The Week a Vampire Meme made me Famous

This week brought a mix of unexpected attention, difficult decisions, family, and community milestones.

Most surprisingly, I went viral on social media for the first time, and it happened because of a silly vampire meme.

After years of posting about writing, books, and everyday life, I finally had a post take off.

It wasn’t a book announcement or a carefully planned promotion. It was a vampire meme I shared for fun.

The response was far larger than anything I had expected. The post reached people well beyond my usual audience, and watching it spread was both funny and a little surreal.

As an author, it’s easy to focus on how to promote books and attract readers. Social media can start to feel like another part of the job. Can I compete with algorithms? What’s really worth posting?

This was a useful reminder that not every post needs to serve a promotional purpose. Sometimes something simply amusing connects with people more effectively than anything carefully planned.

I’m glad it happened, even if I still find it kind of dumb that this “big” moment came from a ridiculous meme about fake teeth.

Saying Goodbye to the Nebraska Writers Guild

This week also marked the end of my membership with the Nebraska Writers Guild.

After two years, I’ve decided not to renew.

When I joined, I hoped to make connections, learn from other writers, and support authors in Nebraska. I was especially interested in meeting others who wrote fantasy and horror and finding new books to enjoy.

Unfortunately, I felt ignored when I tried to participate or include members. I’ll admit I was surprised at the lack of interest when sharing my annual creative writing contest. My attempts to ask for book recommendations and learn more about other writers just did not lead to the connections I had hoped to make.

The biggest disappointment involved book signings and author visits at libraries. I learned that another member had negotiated those opportunities on behalf of the Guild, but the arrangements ultimately hurt my already limited profits.

Local events can be valuable for authors, but the financial details matter. When an opportunity leaves an author earning very little, or potentially losing money, it becomes difficult to justify participating.

After two years, I realized that the Guild was not providing the kind of community or support I had expected when I joined.

It may be helpful for newer writers who are looking for encouragement, guidance, or a confidence boost. For me, however, it no longer feels like the right fit.

Choosing not to renew isn’t about creating conflict. It’s about acknowledging that my experience has been frustrating and deciding to put my time and energy elsewhere.

A Brief Visit From My Sister

My sister also visited briefly this week. We were the last stop on her road trip across Iowa.

Her goal was to distribute the last of our father’s possessions, which made the visit bittersweet. Even after the immediate responsibilities following a death are over, there can still be belongings to sort through, and feelings to process.

It was good to see her, even for a short time. Visits like this are about more than distributing possessions. They also provide a chance for reflection acknowledging how much has changed. It’s important to keep moving forward.

Ten Years of Owl Sage

There was also a milestone worth celebrating: Owl Sage Board Game Club is marking its tenth anniversary this year.

The club has begun its annual fall event, Magician Academy, at three different libraries. There’s even been talk about returning to our original location!

Ten years is a significant achievement for any community organization, and it’s encouraging to see Owl Sage continuing to grow and offer events for both longtime members and people who may be discovering the club for the first time.

Looking Back on the Week

This week reminded me that an author’s life includes much more than writing.

There was unexpected attention, the decisions to keep moving forward, and reasons for celebration.

Some parts of the week were funny. Others were frustrating or emotional.

Together, they were a reminder to pay attention to where my time and energy are going. The right communities can be encouraging and meaningful, while the wrong ones can leave me feeling numb or frustrated.

For now, I’ll keep positive, seeking better connections, and supporting communities that promote wonder.

And yes… I’ll probably keep sharing vampire related nonsense.

I’m back home after spending a week at the Saint Benedict retreat center in Schuyler. I did get work done (which is always my intention there), but not nearly as much as I had hoped. As many of you know, the last three months were challenging for my family. We’ve had construction going on at home, travels across the Midwest (some fun, others not so much), and my father’s funeral.

I’m currently trying to readjust to being back in Hartington. My head is congested. I find it weird how I can go to an even more remote location in the country and feel perfectly fine.

It’s time to start our next year of school and for the game club to have their Magic Academy special event. I’m also trying to figure out how best to celebrate Owl Sages’s tenth anniversary of gaming.

