Hi Everyone!

So, I’ve made it into The Finals of Chesky Records’ Singer-Songwriter Search.  Out of 3,500 artists, I’m one of the final two singer-songwriters left standing, and if I get the most votes today, I’ll win a record deal and will get to record a new album in September in New York.  Is there any way you would consider voting for me?

Here’s the link!  http://freeonlinesurveys.com/p/YGstMnRM?qid=712461

(If that doesn’t work, try this.)

And as a thank-you, I’m giving away a free house concert, as well as some CDs and vinyl and tickets to my upcoming show at Club Passim on 9/9.  All you have to do is let me know voted (for me, preferably), and you’ll be entered into the raffle!

Thank you so much!  You’re the best!

❤ Molly
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Hey there!  My new album, Wildwood Bride, is now available for pre-order here:


You can preview the tracks, too, so take a listen, and let me know what you think!

All the best,

P.S. More info?  Check out my new music website: http://www.mollypintomadigan.com


Check out my new music website!


Hi there!  I’m giving out a free download of my song “Jack of Hearts” to anyone who joins the mailing list!  Interested?  Here’s the link: http://eepurl.com/NO449.

Black Apples!

BLACK APPLES is now available on Amazon! My retelling of “Snow White” starts off the anthology, so if you’re a fan of fairy tales with a twist, check it out! http://belladonnapublishing.com/fairytale-friday-black-apples-is-here/

I recently recorded a song I wrote in October.  A huge thanks to my friends Klynn Bagaco, Rusty Epstein, and Anibal Yossimar Guzmán, who recorded it. Give it a listen, and let me know what you think!

“Jack of Hearts”

Cigarette smoke spirals slow
Through the boneyard of blanched corn;
As the fey moon rises low
And starts adorn, love is sworn.

Mouthless moths with hunger slaked
In the ghost-fires of taillights,
Follow powdered hearts that ache
For this night, for this night.

Come, Jack of Hearts,
Here, where it all starts.
And come, Jack of fire,
Take me, mad with desire.
And come, Jack of green,
Bold in dark-wash jeans.
And come, Jack of mine,
Crowned in oak and woodbine,
Jack of mine.

I was born of dying day,
Ocean-wrought and seashore spun;
You from fields of fringe and blaze,
And rising sun, you’re the one.

So, lay the cards, love, facing down,
Diamond ace and scarlet deuce.
Six hearts flutter to the ground,
Tumbling loose, tumbling —

As the briar and the rose,
May our heartbeats entwine,
Blooming blood as love grows:
Eglantine, eglantine…

Come, Jack of Hearts,
Here where it all starts.
And come, nameless Jack,
Through the gold tamaracks.
And come, Jack of truth,
All bright-eyed with youth.
And come, Jack of mine,
Evergreen as the pine,
Jack of mine.

Check out my guest post on Heidi Norrod’s blog!

Sing it from the hills, from the rooftops!  Let it echo down through the mountains, trickling through meadows, through dusky woodlands, let it ripple outwards through the sea!


And what a stellar agent she is!  (That’s four exclamation points in a row.  Can you tell I’m kind of excited?)  I’m thrilled to announce that I’ve signed with the spectacular Laura Zats of Red Sofa Literary (http://redsofaliterary.com/posts/), and we’re now working on getting the MS of OF BLOOD AND ROSES ready to send to publishers.  How did this come to be, you may ask?  Well, I’ll tell you.

I’d heard about this neat thing called #AdPit on Twitter, where unagented authors would tweet about their adult projects, and agents would favorite the pitches they were interested in.  Here’s my tweet that Ms. Zats favorited:

@mpintomadigan: Halloween in Salem : A bored undergrad gets more than she bargained for when she meets a man who sings the shadows awake. #NA #TamLin #AdPit

I sent her the first chapter, she asked for the manuscript, and the rest is (very recent) history!  I can’t tell you how excited I am to be working with Laura.  In all things, she has proven  to be a kind, keen, creative agent who gives great advice, has an exceptionally sharp wit, makes time to work with her authors, and really gets (and improves upon) my vision for the OF BLOOD AND ROSES trilogy.  Now it’s our vision, and I couldn’t be happier.  I look forward to working with Laura for a long, long time.




I have a couple of gigs coming up, so I figured I’d post them here.

*Thursday, November 14th @ 9 — SQUAWK! Coffeehouse
1555 Massachusetts Avenue, Cambridge, MA 02140

*Saturday, November 30th @ 8 — Lord Geoffrey Presents
Outpost 186, 186-1/2 Hampshire Street, Inman Square, Cambridge, MA 02139

*Thursday, December 12th @ 8 — Gulu-Gulu Cafe
247 Essex Street,  Salem, MA 01970

*Monday, December 30th — The Corner at the Middle East Club
472-480 Massachusetts Ave, Cambridge, MA 02139


*Saturday, January 11th @ 12 noon — Boston Celtic Music Festival
Sanctuary Stage at First Parish, 3 Church St., Cambridge, MA 02138

*Thursday, January 16th from 4:30-6:30 — Medford’s Winter Farmers Market
Hyatt Place, Medford Square, 116 Riverside Avenue, Medford, MA 02155

*Monday, January 20th — Cantab Lounge Open Mic Feature
738 Massachusetts Ave., Cambridge, MA 02139

*Thursday, July 3rd — Life Alive Concert
765 Massachusetts Ave., Cambridge, MA 02139

My new album, “Outshine the Dusk,” is now available on CD Baby, Amazon, and iTunes.


