Good, Old Fashioned, Vampire Violence Brought to You by Hattie

Oh no, not another mother gushing about how amazing her child is! Sorry folks, but I am proud.

My daughter recently took second in a local writing contest here in Galesburg Illinois called, The Big Write. When I first found out about the contest, I asked her if she wanted to enter something. She said she would like to write a poem. Okay, I thought, that works. Since my child has recently become more interested in pop culture and with it pop music, I expected something that might resemble a love song or something flowery. I underestimated my daughter. I should have taken into account her love of ghost and horror stories, her admiration of R.L.Stine and her drawings, going all the way back to her toddler years of grave stones and, hold onto your seat, dead people in suit cases. The latter would be enough to send a regular parent into seizures, thankfully I am not very ‘regular’.  Having been very interested in dead things as a young one myself, I was not overly upset about it. Along with this, my husband and I are both drawn to skeletons of animals and the human skeletal structure, and what some might consider morose. So, why I was surprised when Hattie’s poem was about a blood thirsty vampire, and not the kind that sparkle and fall in love with depressed teenagers, is quite beyond me.

I think it signaled to me how much my little girl is growing up. She is coming into her own. While other girls are day dreaming about Robert Patton, my daughter is writing and keeping the tradition of a good old-fashioned flesh tearing vampire. Though I’d be blind if I didn’t think she picked up on Robert Pattons good looks.

Something else that has blown me away about her recently, is her want to  overcome fears. She has a chance to read her poem at the reception being held for the winners and their friends and family. She told me she would be too afraid and nervous to do so.  Meanwhile, she is looking over a two week summer school course  she will be involved in at Knox College here and deciding which courses she is interested in. She comes across one titled, ‘The Voice’, which is a class designed towards singing and learning how to present yourself on stage in order to sell your song and overcome stage fright. Hattie shows this to me and says, ” I want to do this so I can help myself and my nervousness.” Well hell yeah, we can do that. So though she may not read her poem aloud because of her nerves this time, she has a plan and wants to work to master her fears.

I suppose I have rambled long enough about how kick ass my kid is. So, without further adeiu, I give you Ayin Hattie-Belle Wren’s, “The Vampire’s Bite.


The Vampire’s Bite

As I drink the blood of my prey,

I’m happy to live another day.

No stake through the heart, no sunlight to tear me apart.

The sunlight turns me to dust, you see,

I am a vampire, unlike thee.

So, I hope you sleep tight tonight,

all snug in your bed, while I go off for a bite.

For, it might be your neck, it just might.



A while back  worked on a short little story for a running contest at Lilja’s Library (, an online Stephen King Fan club.I did not win, but I was happy for the challenge in writing as I normally do not ever write anything in the horror genre. I wanted to share it with you since it was doing nothing but hanging out in my computer being useless.The contest was based around a short page of art work by Chad Bourne. Essentially the story had to follow what was  shown in the art.  I do not have the art but you may visit to read the winning story and if you scroll down far enough you may see the artwork. Otherwise,  you’ll have to use your imagination and hopefully I have painted a good enough picture.


