Author name: Roger Hyttinen

The Rise of ‘OwnVoices’ in Urban Fantasy

handsome Young black man with virtual reality headset on night city street with neon lights

Today, I want to chat about something that’s been living in the back of my writer‐brain lately: the rise of #OwnVoices in urban fantasy. As someone who writes urban fantasy paranormal stuff anyway (yep, me), I’m extra interested in how authors from marginalized communities are increasingly stepping up and telling their stories — and why that matters so much.

What is #OwnVoices?

If you haven’t already heard the term: the hashtag OwnVoices was coined by the author Corinne Duyvis in 2015 and simply refers to stories where the author shares the marginalized identity of their protagonist. So if you’re writing about a character with a disability and you have that disability — that’s an OwnVoices story. (Bang2write)

Why does that matter? Because historically urban fantasy (and fantasy in general) has been dominated by white authors, with whitemiddle status protagonists, and often recycled tropes and settings. So when you switch the lens to someone who’s writing from within a marginalized community — you often get something fresher, more layered, more honest.

Why it’s gaining momentum in urban fantasy

Urban fantasy (think: magic colliding with city streets, haunted skyscrapers, ghosts in apartment blocks) is such a fertile space for identity work: heroes dealing with “ordinary life” and “supernatural life,” often straddling two worlds. So it makes sense that marginalized authors are drawn here — because the metaphor fits: two worlds, unseen threats, hidden powers, shadows in the margins.

And yes — I feel like there’s a visible shift. More authors who are Black, Latinx, Indigenous, queer, trans, disabled are leading urban fantasy stories, rather than being side characters. There are publications and lists pointing this out. (Epic Reads)
It’s about representation — but also authenticity. One blogger wrote:

“I love seeing #OwnVoices … it signals to publishers that we’re here: us non-white, non-normative authors are here writing the stories we want to tell…” (Sarah Raughley, Author)
As a writer myself I totally get: I want the freedom to tell the weird, the haunted, the queer shifts between worlds — but from my perspective, my experience, not just “white standard fantasy + a token character”.

Some cool examples

For those of you who love reading AND perhaps writing in this space, here are a few authors titles worth spotlighting (with the caveat: there are many, this is just a starter).

Daniel José Older — Shadowshaper

This is classic urban fantasy: set in Brooklyn, the protagonist Sierra Santiago (Afro-Boricua) discovers her family legacy of “shadowshaping” (infusing art with ancestral spirits). (Wikipedia)

Why it resonates: Older writes from a perspective of Latinx identity layered with Afro-Caribbean heritage, in a cityscape (Brooklyn) that feels real and gritty. And the magic system intersects with cultural legacy. If you’re writing urban fantasy set in an identity-charged environment, this one may fuel some ideas.

Tracy Deonn — Legendborn

YA urban fantasy contemporary fantasy with Black lead Bree Matthews, magic tied into Arthurian legend but reframed with Black Southern roots.

What I appreciate: It shows how the “city magic” or “modern mythic” trope can be layered with race, grief, and legacy. As someone who writes paranormal noir set in 1930s Chicago, this kind of layering is exactly the kind of depth I admire.

Maurice Broaddus —  King Maker  (and the trilogy)

Broaddus is a Black author whose work crosses urban fantasy, myth, street-level magic, in modern plus myth mashups.

If you’re thinking of writing a story that intersects “urban” + “magic” + “gangs or street culture” + identity, his trajectory is a good one to study.

What this means for you (and me) as writers

Since you (my dear indie-writer friend) are working on paranormal noir and urban fantasy (Yay!), this rise of OwnVoices authors offers a few take-aways.

  • If you write from a marginalized identity (and you do have your own unique voice as a gay indie writer) then leaning into  your  lived experience (shifts, outsider status, identity, community) can lend authenticity.
  • If you don’t share the identity of a character, you can still write that character — but with care, research, sensitivity, maybe sensitivity readers. The OwnVoices movement helps us see why authenticity matters.
  • From the market side: readers are actively looking for stories by authors from marginalized communities. That means an opportunity. (But also responsibility.)
  • For your blog and marketing: you could highlight how your own identity influences your paranormal noir urban fantasy worlds. That gives you a unique brand voice (which you’re already cultivating).
  • – From a storytelling standpoint: urban fantasy that leans into identity isn’t just “magic + city” — it’s “magic + city + society + identity + culture.” That layering gives richness (and gives readers something they  haven’t  necessarily seen before).