Anyone else getting excited for the fall season? I know it is still August but I’m ready for autumn weather and Halloween fun!

At the start of a gravel road,
damp rock gathers softly along puddled ruts
and evening stretches purely across the fields,
clarity waits in the open.

A church stands nearby,
its steeple catching the fading light,
its doors glossy with promises
of welcome, shelter, and grace.

Yet the windows seem too curious.

A welcome mat is unconcerned with time. 

The bell tower watches in silence, awaiting awkward dismissals.  

A place built for fellowship

offers the weight of being measured.

A place meant to ease burdens

seems eager to count them instead.

So the road becomes the kinder teacher.

It asks no questions of worthiness.
It demands no performance of belonging.
Its gravel does not care who you were yesterday,
nor who others insist you should become.

Each stone remains where it is,
certain without boasting,
valuable without declaration.

And standing between the church and the road,
the choice grows clear.

The steeple points upward,
but the road reaches forward.
One speaks of approval withheld,
the other of a place already given.

Fields do not question their purpose.
Wind does not seek permission to move.
Horizon does not apologize for its distance.

There, at the beginning of the gravel road,
with the church fading into the corner of sight,
a deeper truth settles into the heart:

Worth is not granted by unsteady voices. Belonging is not bestowed by fearful contempt. Some places promise a home yet offer doubt.

But the road, rough and ordinary,
reveals what was always there…

Your place in the world is not a seat waiting to be assigned, nor a hook to be hung upon, 
but a ground already beneath your feet,
stretching onward,
certain as the gravel road itself.

Congratulations to this year’s winners! We had many entries from all over the Midwest. Thank you for your participation. I’ll be contacting our winners to reward them for their creative endeavors.

1st ($60) – Elsie Wortman

2nd ($40) – Anthony Thoene

3rd ($30) – Natalia Schmidt

Creative Design ($20) – Samantha Thoene

I’ve sponsored an annual creative writing contest over the last seven years for my local community and board game club members. The goal has been to inspire and reward creativity. I’m continuing to extend this contest in the hopes for larger participation throughout Nebraska and beyond. Writers can be professionals, hobbyists, or students of any level.

Author Peter R. Talley and the Owl Sage Board Game Club is sponsoring our eighth annual creative writing contest this winter. Interested writers will be able to submit short stories, poetry, and essays.

Adults and children are both encouraged to participate and will be judged in separate categories. Top spots in each category will receive these awards:

Grand Prize: $50
Second Place: $30
Third Place: $20

Contest Guidelines:

1) This contest is open to anyone interested in writing about their enjoyment of playing games with friends and family. Subjects could include favorite board game reviews, funny stories from around the gaming table, living inside a board game for a day, or examples of being a good winner/loser.

2) Please include your name and contact information with your submission, and specify whether you’re submitting to the kids or adults category.

3) Length of submission is not of concern. I’m looking to reward effort and creativity. Have fun with this contest!

4) Eligible participants will submit original work by 3/31/2026 to the following address: Opete77@yahoo.com.

* Scans or photos of handwritten work are acceptable. Just be sure they’re legible.

** I will also be glad to receive contest submissions during our scheduled Owl Sage gaming sessions.

3) Winners and Prizes will be announced in April.

* Submissions will not be returned.

Braggart’s release date has been moved to the second quarter of 2026. I made this decision to gain more time to focus on my health. I’ve also been reassessing how best to move forward from the problematic serial experiment of Kindle Vella. I have a few more stories from there to convert over to different, easier to read formats.

I’m still hoping to have the fourth Chalk Princess novel ready by third quarter of 2026. This way it can be enjoyed with our game club’s annual Magician Academy event.

Thanks for your continued interest and support. I have big things planned for the next couple years. I have six more books I’d like to write and want to make them as good as I can for your reading enjoyment.

Cedarton, Nebraska, prided itself on priorities. “Faith, Family, and Football.” That was what the sign said when you entered town. But anyone who lived there knew the order was wrong.

Family came second, if it came at all. Faith came third. Football ruled every schedule, every dinner, every dusk.