An undergrad encounters a band of fey rockers during Halloween in Salem MA & falls for a young singer – but is he friend or fey? #PitMad #NA

I am currently seeking representation for my retelling of the ballad, “Tam Lin,” and I am hoping it might interest you.  Complete at 70,000 words, OF BLOOD AND ROSES, weaves a strain of song and city magic, illusion and disillusionment and the pains of first love, within the heart of modern-day Salem, Massachusetts.

A disillusioned music major, Maggie Mae Carter is sick of living life timidly, adrift in a sucky sea of collegiate drudgery. The city of Salem has come alive for the Halloween season, but for Maggie, the magic is missing. So when she hears a voice on the radio that makes her feel more alive than she has in years, Maggie steals away to The Hall — a labyrinthine rock club in the heart of “Witch City” — to meet the young man who spins folksongs into rock ‘n’ roll perfection.

After a night that leaves her breathless, Maggie is plunged into the world behind the shadows of The Hall, discovering that there’s more to Thomas Lynn than meets the eye.  And when he lets slip that he’s going to be sacrificed by a band of faery folk-rockers on Halloween night, Maggie will risk everything to save the man she loves, even if it means going toe-to-toe with the R&B Queen of Faerie herself.


First Page(ish)

My father forbade me to go to The Hall that night.

I listened to him calmly – he was being quite rational, a welcome change – and then I went anyway.

The copper beech beyond the glass shivered in the cool October air, and the glow from the streetlight gathered golden in the leaves. Hoisting open my window, I hiked up my ridiculously impractical (but deliciously scarlet) ’50s-style dress, narrowly avoided strangulation by my purse, and climbed down the tree’s sprawling, silver-barked branches. Climbed is too generous a word for what actually transpired.  I slipped on the beech bark, which was smooth as polished stone, and, in an aerial display that I can only hope amused the lone squirrel watching, I landed in my father’s petunias.  After retrieving one of my black leather flats from the hedges, where it had flown seemingly of its own volition, I swore to myself that next time, if there was a next time, I would dress more sensibly.

I wasn’t quite bold enough to swipe my father’s keys, which meant that my mode of transportation for the night would be my faithfully rusted mountain bike.  I don’t think I have to point out the shame of a twenty-one-year-old stealing away on her fifth-grade bicycle, but it had silver handlebars curved like a bull’s horns, and I felt like a rapscallion when riding it, which was, I thought, worth all the hideousness.

As it turns out, my dress was equally unsuitable for bicycle riding; what the silky material was perfect for was indecent wind-induced exposure, and all I could do was try to keep the flashing to a minimum.  Despite my best efforts, by the time I pulled up to The Hall the count was somewhere around twenty-seven.  And that’s a conservative number.

I checked my cell phone only to find that my no-good trollop of a friend had flaked out on me with some paltry excuse she hadn’t even bothered to make convincing.  Without Kendra, I was sorely tempted to turn my sad little bike around and pedal home.

“Perseverance, woman!” I muttered to no one in particular, thus solving the mystery of why my friend had ditched me.

I needed to get out of the house, and I needed to get away from the pile of homework that awaited me there.  I had abandoned my ethnomusicology reading, which took my innate love of music and hurled verbal abuses such as phenomenological theory and romantic hermeneutics at it until I died a little on the inside.  It’s not the romantic that I object to – romantic is a good word – it’s that cold, unwieldy mouthful of hermeneutics that makes me want to weep.  Where, now, was my love of music?  Cowering under my bed somewhere, I’m certain.  Tonight, I was hoping to rekindle some of that fire.

I locked up my bicycle, and, looking up at the corroded neon sign that was supposed to read THE HALL (one of the L’s was out), I made for the door.

Past the rough brick facade, The Hall was dark.  Past those painted doors, everything was shadow, but shadow in so many shades; the darkness seemed alive and breathing, rippling and viscous-thick, almost like smog.  The lights of the stage cut through it in fat beams that blinded, and the air smelled sharply sweet, like cigar smoke mixed with sweat and blood and roses.

Imagine a literary land where Gretel is an anorexic with multiple personality disorder, and Baba Yaga spins in verse. #PitMad #YA/#NA SSCollection

Imagine a literary land where Rumpelstiltskin is an orphaned poet struggling to find her voice; where Hades – a hipster heart-throb, you know, a real artistic type – is seducing all the ladies; where Gretel is an anorexic with multiple personality disorder; and where Little Red Riding Hood is an angsty teenager who discovers a touch of the wolf in herself.

In the vein of retellings by Angela Carter, Emma Donoghue, Anne Sexton, and Francesca Lia Block, How the Night Tastes explores the sexual and psychological landscape of the soul through the lens of fairy tales.  Firmly rooted in the present – in the cities and suburbs of modern-day America – familiar characters from fairy tales, myths, and ballads try to find their way through the dark forest of adolescence.  With the common theme of transformation weaving through the collection’s narrative, you will live within these stories, dream them, reimagine them, and come through the mirror transformed.