My thoughts (and some quirks)

Okay — real talk: I feel hopeful about this shift. As someone who’s been in the urban fantasy trenches, seeing more varied voices feels like a breath of fresh air in sometimes stale territory. Also: as a reader, I get energized when I  recognize  a lived experience that isn’t mine — because that expands empathy and curiosity.

At the same time: I also recognize the pressure placed on marginalized authors to “represent the whole community” (which is unfair). One writer reflected on that:

“…that even movements designed to champion marginalized authors can sometimes become twisted into the very thing used to restrain them.” (Sarah Raughley, Author)

So — for you and me, the takeaway is: write  what you’re drawn to, write what you know, but don’t burden yourself with being “the one answer” for all of a community.

Since I write queer urban fantasy/paranormal with wolf shifters or ghosts or mediums (so cool), I often incorporate your unique voice (as a gay writer) in subtle ways. Maybe my protagonists carry trauma, maybe they challenge hunter/hunted dynamics, maybe they exist in community in ways mainstream urban fantasy hasn’t shown. That kind of “insider outsider” perspective is gold for those who pull it off.

So yeah, big cheers to more voices, more magic, more weird city-streets haunted by unseen things.


Nick's Awakening book cover - Teenage boy looking up at the ghost of a man sitting in a chair

Nick never wanted to be the hero. But when a dangerous spirit threatens the innocent, he’s the only one who can stand between the living and the dead. Nick’s Awakening – get your copy HERE (or at your favorite online retailer).

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Kindness Isn’t Complicated (We Just Keep Pretending It Is)

Man pouring coffee in a cup for a homeless man
Volunteer giving drink to homeless man outdoors

You ever read a quote that just stops you for a second? Like—makes you want to stare out the window for a bit and re-evaluate humanity over your third cup of coffee? That’s how I felt when I ran across this one again:

“Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.”
— The Dalai Lama

I mean… simple, right? Almost embarrassingly simple. Yet here we are, decades later, and it feels like the whole country missed the memo.

When Kindness Became Uncool

There’s this creeping sense lately that cruelty is trendy. Or maybe it’s profitable. I scroll through the news, social media, even comments on the most harmless cat videos, and I catch myself thinking, “When did we decide that meanness is a personality?”

In the U.S., especially right now, it’s like cruelty has become the national pastime. Some folks treat it like a sport—seeing who can say the nastiest thing with the biggest grin. Others monetize it. The louder the insult, the higher the ad revenue. It’s performative, almost theatrical. But here’s the kicker (no pun intended): cruelty isn’t just random anymore. It’s intentional. It’s strategic. It’s “cruelty for the sake of cruelty” or cruelty because it sells a book, a policy, or a pair of gold sneakers.

And yet the Dalai Lama’s words hit like a little whisper from the back row: “At least don’t hurt them.” Just… don’t.

The Radical Act of Not Being a Jerk

It shouldn’t feel revolutionary to not be cruel. But apparently, it is. Being kind, or even just decent, is starting to look like an act of rebellion. You ever smile at someone in public and they look startled—like you’ve broken an unspoken rule?

Sometimes it feels like we’ve forgotten that helping doesn’t have to be grand or dramatic. You don’t need to donate a kidney or solve world hunger before lunch. Holding the door open counts. Tipping your barista when you can. Not humiliating the cashier because the register froze again. These tiny choices add up in ways we never see.

I once heard someone say that kindness is a form of quiet resistance. I love that. Because it’s true. Every small, human act pushes back against this cultural tide of cruelty. It’s like tossing pebbles at a tank—tiny, maybe futile—but still defiant.

Cruelty as a Shortcut

What gets me is how easy cruelty is. It’s lazy. It’s the emotional equivalent of microwaving dinner in the plastic container. It takes zero imagination to insult someone or step on them to get ahead.

But helping? That takes effort. You have to pause. Think. Empathize. It’s slower, less flashy, doesn’t trend on social media. And that’s why so many skip it—they mistake compassion for weakness. But it’s the opposite. Being kind, especially when everyone else is sharpening their knives, takes guts.

