Jack O’ Lantern that is. Or maybe you do know Jack. I didn’t receive a formal introduction until my daughter turned four and decided she wanted to grow her own pumpkins for Halloween. To which I replied, “Let Mommy get back to you on that.”
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See, I grew up on a horse farm way out in the country. We had no neighbors for miles, and the ones we did have were more likely to shoot at a trio of Power Rangers than consider the date and the fact most burglars don’t show up in red, pink, and green spandex holding loot bags.
Hailey writes about questionable applications of otherwise perfectly good magic, the transformative power of love, the family you choose for yourself, and blowing stuff up. Not necessarily all at once. That could get messy.