By mid-October, the local team were headed to playoffs, and the townsfolk voted without hesitation to move Trick-or-Treat night. Halloween fell on a Friday that year, the same night as the biggest home game in two decades.

“Kids can get their candy during halftime,” the principal joked. “We have a game to win.” Laughter filled the room, though a few parents shifted in their seats.

Those eager to keep a sense of holiday tradition relevant, hosted a “Trunk or Treat” the weekend before. People decorated their cars and handed out candy while a strong autumn wind blew into town. That was good enough, everyone said. The kids would understand.

And so, by the time October 31 arrived, Cedarton did not look much like Halloween at all. Few Halloween decorations were up, no costumed crowds in the streets. Only a slow-creeping fog and the hum of stadium lamps warming over the field.

Almost every yard from Main Street to the grain elevators were cluttered with metal Knight yard signs. Red and gold, all with slogans like “Go Knights Go!” or “Bleed Red!” Some families
even left porch lights shining in team colors, proof of loyalty, pride, and belonging.

The fog pooled around them like breath on cold glass.

---

Kickoff came at seven sharp.

The crowd roared. The field lights burned like altar flames. The marching band blared the fight song so loud you could hear it across the river.

At halftime, as planned, parents led their costumed children down to the field for “Candy Kickoff.” The boosters had set up folding tables by the bleachers with buckets of sweets. Tiny witches, superheroes, and skeletons weaved between shoulder-padded players and cheerleaders who handed out Snickers bars and fruity-flavored Tootsie Rolls.

It should have been charming. It should have been wholesome.

Then the lights flickered once. Then again.

The fog surged inward from the parking lot, curling between the stands and the field like a living tide. It glowed faintly red in the floodlights.

From the edges of the crowd, a low hum began, like wind whistling through metal. One by one, the lawn signs across town began to vibrate. Their thin aluminum edges trembled as though struck by an unseen tuning fork.

Then, without warning, the first one screamed.

A long, metallic wail tore through the night, bending into a pitch that made glass rattle. The Knights logo twisted, hollow eyes filled wide with pain.

Every sign and banner that bore the team’s colors lit up faintly, blood-red symbols in the fog.

And from each glowing mark, more fog rose.

---

It was not a creature with teeth or claws.

It was a shadow in the shape of a man, tall, dressed like a coach, with an ornate whistle around its neck.

The ghastly coach walked slowly through the mist, head bowed as if in prayer. Wherever it passed, people swayed as if dizzy.

Those who had signs in their yards began to slump. The booster president in his letterman jacket went first, then the assistant coach’s wife, then the mayor. Their faces went pale, their cheers thinned to silence.

The monster did not devour them. It did not need to. It simply drew from them, siphoning the spark that kept them cheering, organizing, pushing, and hoping. It fed on the exhaustion they had mistaken for pride.

By the time the third quarter began, the stands were full of hollow-eyed parents staring into the fog, mouths moving as though still chanting the fight song.

Children tugged at sleeves, whispering, “Mom? Dad?”

But the adults only stared ahead and whispered back, “Go team… go…”

---

Pastor Rudy of the Congregational church was the only one who seemed to understand. He had come to the game reluctantly, to show community support, but when he saw the glow over the town, every lawn sign shining like a reversed Passover mark, he remembered the old story.

The lamb blood on the door meant protection.

But here, it marked who the shadow wanted to feed on.

He ran through the fog to the nearest house, grabbed the sign, and bent it in half. A sound like air escaping a balloon hissed from the ground. The glow dimmed.

Others followed his lead, tearing up the signs, kicking them over, tossing them into the street. With each one destroyed, another dazed parent seemed to blink awake, gasping for air as if saved from drowning.

But by the time the field lights finally went dark, half the town had already been drained. Not dead, just emptied.

They went home that night unable to say why they felt so cold. They would keep living, keep working, keep showing up to games. But something vital, the spark of wonder and rest and love freely given, was gone.

---

The next morning was quiet.

The fog was gone, but the town felt hollow. The scoreboard remained broken, as though the game hadn’t ended.