The Everyday Test

I try (and often fail) to apply the Dalai Lama’s quote as a daily test. If I can’t help someone today, can I at least not make their day worse?

Sometimes that means not responding to the snarky post. Sometimes it means forgiving the driver who cuts me off. Sometimes it’s choosing not to unload my bad mood on someone else. Those small acts feel like pebbles, but honestly? They keep my soul from turning into sandpaper.

What Kindness Feels Like

There’s a certain sensory warmth to kindness. It’s like that deep exhale when someone surprises you with patience instead of judgment. You can feel it. There’s the relief of being seen, not attacked. The softening in your shoulders when someone gives you grace instead of grief.

When I think about helping others, I picture moments like that—the unseen exchanges that shift the temperature of the world by a single degree.

Why This Quote Still Matters

The Dalai Lama didn’t say “fix everyone” or “save the world.” He said help if you can—and if not, just don’t cause harm. I love that “just” in there. It’s so unassuming, like he’s saying, “Hey, start there.” It reminds me that even in a climate where cruelty seems to pay, we still get to choose how we move through the world.

We can either leave bruises or breadcrumbs. And honestly, I’d rather leave something that leads people somewhere gentler.

Anyway, that’s what’s been rattling around in my brain this week. Maybe it’s idealistic to think kindness could still make a dent—but I’d rather be idealistic than indifferent.

So yeah—help where you can. And when you can’t? Just… don’t hurt anyone. The world doesn’t need more bruises. It needs more soft landings.

Take care of yourselves out there. Be nice. It confuses people.


What happens when the heir to a kingdom is bound by the curse of the wolf? For Prince Norian, the answer comes with blood, fire, and the terrifying knowledge that dark magic has singled him out. As shadows close in, he must protect his people from an enemy who will stop at nothing to seize the throne. Danger, destiny, and deadly secrets entwine in Norian’s Gamble. Get your copy HERE

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YA Fantasy vs. Adult Urban Fantasy: How to Tell Who’s Paying the Rent

First Impressions: Same Magic, Different Rent Bracket

Okay, so here’s the thing: I’ve spent way too much of my life reading both YA fantasy and adult urban fantasy, and it’s wild how they can look like twins at first glance but are actually distant cousins once you get to know them. Both have magic, monsters, and that delicious little “what if” hovering around the edges of reality—but they don’t quite live in the same neighborhood. YA fantasy is like the scrappy college roommate still figuring out who they are, while adult urban fantasy has already graduated, is paying taxes, and maybe owns a suspiciously well-stocked liquor cabinet.

YA Fantasy: The Age of Discovery (and Drama)

YA fantasy stories often orbit around identity—the who-am-I and who-can-I-be kind of questions. The protagonist is usually somewhere between fifteen and nineteen, which means they’re living through that gloriously awkward stage of self-discovery where you’re equal parts hopeful and chaotic. Think of characters like Clary Fray from The Mortal Instruments or Aelin from Throne of Glass. The whole world is new to them, and they’re just realizing that the weird thing they thought made them a freak might actually make them powerful. YA thrives on that transformation—it’s all about learning to claim your magic, your voice, and your space in the world.

Adult Urban Fantasy: The Rent Is Due and the Magic’s Tired

Adult urban fantasy, on the other hand, tends to pick up after the identity crisis has already been filed away under “past mistakes.” The protagonists know who they are—or at least they pretend they do—and the stories are often about what it costs to keep being that person. They’ve got jobs (sometimes as private investigators, bounty hunters, or librarians with suspicious side hustles), rent to pay, maybe an ex or two they still text at midnight, and a cynicism level that would make a YA hero cry into their latte. These stories live in the grit. The magic doesn’t usually feel like a shiny new toy—it’s more like a curse you’ve learned to live with.

The Emotional Core: Heart vs. Haunting

YA fantasy also tends to lean heavier on emotion and relationships—friendships, found families, first loves, heartbreaks. The stakes often feel personal: saving your best friend, your high school, or the cute vampire who may or may not be trying to kill you. Adult urban fantasy still has those emotional threads, but they’re wrapped in more complicated layers—betrayal, trauma, redemption, and the weight of responsibility. Instead of “how do I survive prom night with werewolves?” it’s “how do I survive myself after everything I’ve done?” You feel the difference in tone—the YA spark versus the adult sigh.

