My motto for Halloween costumes is: If it fits in the car, it’s not worth doing. I go big or go home, and it MUST be made with my own two hands. Since I was little, I’ve loved making things. It doesn’t matter what – cookies, a sweater, a film. I was the kind of kid who spent hours alone building sandcastles on construction sites or crafting elaborate fantasy worlds inhabited by Barbies and Star Wars action figures. The kind of kid who devours a Nancy Drew in one sitting. The kind of kid you don’t realize is actually in the house until she shows up gushing blood from her head or finger. To me, these wounds were minor sacrifices in the pursuit of making stuff. So when it comes to Halloween, I don’t bother with your gypsies Roma, your bums, your girl in a poodle skirt. I was born to eschew store-bought costumes — partly due to my creativity and partly due to my weirdness. I didn’t really fit in as a kid. I spent hours analyzing …