M. C. Schmidt

Who am I?  I'm a sad, pathetic person.  I hide under people's beds and they act all scared and pissed when I pop out at night.  I don't get it.  Their reactions are so hurtful.

I have been obsessed with the macabre ever since I was a little girl.  Horror movies, ghost stories, paranormal, Halloween. . . all these things fascinated me.  I even remember sneaking into my older brother's room at night when I was four years old just to watch Nightmare on Elm Street.  Boy, that was a mistake.  I'm still fucked up from that.  Older brothers just don't think about the repercussions of those things.  Yes, it's all his fault, not mine!

For a long time I thought I was weird and one of the few interested in such things, but here lately I have come to find there are others like me. . . somewhere out there.  To speak like a hipster, I was obsessed with Halloween BEFORE it was cool.  I have also loved to write since I first figured out I could tell stories of my own, so that's what I'm here to do.  

My whole life I have been told I'm creepy, depressing, and morbid.  Yes, I am all of those things, and one is a mental illness, so congrats to those that were insensitive enough to turn it into an insult!  Anyway, I figured I'd take all those insults and turn them into something entertaining. 

Fair warning; I curse.  A lot.  And sometimes I think I'm clever, but I'm not.  I'm pretty awesome, but I'm also a sack of week-old-garbage. . . the kind that has rotten meat and soiled cat litter in it.  I go back and forth between trying to decide on which one I really am.  I've made a lot of poor life choices that have led me to coming up with an idea to write about scary shit for a living.