The World Itself: Hidden Wonder vs. Magic Bureaucracy

And let’s talk about the worlds for a second. YA urban fantasy usually treats the magical world as something hidden behind a curtain that the protagonist accidentally yanks open. There’s awe in it. They’re like, “Oh my god, vampires are real?” while the adult UF protagonist is more like, “Ugh, vampires again? I just cleaned this mess up.” The tone shift is everything. YA magic feels new and exciting; adult magic feels like bureaucracy—messy, political, often annoying.

Love in Two Timelines

Another big giveaway is how romance is handled. YA romance is usually a big emotional arc: the pining, the longing, the “oh no, he’s my sworn enemy but his hair looks really good today.” It’s about firsts—first kiss, first heartbreak, first time realizing you’d kill a demon for someone who texts you with heart emojis.
Adult urban fantasy, though, often comes with messier relationships. Love triangles are replaced with past lovers who show up at the worst time, morally gray flings, and that slow-burn tension that stretches across three books and involves more whiskey and regret than teenage angst.

Tone and Stakes: Hope vs. Consequences

Tone-wise, YA urban fantasy usually carries more optimism. Even when things go dark (and they can get pretty dark), there’s often a light at the end of the tunnel—a sense that everything will work out, or at least that the main character will come out stronger. Adult UF doesn’t always promise that. Sometimes the hero wins, but it costs them something they can’t get back. That’s part of the allure: it feels lived-in, like the world has already gone through a few apocalypses and is just trying to get through another Tuesday.

Pacing and Style: Curfew vs. Coffee Break

When you look at pacing, YA often rockets forward like it’s late for curfew—fast chapters, snappy dialogue, emotional gut punches. Adult urban fantasy tends to take its time setting up the world, letting you soak in the grime of it all. It’s less about the big reveal and more about survival—keeping your head above water in a city where everyone’s got an angle.

Why We Need Both

And yet, despite all the differences, I kind of love how they feed each other. YA fantasy gives us that wonder we all need to remember—why magic felt special in the first place. Adult urban fantasy shows us what happens when you try to live with it long-term, when the shine wears off and you’re left with consequences. One is the dream; the other is the bill.

So, next time you’re reading a story about witches in high school versus witches who run a dive bar and occasionally raise the dead for rent money, pay attention to how it feels. Is it about discovery or survival? Hope or endurance? Either way, both genres are magical in their own right—and honestly, we’re lucky to have both on our shelves.


Golem's Guardian book cover

David just wanted a distraction. Instead, his clay sculpture blinked, waved—and obeyed. Now he’s the accidental master of a mythical golem, and Brooklyn is about to need every ounce of its power. The Golem’s Guardian – get your copy HERE

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LGBTQ+ Characters in Folklore Around the World — Hidden Histories and Magical Tales

Achilles and Patroclus

If you’ve ever fallen down a folklore rabbit hole (and trust me, I’ve done it more times than I’d like to admit), you know how wild, weird, and wonderful these old tales can get. They’re full of shapeshifters, trickster gods, mischievous spirits, and heroes who don’t always fit neatly into the little boxes society tries to put them in. And here’s the best part: if you start looking closely, you’ll notice that queer characters have always been there—sometimes center stage, sometimes tucked between the lines, waiting for us to notice.

Queer Gods and Gender-Bending Spirits

Let’s start with the deities because they’re the stars of the mythological stage. The Norse god Loki? Not just a trickster but a full-on shapeshifter, flipping genders like it was nothing. At one point, Loki even turned into a mare, became pregnant, and gave birth to Sleipnir—the eight-legged horse that Odin rode. That’s about as queer-coded as mythology gets.

Over in Hindu tradition, you find Ardhanarishvara, a divine fusion of Shiva and Parvati in one body—half male, half female. It’s a gorgeous, unapologetic image of duality and queerness as sacred. In Japanese folklore, the deity Inari sometimes shows up as male, sometimes female, sometimes both, and sometimes a fox. Gender fluidity wasn’t just accepted; it was celebrated.