Welcome Home Marv

By:Magdalene Kellett
“It’s colder than a witches tit.”, Marvin thought . He flicked his cigarette, tipped the brim of his hat down and pulled his coat tighter around himself. The moon, larger than normal on this night, glowed with a honey hue and made him feel smaller and even more lonesome than normal. The shortened winter days brought about a depression in him that all the masturbation or porn in the world couldn’t cure.
Marvin was a guy. A plain, normal, boring guy. Nothing stood out about him and nothing outstanding had ever happened to him. He wasn’t overly good looking. He didn’t have groups of women breaking down his door to jump in the sack with him and he was too backwards and afraid to ask anyone out. His seclusion had made him lonely, though he chose not to think about it. Tonight however, his loneliness occupied his mind as he opened the doors of the old stone library.
He had been hired as Security at the public library after a small group of High-school students had broke in and decided to hold a party.They smashed some windows, left beer cans laying around and graffiti-ed a couple of walls. Their quotes read out, “If you can read this, well no shit! You’re in a Library!” and “ Suck my Dick-ens, Charles that is!”. Marvin liked the latter, and laughed a bit whenever he thought about it. Keeping watch was easy enough work, he was basically getting paid to read.
Another perk, and his favorite part of work was his daily observations of young, tight sweater-ed college girls reading in the library. He liked a good look, he wasn’t dead after all. He knew the girls thought that he was a dirty old man. “Hell”, he chuckled, “I probably am!” There would be no girls tonight, however. To Marvin’s dismay, winter break had taken all the tightly clad ladies away for the holidays and the library grew silent earlier than normal. The quiet couldn’t come soon enough, he looked forward to his nights alone with the books.
Tonight though, he felt restless and found himself constantly glancing at the clock, as if he were expecting someone . If that wasn’t enough, the tick-ticking of the clock sounded louder with every second. “Seriously?” Was the clock on the fritz? Walking over to it, he examined the face. He then took it off the wall, turned it over and replaced it. Thinking, he placed the tip of his fore finger in his ear and gave it a good wagging. The ticking was quieted again. “Huh, gettin’ old sucks”, sighing at this thought, he walked over to the book shelves to grab a book.
Marvin had just placed his hand on the binding of a ‘whodunit’, when something from behind the stack caught his attention. It was another book, “Surprise, surprise! ” The kids were always putting books back where they didn’t go.
He picked it up, turned it over and examined the worn corners and the well read pages. He noticed the bright red sticker on its spine that the library used to mark their books that belonged in the Horror section. With all the money their parents spent on colleges and universities, you would think college students would know how to put something away properly. Marvin bet in his mind that he spent 6 of the 12 hours he worked devoted to taking misplaced books to their correct spot.
He was about to return the book when he caught a glimpse of the author’s name, Stephen King. He had never actually read anything by him . He looked at all horror genre novels as the same, poorly written trash. However, just as he had reasoned that his daily porn appetite was healthy and neccessery to keep him from being a careless sex fiend, he had also allowed himself peeks at T.v. shows like ‘The Twilight Zone and Tales From the Darkside’. His guilty pleasure being Creepshow, is what made him examine the book more closely. Almost in a trance, he barely noticed the thing squiggling around on the book shelf and dropping to the ground.
He licked his lips, suddenly greedy to open the cover.
The clocks tick-ticking again become louder and louder. It echoed around him, no, it sounded inside him, like a heartbeat. Marvin could feel it’s reverberations inside, it excited him. His fingers and hands were greedy and wet with persperation as he read. He drew in a breath as his excitement mixed and mingled with terror.
Each word he read was as satisfying as any food or woman could have been. So engrossed was he, that Marvin once again didn’t notice the maggot-like creatures, this time both growing and dropping out of the pages and onto the ground. He didn’t see or feel them dig their way into his shoes and then plant them selves on his feet. They crawled up his neck, they wriggled down behind his collar. It was a slight twitch in his neck that made him impulsively scratch . But there, where his itch should have been, was the creature, implanted on his skin. Marvin dropped his hand quickly and looked up from his book, his eyes widened first in confusion as his brain tried to make sense of the scene .around him and on him. Then his eyes widened in horror. The creatures were everywhere. At first they had been small, now they had grown in length so that they stretched out like worms. Their movement was more like tenticles as they felt their way into any open part of Marvin. He opened his mouth to yell but found it otherwise occupied with one of the arms. His ears itched with the digging that the creatures were doing inside. His body twisted and turned and convulsed. Each thriving and pulsing was not Marvins movement but rather the creatures . It, they, whatever the creature was, had now completely taken over his body.
Marvin’s thoughts raced, some with fear, some with wonder but all with excitement. He had no control of his body, which felt strangely exhilarating and free. He was being thrown and manipulated as the creatures embedded themselves deeper and deeper into his body. He could hear himself crying. And with the wailing came another voice. “You fucking pussy! Wah, wah, wah! Cry your eyes out Marv! Yell for help! Ha ha ha ha!”
Where was it coming from ? Meanwhile, his body continued to spasm around and down the hall. He was thrown, against the door to the men’s bathroom, hitting a stall, he crumpled to the ground. Finally, his body stopped moving.
Marvin lay there, his breathing heavy and raspy. He started to moan. Again he could hear the strange voice speaking to him,
“No wonder you can’t talk to any of them tight shirted beauties in the library, look at you! Your nothing but a waste of good clean air. Your a pussy who ain’t gettin’ no pussy! Ha ha ha!!! “
The voice sounded like his own but it was stronger, deeper and very raspy. He crawled on the ground and over to the sinks. His body felt battered and every move hurt and burned deeply. Putting his hands on the edge of the porcelain sink,he pulled him self to a half standing position. The voice again started to speak,
“Hey Marve, what are you gonna do?? You come here every day, looking at the pretty girls because it brings you excitement. You’re afraid to talk to them. Whats the matter Marve?? You afraid of a little challenge?”
It began to laugh again. Marvin looked around him, searching for a source from where the voice was coming. He ran to the stalls and opened them up, nothing. From the direction of the sink he heard it again. “Maaaaarv………Maaaaarrrrv….Psst…over here. It’s not just women is it? You are afraid to try anything or just be who you are deep inside. You know, the guy you are when you turn out the lights, when no one is watching. It’s me Marv. Let me out Marv…….”
Marvin grasped the side of the sink and shook it as hard as he could. It was true. Fear had been his best friend and his worst enemy. Looking up, he caught a glance of himself in the mirror and took a step back. The face in the mirror was his, but it wasn’t. His face had changed. Where smooth rubbery skin had been, now his face was nothing but burned tissue and bone with receding lips. He knew the sudden wailing he heard was coming from him but the face in the mirror, his face, only opened it’s mouth and laughed. He could hear it mix with the wails. The voice called out to him again, “Marv, Maaaarrrrv…I am you. Let me out Marv! “ Marvin’s wailing died and the laughter grew stronger, the same laughter that had taunted him minutes before. It was true, he was the voice. He was Marv. It felt good to finally be him and not be the scared and pathetic man that years of denial and fear had turned him into. He was enjoying himself and now the whole world was opened up. The library, with it’s wealth of knowledge was his. He was the master and keeper of it. He felt liberated. It felt good. After years of not feeling at home in his own skin, he looked in the mirror and saw himself for who he was.
Marv grinned, “You’ve been missed Marv. Welcome Home!”

