.
Not everything is perfect. Some plot turns feel a little too convenient and a few side characters exist mostly to keep the story moving. But it’s so well acted and so beautifully shot that you don’t really care. Black Rabbit is stylish, gripping, and completely addictive, and I’ll be finishing it the second I can.
Photo of the Month
If you know my books, you also know the last six have lyric epigraphs from the band James. My favorite UK band came to Boulder in September and Jess and I got a chance to spend a little time with lead singer Tim Booth backstage.
Update from my Kids
My daughter navigating first-year law school.
Update from my Pets
Scully and me up in Buena Vista, Colorado.
Shameless Social-Media Plug
If you’re not following me on Instagram or Facebook, you’re missing my 31 days of spooky photos from around my house and other cool stuff.
Humor of the Month sent to me by a friend
Latest offering from my company Unbound Writer
So many of my books take place in October. There’s just something about the fall — the shadows stretching longer, the air turning sharp, the sense that anything could be lurking in the dark. It’s the season when I feel most alive on the page. Which makes this the perfect time of year to teach a class on the craft (and psychology) of writing dark, breathless, suspenseful fiction.
This isn’t just about learning how to write thrillers (though we’ll cover that in detail). It’s about the psychology of writing: the discipline, the resilience, the way you train your brain to show up even when you don’t feel like it. Because the scariest thing about writing isn’t the blank page… it’s about that page remaining blank.
Here’s what we’ll cover:
• Why thrillers tap so deeply into human emotion and fear
• How to create characters under relentless pressure
• The secret to high-stakes premises, twists, and unforgettable endings
• How to write consistently (even when inspiration disappears)
• Editing strategies that sharpen suspense
• Career mindset: chasing improvement, not perfection
Whether you’ve written ten novels or none, this course will give you tools to make your stories more gripping, more intense, and more unforgettable.
When: Saturday, October 18 12PM – 2PM (Mountain Time)
Cost: $75, live class with replay access
Register at UnboundWriter.com
That’s it for now!
Just a reminder to subscribe to my newsletter for more content and access to contests and giveaways. Oh, and if you follow me on social media you’ll see a lot more pictures of my goddamn pets. Until next month…