And in Dogon mythology from West Africa, the Nommo—ancestral spirits—were described as androgynous, both male and female at once. They were associated with water, fertility, and cosmic balance. So much for “traditional” gender roles—our ancestors were already thinking beyond them.

Same-Sex Love in Ancient Stories

Queerness shows up not only in shapeshifting but in old-fashioned love stories too. The Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh, one of the oldest surviving works of literature, tells the story of Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Their bond is so deep, so passionate, that many scholars argue it reads as romantic love, not just friendship. When Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh grieves with a raw intensity anyone who’s lost a partner can recognize.

In Greek mythology, same-sex relationships were practically woven into the fabric of the stories. Apollo loved Hyacinthus, a beautiful youth struck down by a jealous wind god. After Hyacinthus’s death, Apollo turned his blood into flowers so he would never be forgotten. There’s also Achilles and Patroclus, whose bond in The Iliad has been debated for centuries—but the grief Achilles shows when Patroclus falls feels anything but platonic.

And let’s not forget Ganymede, a mortal youth so stunningly handsome that Zeus whisked him up to Olympus to serve as cupbearer to the gods—and his lover. The myth has been retold for centuries, but the queerness is right there, front and center.

Queerness in Indigenous and Folk Traditions

Native American and First Nations cultures had (and still have) the concept of Two-Spirit people—individuals embodying both masculine and feminine spirits. They weren’t outcasts; they were respected healers, storytellers, and vision-keepers. Colonization tried its best to erase this, but those traditions remain alive, passed down with pride.

In the Philippines, the asog were shamans assigned male at birth but who lived as women and held deep spiritual authority. They were vital to the community before colonial influences labeled them as sinful. Similarly, Polynesian cultures have long embraced identities like the māhū in Hawaii or fa’afafine in Samoa—people who lived outside rigid gender categories and were often caretakers, teachers, and cultural keepers.

These weren’t fringe characters—they were respected, integrated, and seen as part of the natural order.

Magical Transformations and Blended Identities

Mythologies are obsessed with transformation, and many of those stories echo queer experiences of fluidity and transition. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, we meet Hermaphroditus, who merged with the nymph Salmacis to become both male and female. The story may have been written through a Roman lens of curiosity and fear, but it still gives us a mythical figure that embodies both genders at once.

Another tale from Ovid tells of Iphis, a girl raised as a boy to avoid her father’s wrath. When she falls in love with another woman, the goddess Isis transforms Iphis into a man so the marriage can proceed. While that one’s layered with patriarchal expectations, it’s still a glimpse of gender transformation baked right into the mythology.

And then there are tales like that of Tiresias, the Theban prophet who lived as both a man and a woman after being transformed by the gods. His dual perspective was considered a source of wisdom. Honestly, if that’s not queer-coded representation, I don’t know what is.

Why These Stories Are Important

What amazes me most is that these aren’t modern retellings or queer reinterpretations—though I adore those too. These are the original stories, some thousands of years old, that already included gender-bending, same-sex love, and queer magic. The fact that so many of them got buried, ignored, or rewritten says less about the past and more about the people who decided which stories were “acceptable” to preserve.

As someone who grew up hungry for queer representation in stories, I feel a bittersweet mix reading these tales. On the one hand, it hurts knowing how much has been erased or downplayed. On the other, it’s empowering to realize that queer folks have always been part of humanity’s oldest myths and magical histories.

Folklore is humanity’s collective diary—our fears, our dreams, our love stories, and our messy contradictions, written in code through gods, monsters, and enchanted beings. And queer folks? We’ve never been absent from that diary. We were just waiting for people to turn the pages back far enough to notice us again.

So the next time someone argues that LGBTQ+ representation is “new” or “modern,” just point them toward Loki’s horse baby, Apollo’s grief for Hyacinthus, or the honored roles of Two-Spirit people. Queer folks have always been in the story—sometimes hidden, sometimes celebrated, but always there.

Further Reading…

If you want to dig deeper into these magical and hidden histories, here are a few books and resources worth checking out:

  • Queer Magic: LGBT+ Spirituality and Culture from Around the World by Tomás Prower – A globe-trotting look at queer spiritual practices and folklore.
  • Changing Ones: Third and Fourth Genders in Native North America by Will Roscoe – A groundbreaking book on Two-Spirit identities and traditions.
  • Mythology by Edith Hamilton – While not explicitly queer, this classic is a good gateway to Greek and Roman myths, many of which are full of queer themes if you read closely.
  • Queer Mythology: Epic Legends from Around the World by Guido A. Sanchez, illustrated by James Fenner
  • Online resource: OutHistory.org – A treasure trove of queer history, myths, and hidden stories.