Awards, Facts and Nominees….

I still have three incredibly fascinating things to divulge about myself before I can pass on this award of Versatile Blogger onto other deserving folk. So here are my last three.

5. I am a fan of the twilight movies. Yes, I am a twi-hard. Now I do have to agree with Stephen King that they really aren’t very good literary works, they are basicly a soap opera for teens. He compares the Twilight Series to Harry Potter.

“Harry Potter is about confronting fears, finding inner strength and doing what is right in the face of adversity. Twilight is about how important it is to have a boyfriend.”
― Stephen King

And, well I have to agree, but that being said, the series has been a guilty pleasure of mine and before you ask…I’m team Edward, only because I think Jacob is cocky and arrogant.

6. I will be married 13 years this coming March. It has been an amazing ride. We have had our ups and downs, our extreme goods and our extreme bads, but we believe in what we are doing and we love each other. Marriage isn’t all rainbows and butterflies and I think today people enter into it with unreal expectations, thinking it will complete them as a person (recipe for disaster), or it will be like a romantic novel where yes, you have your differences but then everything ends up in a torrent of skin,flesh and desire and that somehow that makes it better.

I married my best friend, he is way different from me and i from him and naturally you get on one another’s nerves and argue but real people and real relationship is worth the fight. Getting over yourselves in order to see the problem and correct it is a worthwhile journey and only brings more depth to your relationship. I wouldn’t change a thing in the past with my hubs and I, it has all brought us closer and helped us understand one another fully.

Each year I am amazed by my hairy bearded man, he keeps me growing and on my toes. He challenges me in ways I never have been challenged and ultimately he wants to see me succeed in every possible way, as a mom, a writer, an artists and person. he keeps me sane.

7. Here we are at the edge of Maggie. I am originally from nowhere. My parents traveled a lot. I was born in Anderson Indiana and by the time I was 6 I had lived in Jacksonville and Panama City Florida, New England Massachusetts and then Galesburg Illinois. Galesburg is the general area that my family is from. My parents bought a house and we lived there (here) until I was about 12 when we moved to Lindale Texas for two years and finally New Orleans where I met my husband and had my first child. We left the year before Katrina and have been on the road since. From Galesburg Illinois to Deland Florida and then to Marion, Virginia and Columbia South Carolina and then back to New orleans for a couple of years and finally we are back in Illinois. I have loved everywhere I have lived and I loved the traveling as a child and as an adult, but with two kids now the moving gets a little tiresome for them and for us. I do however miss the South, it was the most influential on me as a young one and it still is my compass for how I live life and how I raise my kids.

Okay so the Nominees are…….(opening the golden envelope)

Dorky Deb: She is still one of my favorite bloggers and she has a lot of the things she juggles in life, and I’m not talkin’ your normal stuff either. She is worth the read every time.

Stacy Boe Miller: I have known this lady for a while now, I think we met when I was about 15 or 16 and she was 17 or 18. Anyways, she is an amazing person and she makes very cool jewelry (Yay! Jewelry!) , works at a school and has 3 beautiful children and an equally cool husband (thank god cause it sucks when your friend marries an asshole! Haha). She writes about jogging with a rainbow flag, her children’s fashion sense and just life, normal life and I love it. She is also a poet, another big love of mine.

BarrelRider: This is a talented guy. We first met him in South Carolina when my husband was tattooing there shortly after the tattoo ban was lifted. He wanted to tattoo badly  and was already an accomplished artist on paper. We had become friends with him and Dale agreed to an apprenticeship and BarrelRider embraced the challenge and is now, through his own hard work, an amazing tattoo artist. He often finds odd or old artwork and posts them with really savvy quotes. He couples this with a photo journal of his daily tattoos. A great guy, a great artist and great blog.

