As a horror author, most people simply assume that my favorite holiday is Halloween; and while I do love everything about Halloween (especially the endless horror on TV), October isn’t the month that I pine for all year. I’m a Christmas girl through-and-through. As soon as Thanksgiving is gone, I’m pulling boxes out of the attic and decking the halls… and not with spooky decorations either. Odd as it is, I’m a traditionalist when it comes to the holidays. I don’t have a black pipe-cleaner tree decorated in nothing but red. My tree is a fresh-cut nine-foot fir, decked with delicate glass ornaments I’ve spent years collecting and carefully storing year after year. My favorite carols are by Bing Crosby and Doris Day. I spend countless hours in the kitchen cooking and baking, countless more wrapping and hand-tying pretty bows. For one month out of the year, my brain-demons are exorcised by ol’ Saint Nick, my dogs wear holiday sweaters, I wrap myself in a colorful apron and dance around the kitchen to Little Isidore’s Christmas of Love (look it up; it’s an awesome song).
Because this blog has become a place to share both my writing as well as little pieces of my life with you, my readers and friends, I present to you… a side of myself you very likely never saw coming.