Thanks for wandering through these magical tales with me! Now I’m curious: do you have a favorite myth or folktale with queer undertones? Share it—I’d love to discover more.



Nick's Awakening book cover

What if the dead could find you anywhere—at school, on the street, even in your own house? For Nick, the world has cracked open, and ghosts are pouring through. Ready or not, he’s their only hope. Grab your copy HERE

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Just for Fun: If I Lived in an Urban Fantasy World…

Night view on a futuristic city, full moon in sky

I think about this way too often—what my life would look like if I lived in an urban fantasy world. Like, not full-on dragon-riding-into-battle level (I’d probably fall off halfway through), but more like the kind of world where I could stop for a coffee, chat with a vampire about rent prices, and dodge a kelpie in the river on my morning walk. You know, casual Tuesday kind of magic.

Morning Coffee, But Make It Magical

First thing’s first: I’d absolutely still need coffee. Magic or not, mornings are cruel. But instead of standing in line at Starbucks behind someone ordering a half-decaf, extra-foam, caramel drizzle situation, I’d go to a café run by witches who enchant the beans to taste like your mood. Feeling nostalgic? Your latte might have a hint of your grandmother’s cookies. Feeling grumpy? Boom—instant chocolate hazelnut comfort.

I imagine the barista—probably a snarky fire sprite with tattoos that glow when she’s annoyed—would roll her eyes when I ask for a “medium,” because magic folk don’t measure in sizes, they measure in intent. “You want ambition,” she’d say, sliding over a cup that smells like cedar and possibility. I’d tip her in silver coins, because paper money probably bursts into flames around magic.

Daily Grind with a Side of Ghosts

I still picture myself writing, but instead of blogging in a quiet corner of my apartment, I’d be at a haunted library—like, actually haunted. Ghost librarians shushing me whenever I type too loudly. They’d have transparent cardigans and perpetually disappointed expressions. My keyboard would probably float sometimes if the spirits got bored.

Maybe my editor would be a werewolf who only replies to emails during the full moon. Deadlines would literally kill. I’d keep a salt circle around my desk, not because I believe in ghosts, but because it would make me feel professional. There’s something comforting about the smell of sage and ink mingling together in the morning.

Magical Errands and Mundane Chaos

Of course, everyday tasks would get a little more complicated. Grocery shopping? Forget it. Half the produce would try to bite you back. You’d be inspecting a head of lettuce and realize it’s whispering financial advice. I’d probably end up shopping at a market under the old subway—run by gnomes and staffed by teenagers who sell charms along with carrots.

Transportation would be another mess. Public broomstick lanes would be a nightmare, and don’t even get me started on teleportation traffic. Imagine materializing inside someone else’s apartment by mistake. “Sorry, I was aiming for 5th Avenue, not your bathtub!” And of course, every app would glitch if you had too much residual spell energy. Magic and tech rarely play nice together. Siri would probably hiss at you if you tried casting mid-text.

Evenings with the Neighbors

Living in a magical city means neighbors are a grab bag of supernatural weirdness. You might have a banshee next door who practices opera scales at 2 a.m. Or a vampire couple hosting dinner parties where no one eats, but everyone drinks… something. I’d totally be the human in the building—“that guy who smells like coffee and mortal anxiety.”

Still, I’d love it. The community would have that found family vibe, you know? The kind where everyone keeps an eye out for each other—partly out of friendship, partly because no one wants another incident involving exploding pixies in the hallway. Rent would probably be paid in enchantments or favors, which sounds cool until you realize you owe your landlord three nights of guarding his cursed mirror collection.

Adventures Between Book Drafts

I’d like to think I’d occasionally get pulled into some low-stakes supernatural mystery. Maybe a ghost asks me to find their lost journal, or a fae prince needs help translating human slang before his date. I wouldn’t be the “chosen one.” I’d be more like the guy who keeps getting roped into chaos because he’s there. You know—wrong place, wrong time, and apparently good at making tea.

