“A mother’s love is eternal, even when her efforts go unappreciated. I suppose one day they’ll recognize the magnitude of my sacrifices… or else.”
– Maduta

Inspiration and author’s notes

My mom serves as the inspiration of MADUTA. And although it sounds terrible to turn my mother into the villain of the Spookaluca saga, let alone the goddess of death, hear me out…

In the 1980s, my parents juggled multiple jobs to provide for our family of six the best they could.

My dad attended classes at Oklahoma State University College of Osteopathic Medicine during the day, then worked the graveyard shift at the City of Faith Medical Center as a lab technician.

My mom bounced from job to job as a wallpaper hanger, data entry clerk, nonprofit secretary and babysitter. I think she may have even hosted Tupperware and Mary Kay parties in hopes of climbing the pyramid of profits and earning a pink Cadillac… but, hey, at least it wasn’t Amway.

Although they worked endlessly, minimum wage wasn’t enough to keep us four kids clothed, fed and entertained. We scraped by on loans, government subsidized school meals and gifts from my grandparents.

Fun fact: Our household’s taxable income in 1989 was $18.

I was largely oblivious to our financial difficulties; I think in part due to the fact that I was the youngest of the siblings, and received a fair share of hand-me-down clothes and toys from my brother.

But, looking back as an adult, I think the self-sacrifices my parents made along the way made our poverty less obvious to us kids.

I can still smell the harsh odor of ammonia filling our small duplex home as mom would dye her hair to save money and maintain her youthful appearance. After she applied the dye and developer to her hair, she would work the products throughly from roots to ends, ensuring she didn’t miss any pesky grays. Her locks twisted and turned into snakelike shapes.

As the mixture soaked into her scalp, the chemicals likely scalding her more times than she might care to admit, some of it would inevitably drip onto her well-worn bathrobe, forever staining dark blotches into the fabric.

From Medusa to Maduta

Flash forward to the early 1990s in Western Michigan.

It was on a winter weekday during my brother’s junior year of high school. Home alone, mom had just finished dying and rinsing her hair, and was wearing her dye-stained, tattered robe, and nothing else, when the doorbell rang.

With wet hair, she answered the door, and noticed a Christmas package had been delivered to the front porch. Just out of her reach, she slipped her naked feet into a pair of my brother’s oversized shoes before stepping outdoors into the frigid cold to retrieve the package.

The door locked behind her.

In a panic, she attempted multiple entries to our home, the garage door and side entry: both locked. She frantically trudged through the snow-covered back yard, praying the sliding door was unlocked, but was confounded to find it also locked. Facing freezing temperatures and windchill, she had a brilliant idea.

She traipsed to our neighbor’s home, embarrassed at her attire, wild, now frozen hair, and lack of makeup, then requested they drive her to my brother’s high school so she could retrieve his keys.

Picture this: My rebel brother enjoying lunch hour with his girlfriend and football teammates, when, to his horror, our mother enters the cafeteria (full of students), hair as wild as Medusa, wearing nothing but a robe and determination.

The cafeteria fell silent, petrified by her gaze, while she walked from table to table looking for her eldest son. Upon finding him, she requested his keys, then left as casually as she had entered.

The students erupted in giggles and laughter, my brother humiliated.

Later that evening at the dinner table, my mother explained her plight through fits of giggles.

My brother replied “… you realize you could’ve just called the school from the neighbor’s house, and asked them to let me drive the keys home to you… You looked like Medusa!”

“Maduta?” my mother mispronounced. “Who’s that?” And a villain was born amidst a burst of family laughter.

Designing the Godqueen

Concept art by Francesco Sala

Maduta’s original Chipskunk design

At just 2-feet tall, this pint-sized powerhouse is the smallest among her pūka siblings. I envisioned Maduta’s design to be both adorable and charming, with just a hint of the unhinged; a fitting tribute to her intricate personality.

Like all pūka gods, Maduta’s true form is an anthropomorphic chimera, a delightful (or terrifying) cross between two or more animals.

Skunks, for instance, hold a special place in my heart, largely due to my mother’s infamous red nightgown emblazoned with Pepé Le Pew from Looney Tunes. Since death tends to be a bit odorous, it made perfect sense for the goddess of death to take after a foul-smelling animal.

Much like Maduta’s plight, Pepé was often the victim of complicated and unrequited love. This similarity sealed the deal for me, and thus, a skunk she would be.

Naturally, mom was quite alarmed when I informed her that Maduta would be part skunk. So, to find a balance (and appease my mother), I crossed the skunk with a chipmunk.

My original design for Maduta’s human form

As a child, I was obsessed with Alvin and the Chipmunks. Those stuffed toys of Alvin, Simon, and Theodore accompanied me everywhere, their record playing on repeat. They were adorable, charming, and mischievous; traits that Maduta personifies in her own twisted way.

In designing her chipskunk form, I melded the ears, tail, and stripe of a skunk with the body and teeth of a chipmunk.

For her humanoid form, which she greatly prefers, Maduta retains her chipmunk teeth and a streak of white hair. Her attire, reflecting her grim duties, was meticulously designed with Francesco Sala. Imagine a tiny grim reaper in dark robes, a deathly cowl framing her chipmunk teeth—adorable and menacing, all at once.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Maduta becomes a fan favorite or at least spawns a few stuffed animals. You’re going to love her to death… quite literally.

Death becomes her

While mom was far from perfect, she certainly wasn’t a villain… and, for those wondering: Yes, she knows she’s inspired the main antagonist of the Spookaluca trilogy… although she wasn’t thrilled about the skunk-death connection, but real life, as they say, is stranger than fiction.

I layered her life experiences into Maduta’s character development and backstory with great care and nuance. They rippled through her words, actions, emotions and beliefs. I know today she had every intention that her children would have a better life than she did. And, in part due to her self-sacrifice, we mostly did.

Maduta is a tribute to my mother’s love and resilience, peppered with her adorable quirks, theatrical antics, and naturally hilarious personality. And, yes, I’ve borrowed a few traits that make her an imperfectly perfect mom.

“PLEASE don’t make my character a skunk, Jonathan… Can’t I be a cute squirrel or maybe an adorable bunny instead?”
– Kathy Beebe

Mom’s joy in nurturing others is legendary. Nothing makes her prouder than being a mom to her four kids, a grandmother to two amazing granddaughters, and a mother figure to countless “adopted” children. It was important to infuse Maduta with this nurturing spirit.

My mom, Kathy Beebe, clearly not a skunk… but just as adorable.

Just as Bolivar loves Maduta, I love my mom, and I know she adores me. Our bond is special and forever cherished. I’m convinced many will be able to relate to the evolving mother-son dynamic throughout the saga.

Writing Maduta, given that I have no maternal experience, was a fascinating exercise in empathy. Imagining the world through her eyes, I’m sure I got a few things wrong. But I learned a lot and gained a new perspective in the process.

Maduta’s journey, full of twists, turns and lots of perfume, is as emotional as it is powerful. It explores themes of self-acceptance, conflicting motivations, and the lengths one might go to change their lot in life, or death in this case.

I can’t wait for readers to fall in love with Maduta, uncover her true intentions, and witness the struggle of darkness threatening to obscure even the brightest of souls.

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