Tag Archives: Horror Writers Workshop Transylvania



Definition of transmogrify



  1. transitive verb

  2. :  to change or alter greatly and often with grotesque or humorous effect

  3. intransitive verb

  4. :  to become transmogrified

I’ve been enchanted with the grotesque since I learned about gargoyles in my 7th grade French class. And I’ve always liked the humorous. Walking in Madrid in September I paused and clicked a few shots of this window decor while my friends advanced ahead of me, not noticing the window or that I was no longer keeping up. The skulls and rocks have been transformed to serve practical functions; they are no longer in their original forms. Go back and look closely and you will see what’s going on inside the room as well as reflections of street action. Let your mind feel the shifts in perception captured by the lens.

And if you like to feel the mysterious and horrifying I think you will like Transmogrify (Starring into the Abyss), the collection of dark and disturbing stories by Richard Thomas. He writes unique blends of horror and noir that dig into your psyche and leave  you cringing for more. The Kindle collection sells for only $0.99 on Amazon.


I met Richard Thomas when he was instructor at the Horror Writers Workshop Transylvania, Edition 2015, in Bran. One day on our way to write in a haunted castle we had lunch in an ancient cemetery. Richard made the original photo of this group of grave markers and I messed with it a bit to create this transmogrified image.

This post is for the Weekly Photo Challenge:  Transmogrify.

You might like these related photos and posts:

haunted castles and morbid stories

piles of bones, transmogrified, in Washtucna

skull on a blood colored wall

Now, please excuse me. I have crates of bones to transmogrify, and a pair of pumpkins, too, before we ignite the Samhain bonfire this stormy evening.


Walking home alone in Bucharest

In Bucharest, Romania a few nights before going to Bran,Transylvania for the Horror Writers Workshop, I left my dinner group at the beer hall, and walked back to my hotel alone so I could make some photos. I definitely prefer my Olympus DSL for night shots but the Canon Powershot 530 provided well enough. I feel the curse of Gypsies in the last shot, the fiddler near my hotel. He shook his head for me to stop photographing him and I stopped, reluctantly. I didn’t realize the woman pulling the child and cursing me was the same one as in the photo until I worked through my shots back in my room. She followed me and was deadly serious with her ever-so-quiet tongue in a language I barely understand. But her tone was direct and her glare pushed forward all the venom it could collect as she steadily strode toward me, gaining on me until I had to turn around and notice her. I gave it right back at her with a hearty look of offence more powerful than the defence I felt. And I meant it just as much as she did. Our locked and loaded eyes were our common language. I don’t know what she was saying but I silently warned her, “You’d better not if you know what’s good for you.” She backed off and turned away as I stood facing her, ready for confrontation. So far so good.

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