The Good Greatsby: Although this guy doesn’t really need my nomination because I think his blog speaks very well for his versatility, he’s getting the damned thing anyways. I enjoy his blog, it’s funny and he talks about everything. No subject is sacred. A HUGE plus for me.

and finally….

Wes Lang: An artist that has one of the best philosophies in life  and it’s simple to its core. His paintings mesmerize me and I just like them, no deep explanation needed. I would love to one day buy one but alas my purse is too small right now, until then I will enjoy the blog.

So there you have it. Hope you check out the blogs, they are worth the time.

Taking a Break From Being so Damned Thankful..

So as I stated in a previous (perhaps THE previous) blog, I received a blog award. It came to me on a bad day but it instantly made all the bad crap melt away for the moment and when the bad crap tried to sneak back in, I would smile because I, I, had a blog award.

The award.

Now ‘versatile’ could be a nicer way of saying “bullshit”, after all if you can’t win them with brilliance, baffle em with bullshit, right?  I joke, perhaps not good, but I joke.

After receiving the award I went and looked through my blog, I seriously have no theme so I guess I have to be flexible in what I write about. Hopefully this keeps folks interested and coming back.

So before I move on to the next part of all this I want to thank God, My parents, my parents neighbors, the cow I ate for dinner, the corn diet that was fed to that cow, the wine I drink, the kids who keep me on my toes, the man who is bearded who calls himself my husband and razors, without them I would be one hairy lady.  In all seriousness I owe thanks to my lady, Thypolar, who passed on this award. She is a faithful reader and damn good blogger herself. And anyone who thinks blogging is for bored housewives should read her blog because that just isn’t the case.

Okay so the next step is for me to reveal 7 things about myself that you may not know. I will start with 2 and in the next few post I’ll get around to the rest and finally I will pass on my award to some other boogers, I mean bloggers.


1. I wish my voice sounded like Kathleen Turners. I am in love with gravely voices, in men and women. But man, I would kill for hers. I keep drinking whiskey hoping one day my voice will get there and hopefully my liver won’t give out first. That would be tragic.

2. I draw these weird lady creatures squirting breast milk into coffee cups. I call them “Latte Ladies’. One day I may start posting them here but for now the only ones floating around are hanging in my parents house, a friend’s house and on a friends leg.

Okay so two down five to go.

Your Welcome.

The Creative um…………uh……

I am going through a creative block. Which quite honestly sucks. Yesterday I spent hours sitting down going through blogs (finding some good ones too) and looking at sewing patterns. Then I pulled out my tool box full of sewing needle, old vintage buttons, stenciling supplies and random junk that can be used for various things. I layed them all out before me and looked at them. I stared them down. I flashed back to ideas I had found and tried to decide what i should do. Three hours later all I had accomplished was the sewing on of buttons onto my sons Halloween costume.

I hate these dry spells. I have been in one for a while (several years in fact) and though I have progressed and I continue to improve and get out of my funk, it always hurts to be brought back down and reminded of the cold damp dark that is the creative block.

Today I plan to get out a bit and take my kids to the library. We will part of the way to get some nice fall air in our lungs and hopefully help clear my mind so I can focus.

On the positive, the paper mache my daughter and I made are just about dry and ready for paint. I do have plans to make much larger sculptures out of paper mache but first I have to get the basics down.

So this blog was kind of pointless except to let you know I am feeling a bit creatively down.

It gets better though.

Hallowe’en…Strange Things seen….

Witches on broomsticks
Ride the air;
Ghosts could be lurking
You say you are brave and
Do not care,
But on Hallowe’en,
My friend, beware!

-Slavonic Folk Song

The future is often scarier than the past but in the case of Hallowe’en costumes, I beg to differ. Take a look at the specters and haints.


Need I say more? Well to help solidify this in your mind, look on.



How about that old man mask in the bottom left? Can you say creepy ? I can. Creepy. Creepy in the way that he’s going to boil you and eat you, creepy.

And my favorite…


This much creepier than any "Scream" mask.


All of these masks were made from paper mache, which I will be trying my hand at soon. I am sure paper mache masks influenced the makers of “Halloween” (the movie). Well that and a blank William Shatner mask, I always knew Star Trek was creepy…..

Anyways happy haunting as we creep, creep, creep… closer to Hallowe’en.

Music, elixir to the soul

So with too many words in my head and a cold taking over my brain, I give you music instead. I hope you enjoy, lyrics below.



“Blonde On Blonde”

Cats and dogs are coming down
14th street is gonna drown
Everyone else rushing round
I’ve got blonde on blonde
On my portable stereo
It’s a lullabye
From a giant golden radio
I’ve got no time i wanna lose
To people with something to prove
What can you do but let them walk
And make your way down the block
I’ve got blonde on blonde
On my portable stereo
It’s a lullabye
From a giant golden radio
It’s a lullabye
From wonder-woman’s radio