Hey, friends. What up. Kids in the bath. Wife’s nursing an injured ankle. I’m awaiting tomorrow night’s Christmas tree/house-decorating lunacy. It begins with my crawling into what we call a knee closet, which is a more poetic (and anatomical) phrase for our tiny attic storage space. It’s part of the joy of owning a house built before WWII. So are the rusty nails poking down from the ceiling like lockjaw-inducing stalactites.

Then my son scurries up behind me, effectively cutting off my escape route. Seriously. There’s not even room to turn around. When my daughters pile in behind my son, blocking off the rest of the scant light filtering in from the single bulb, I’m left with a space the size of a pauper’s grave. But hey, at least the Christmas tree mashed in the back corner of the attic has that fresh artificial tree smell odor. I inhale it and can almost forget about the tetanus shot and splinter extractions I’ll need the next morning…

At any rate, there’s a rockin’ YouTube clip of my new audiobook SAVAGE SPECIES: NIGHT TERRORS. Check that puppy out here. And if you haven’t yet, why not check out SAVAGE SPECIES, the novel? That was rhetorical. If you have a reason not to read it, I don’t want to hear it. Or how about this? You can tell me why if you agree to spend an hour in my knee closet. Deal?