But hey, there’s a charm to that. Writing by candlelight, chasing down clues in moonlit alleys, running into an ex who’s now half-demon and fully dramatic—it’s messy, unpredictable, and kind of wonderful.

Would I Survive It?

Honestly? Maybe. I don’t have the stamina to fight ghouls or the temperament to deal with trickster gods. But I’d be great at trivia nights in a witch bar, and I’d totally make friends with the necromancer who runs the used bookstore. We’d gossip about cursed objects and overhyped spell trends.

And I’d finally understand why people in fantasy novels always look tired—magic probably doesn’t replace sleep. It just makes the dreams weirder.

Final Thoughts Before the Portal Closes

If I lived in an urban fantasy world, I think life would still be life. Still messy. Still filled with laundry and unexpected bills and heartbreaks—but maybe all that would sparkle a little. Maybe I’d have a ghost roommate who reminds me to water the plants, or a familiar who steals my snacks but listens when I’m sad.

And that’s kind of what I love about urban fantasy in general—it takes the ordinary and gives it a pulse. It says, “Hey, maybe the weirdest parts of you are the most magical.”

So yeah, I’d take it. Give me a city where the streetlights hum with spells and the buskers breathe fire. I’d still be me—just slightly more singed.


touch of cedar book cover

It starts with a smell. Cedar. Warm, nostalgic, familiar—and impossibly strong in a house that’s been empty for decades. For Marek, the scent is just the beginning. Soon he sees the ghost: a handsome stranger in a black suit, his eyes filled with grief. As Marek’s connection to the spirit deepens, his present with Randy begins to fracture even further. Caught between the living and the dead, Marek has to decide what kind of life—and love—he truly wants. Gothic, romantic, and a little eerie, A Touch of Cedar is a story about the ties between past and present, and the secrets old houses never quite give up. Grab your copy HERE

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LGBTQ+ Cinema Club – On Swift Horses (2024)

I’ve heard quite a bit about this one and finally got around to checking it out. In my opinion, phenomenal!

Quick Info:

  • Title: On Swift Horses
  • Year: 2024
  • Directed by: Daniel Minahan
  • Starring: Daisy Edgar-Jones, Jacob Elordi, Will Poulter, Diego Calva, and Sasha Calle
  • Where I Watched It: Netflix (curled up on my couch, blinds half-closed because this film demands moody lighting)

Queer-o-Meter:
🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 (4 out of 5 Pride Flags)
Rated on how gay it feels — characters, themes, vibes, chaotic queer energy. This one? Pretty darn queer. It’s got longing, repression, and that “I might ruin my life for this feeling” energy that queer cinema loves. Plus I loved that Jacob Elordi messed around with men and Daisy Edgar-Jones with a woman!

One-Line Summary:
Two people trapped by circumstance and haunted by desire — a young wife and her enigmatic brother-in-law — risk everything in a postwar fever dream of love, betrayal, and blackjack.

Standout Scene:
There’s a moment in a neon-lit casino where Jacob Elordi’s character, Julius, gazes across the table at a stranger — it’s quiet, smoky, and the tension between them hums louder than the slot machines. No words, just a flicker of understanding, attraction, danger. It’s one of those rare cinematic moments that makes your breath hitch because you know this is the beginning of trouble — the kind that changes lives.

Favorite Line:
I have to choose two favorites for this film:

“The world’s not built for people who can’t keep their hearts quiet.”
(I really love this one!!! It stings.)
and
“We’re all just a hair’s breadth away from losing everything. All the time.”

Would I Rewatch?
☑️ Absolutely

Review:

On Swift Horses is one of those films that starts slow, almost deceptively so, and before you realize it, you’ve sunk into its dusty, sunburnt world. Set in the 1950s, it follows Muriel (Daisy Edgar-Jones), a newlywed whose life takes a turn when her husband’s brother Julius (Jacob Elordi) — a charming, self-destructive ex-soldier — reenters their lives. He’s the kind of man who drags both trouble and beauty behind him, and Muriel, who’s been living quietly, starts to feel her world stretch and crack under his influence.