In the daylight, the metal signs that still stood were gray and pitted, as if rust had devoured them overnight. No one talked about what happened. No one mentioned the fog.

But that Sunday, for the first time in years, every pew in town was full. Parents sat beside children. No one mentioned football. They simply sat in the stillness, trying to feel something again.

And far out on the field, where the fog had first touched down, the wind whispered through the dead grass.

“Go team… Go…”

A voice both proud and pleading.

A reminder.

That sometimes the thing that drains you is not the monster outside your door.

It is the one you invite in and call team spirit.

I’ve always loved this time of year. There’s something about October that makes everything feel a little more magical. The air is cooler, there’s piles of crunchy leaves to trample, and the world is more open to spooky fun. For me, Halloween isn’t only about costumes and candy. It’s about sharing the things I love most with the people who matter to me.

One of my favorite traditions is hosting Owl Sage Board Game Club’s annual Magician Academy. Every year we offer an experience where kids and teens can step into the role of young magicians. There are wand-making crafts, spell-casting games, puzzles to solve, and plenty of collaborative storytelling. It’s joyfully chaotic in the best way.

At home, the season has its own special rhythm too. My son and I have made it a tradition to watch horror movies together. We love the cheesy monster flicks, the spooky ghost stories, and even the gory classics. We like learning about the lore behind the stories and talking about the fight between good and evil. It’s fun to watch how these stories are told, to pause and laugh at over-the-top effects, or get wrapped up in a clever twist.

I’ve also been carving out time to properly finish work on Braggart, my next novel that features Sutter Kincade’s origin. I’m still bitter about the Kindle Vella experience with releasing Lila’s novella. I was hoping for the two pieces to accompany each other. My goal was to release Braggart by Halloween, after giving fans a chance to appreciate Bondage in a serial format. I’ve since decided I’d rather take time to polish Sutter’s novel more than simply rush it out the door to meet a silly self-imposed deadline. I’ve smoothed out a few important scenes and added material that I hope my vampire fans will appreciate.

I do love writing and editing in the fall. There’s something easier about the process. But just as much as I enjoy creating these stories, I also want to give time to the new game club locations and family moments. Balancing all three is a challenge, but it’s the kind of challenge I’m grateful to have.

Here’s to a Halloween filled with good stories, great company, and plenty of magic.

Eight years ago, I set out to create something special for the Hartington Board Game Club, what is now proudly known as the Owl Sage Board Game Club. I wanted an event that celebrated the joy of imagination, the spark of creativity, and the kind of wonder that has always drawn me to games and storytelling. That dream became the Magician Academy, our annual fantasy-themed event that has grown into a beloved tradition for players of all ages.

The Magician Academy was designed to do more than just play games, it’s about stepping into worlds of fantasy, exploring new settings, and building adventures together through collaborative storytelling, board games, and creative projects. Over the years, I’ve awarded more than 50 personalized wands to participants, each one a keepsake meant to remind them of the magic they brought to the table. Along the way, I’ve also shared painted miniatures, charms, marbles, and other mementos that add to the experience and connect players to the long history of games of imagination.

What started at a single location has now expanded into four rural libraries, spreading the joy of the Academy to even more communities. Two years ago, we opened the doors wider still, inviting players from across the United States to join us in celebrating the season of magic.

One of my favorite pieces of the Magician Academy is a customizable card game for Wizard Dueling that I design specifically for the event. Each year, I create a new expansion so returning players always have fresh spells to discover, new strategies to try, and evolving challenges to face. Watching participants learn the game, tweak their decks, and duel each other with excitement has become one of the highlights of my year.

Another tradition that has taken root is our club’s fascination with collecting and playing marbles. I often tell the story of how marbles were the “Pokémon cards” of past generations, treasured, traded, and played with as fiercely as any modern collectible. Seeing today’s players light up while rolling their favorite marbles, swapping with friends, and learning games from the past has been a delight. It’s a way of connecting them to a timeless sense of play.

