The Story of Magic Quill Inc.

The story of Magic Quill Inc. starts with a peacock feather. The letter was written 17 January, 2009. It was the last letter I ever got from my Great Aunt Sally. “The Great One”, my daddy used to affectionately call her. He said she was the kind of lady who could walk into a room and her presence would take it over. He said, because of this, people sometimes saw her as bossy or overbearing, but he always adored her. She was his second mother.
Some time in the 1970s my daddy lost touch with a majority of his family. Then, he had this over determined daughter who always wanted more family and loved the history behind everything. So, she contacted the family she could find. That is how I brought “the Great One” into my life.
When my daddy was killed in 1994, Sally took it upon herself to look after her favorite brother’s granddaughter. She wrote me letters and sent me presents as if she were my grandmother. Some of her statements, over the years, made me wonder if that is how she really thought of me.
She was also my first mentor. When I realized there was a word for what I do (empath) and not everyone has the same kind of experience, I was happy to find that the Magoch family were known for these oddities. In fact, Aunt Sally had a degree in Metaphysics and her son is a Shaman.
Back to the letter. The day I received this letter my cats, Shadow and Abigail, were acting odd. They spent the day surrounding me and cuddling with me. Tabby does this every day, but those two cats only display this behavior on special occasions. Especially when someone is sick.
I was very excited to get that letter– at first. Letters from Aunt Sally were always special. This one had a peacock feather in it. The letter thanked me for finding the missing link in our family and getting her in contact with the niece she had not been able to find for over 75 years. How happy she was to be able to talk to Helen and tell her the real story about her mother, Laura, and how Helen was not allowed contact with “those gypsies” after her mother died of tuberculosis.
She also told me this was her last letter to me. She had bladder cancer, was 96 years old, and was getting her affairs in order. She wanted me to keep the peacock feather as a reminder of her.
The original peacock feather disappeared and was replaced. The replacement now sits on a shelf in my boyfriend’s room, because it’s the kind of favour a queen would give to her champion.
A year after the letter, I decided to pursue my dream of being a writer. The name, Magic Quill Inc. is my remembrance of Aunt Sally and the Magoch legacy.
“Magic” is a variation of my name. Magoch in Hungarian etymology refers to the Sanga (which refers to either the cattle or the people) or yellow mage. Hungarian mythology makes reference to the Magus Magoch, who were the high priest “keepers of the flame”.
The colors of the logo always refer to Aunt Sally, because her favorite colors were purple and green.
The rest is all about the peacock feather.



The Kitten and the Writer

IMG_20160117_091914256_HDREvery great writer has a dog to bounce the words off of. I have a cat. She thinks she is the writer. That’s when she isn’t running around the house like her tail is on fire, playing with the house fairies, or knocking everything off the table.

“Once there was a kitten….” She’s attempting her autobiography, but she hasn’t been in this world very long, so it mostly contains stories about what kind of food she likes. Every day, I return from my day job at 5:30. She associates this with dinner time. Wet food, instead of dry cereal. If I leave the house and return an hour later, evern though it’s early AM, it must be dinner time. After all, she has not, yet, learned how to read a clock.

From compost we grow gardens. From random words, we grow poetry and prose. This was the idea when Natalie Goldberg wrote her book Writing Down the Bones. It is a process to learn to write for me and what I want, instead of what someone else wants.  One that takes practice. This is what Thursdays will be devoted to. Even though today is Friday.

Welcome to the Journey! If you are a writer, you are especially welcome to add your own.


A to Z Challenge: D is for Dog

It has been over three years since my family met Molly. Six weeks after our Labrador mix was killed by a car I was wishing for a dog when my son looked into the back yard and told me a white dog was in our back yard.
White dog? The only white dog I knew had been buried in our backyard for weeks. He better not be running around back there.

Wandering around in our back yard was a happy dog, who ran to me, as if I had just let it out to use the bathroom. “Hello. I’m the dog you ordered.” She was very happy to come in. Even when the maniacal stuffed animals that looked like my cats, launched themselves at her, in defense of our home, she was still happy.

We took her around the neighborhood to ask people if they knew her. Except for one neighbor, who said, “She’s a pit bull. That’s why she has been bothering my dog.” the other neighbors only commented on what a beautiful dog she was. We posted fliers around the neighborhood. At 7 months old, this hyper, yet loving dog became ours.
Miss Molly
So is the story of Molly. She is sweet, but can be a handful. There are pluses and minuses. I am sure no other dog would put up with the over smothering my children lay on her, yet it would be nice if she didn’t enjoy the challenge of jumping fences.

Meanwhile, she and the cats never got along. The cats now think they are living in the lap of luxury, as they enjoy their own apartment in my office. Proof that when you wish for a dog, be sure you are specific about what kind of dog you want.

To Miss Molly…

Theme Thursday: Luck of the Irish

Growing up, people always asked if my maiden name was Irish. Apparently, if you put the sound Ma in front of any other letters, you must be Irish. I also was raised in an Irish parish known as Most Holy Trinity. It was run by a Polish Monsignor, at the time, so I felt right at home. Their Spring Festival that was all about the Irish bread was the highlight of my year.

That is where the connection between myself and all that is Irish ends. I spent a number of St. Patrick’s Days convincing people that the green in my eyes should count as wearing green in honor of the day. Irish I am not.

In honor of St. Patrick’s Day, I thought of writing about Little Known Facts of St. Patrick’s Day, Fun Facts about Irish-Americans, contributions of the Irish in the last century, and finally Irish Performers. What finally stood out was this lovely film of Richard Harris, Peter O’ Toole, and Munster Rugby. Beyond, some good food and good drink, I cannot think of anything more fitting to serve.


Keep up with Victory Rose’s weekly theme by visiting Victory Rose at Google Plus.