At its heart, the Magician Academy is about nurturing the appreciation of wonder, my personal definition of magic. Every year from August through the first week of November, the Academy becomes a space where imagination takes center stage, where new friendships are forged, and where players young and old rediscover the joy of creating something extraordinary together.

Here’s to eight years of magic, and to many more wands, stories, marbles, and memories yet to come.

This past week I took a trip to a quiet retreat center, and it turned into one of the most satisfyingly thematic experiences I’ve ever had. By some twist of fate mostly everything I did there revolved around my favorite monster: the vampire. As most of you know, I’ve been a fan of bloodsuckers since first learning about them in second grade from a librarian at Walnut Grove Elementary in Council Bluffs.

First, the big news: I finished writing my latest book, Braggart. It’s been a long journey of plotting, rewriting, and wrangling characters into their proper placing, but completing the final chapter felt strangely therapeutic. Revisiting favorite characters like Sutter, Lila, and Theodore was a real treat. They’ve been with me for thirty years. These three (and other Blooded) have appeared in other works over the years and no doubt will do so again. Having this chance to add my own spin on such a classic monster type was a blast. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on the book once it is released later this year.

When I wasn’t typing away, I was sinking my teeth into a few more scenarios of an exclusive vampire themed board game I’ve been savoring. Each chapter felt like a little war for the night. Shifting alliances, mysterious plot threads, and plenty of dark humor, made for a fun diversion from the work of the day. VTM Chapters is the kind of game you can’t find just anywhere, which makes each session feel like a rare treasure even if this version was released with lots of production errors that could’ve been avoided.

Evenings were for movies, naturally, vampire ones. From shadowy classics to modern, artsy blood-slick reinventions, they were the perfect way to wind down and keep the theme alive (or undead depending on your perspective). Nosferatu and Sinners were great recent additions to my already long list of favorite horror films.

It was one of those rare trips where everything lined up perfectly: creativity flowed, games thrilled, and stories on the page and on the screen reminded me why I love these sharp-toothed legends so much. Soon I’ll be heading back home, fully recharged, though perhaps just a little more nocturnal than before. Here’s hoping I can get back on a normal sleep schedule soon. School starts next week and the Owl Sage Board Game Club is ready for more Magician Academy 2025!

Every week, as I walk into our board game club, I’m reminded why I started this in the first place. It’s not just about the games, though we’ve had our share of epic strategy showdowns and hilarious party-game moments, it’s about what happens between the moves. It’s the quiet confidence growing in the shy student who now runs a table. It’s the way a seasoned player slides over to help a new kid without being asked. It’s leadership, mentoring, and community-building.

There’s something special about watching kids mentor each other through the intricacies of a new game. One moment, someone is struggling to grasp the rules of Star Realms or Love Letter, and the next a peer steps in, not to take over, but to guide. They explain the mechanics patiently, offer strategy tips, and stay alongside until the new player finds their footing. These aren’t assigned mentors. These are kids stepping up because they care, because they know what it’s like to be the new one, and because this club has become something they take pride in.

This peer-led mentoring is more than just helpful, it’s transformative. It teaches empathy, communication, and confidence in a way that no lecture ever could. When a student explains the rules of a game clearly and encourages others as they play, they’re practicing public speaking, active listening, and the kind of teamwork that employers dream about. They’re learning that leadership isn’t about control; it’s about support, collaboration, and trust.

I’ve seen students who were once quiet observers turn into table captains, teaching games they’ve mastered and welcoming newcomers into the fold. I’ve seen others take initiative to organize mini-tournaments or redesign old game rules to make them more accessible. These moments, small on the surface, are the foundation of real-world leadership skills. They’re learning to be responsible, adaptable, and inclusive, traits that will serve them in school, college, careers, and beyond.

In a world increasingly focused on test scores, sports, and screens, Owl Sage has become a space for real interaction and meaningful growth. It’s a place where strategy and storytelling meet social-emotional learning. And perhaps most importantly, it’s where kids learn to lift each other up.

Watching them lead, mentor, and grow gives me immense hope for the future. Because if this is what leadership looks like at the game table, I can’t wait to see what they’ll build when it’s their turn to lead the world.