At first, it plays like a domestic drama — polite dinners, small-town gossip, a woman trying to fit the mold. But then, like a mirage in the desert, the movie tilts. Julius drifts westward, landing in Las Vegas, and his story becomes something altogether different: all heat, risk, and yearning. He meets Henry (Diego Calva), a gambler with eyes that see right through him, and suddenly, we’re not in the quiet Midwest anymore. We’re in the blurred lines of forbidden love, queer desire, and the illusion of escape.

The pacing is deliberate, and the film luxuriates in silence — long stares, half-smiles, the rustle of wind through motel curtains. It’s very much a “watch it unfold” experience. Daisy Edgar-Jones nails that fragile, restless energy, while Elordi (in maybe his best role yet) balances swagger and vulnerability like a tightrope walker. Diego Calva is magnetic; their chemistry burns quietly but completely, like a match that refuses to go out.

There’s also this undercurrent of longing that feels specifically queer — not just for a person, but for a different life. Every choice feels dangerous and deeply human. These characters aren’t just falling in love; they’re clawing at the edges of the cages built around them.

The cinematography deserves a standing ovation. The desert isn’t just a backdrop — it’s a character. The lighting shifts between golden nostalgia and harsh neon realism, reflecting the two halves of these characters’ lives: the dream they want and the reality they can’t quite escape.

That said, this isn’t a film for someone looking for a tidy narrative or constant action. It lingers. It aches. Sometimes it even drifts. But if you’ve ever felt trapped between what you want and what the world expects, it hits home.

Final Thoughts:

Watching On Swift Horses felt like reading a love letter that was never meant to be sent. It’s subtle, sensual, and quietly devastating. The queer storyline doesn’t feel like a subplot — it’s the pulse of the movie. Every frame aches with what’s unsaid.

Is it a happy film? Not really. But it’s honest in the way that love stories rarely are — it understands that desire doesn’t always fit neatly into morality, and that freedom sometimes costs more than we expect.

⭐⭐⭐⭐½
4½ out of 5 Stars. It loses a half-flag for its slow pacing in parts, but everything else — the performances, the tension, the aching beauty of it — more than makes up for it.

If you’ve seen On Swift Horses — or have another film I need to add to my queue — tell me what you thought or shout at me on BlueSky.

LGBTQ+ Cinema Club – On Swift Horses (2024) Read Post »

When Good People Sit Out, Bad People Step In

woman inside of a cardboard box peeking out

Okay, so I’m going to get on my soapbox a little bit for this one….hope you don’t mind.

So I’ve been mulling over this quote by Plato: “The price good men pay for indifference to public affairs is to be ruled by evil men.” It kind of haunts me — partly because I am one of those “good men” in question, the kind who’d rather read a novel than scroll through policy briefings, and partly because I keep seeing around me the consequences of folks opting out of the civic arena. So here’s me wrestling with what this quote means, what it _feels_like, and why I think it’s especially urgent in the US right now.

What the quote means (to me)

When I read “the price good men pay,” I imagine someone like—well—me: decent intentions, maybe a little world-weary (or utterly exhausted!), hoping things will turn out okay. And “indifference to public affairs” means things like: not voting, not following the news, assuming “someone else will fix it,” staying quiet when something happens. Then “to be ruled by evil men”– that’s the kicker: if you sit out, you forfeit your voice, you leave a vacuum, and guess who fills it? Not always the nicest folks.

It’s not just moralizing; it’s practical. If we don’t show up, others with less benevolent motives and more energy will. That means decisions about our taxes, our rights, our democracy, our communities could drift into the hands of people who neither share our values nor our best interests.

The current-US-events connection

I pulled up some recent data and examples because this isn’t just theoretical.

  • According to the Pew Research Center, in the 2024 presidential election, turnout was higher than usual—but still, nearly 36% of eligible Americans didn’t vote. (The Guardian)
  • Another source notes that in the US, voter turnout lags many other developed countries. (Pew Research Center)
  • In Louisiana for example, turnout was particularly low, meaning that local leaders will get to shape local life with fewer voices weighed in. (Axios)
  • And there’s work suggesting that when more people participate, things like extreme polarization and special‐interest dominance become less likely. (GISME)

So yeah — people opting out isn’t a harmless shrug. It is giving up influence. If you don’t read the news, you might miss some legislation creeping up. If you don’t get involved in your community (town hall, school board, PTO, local advocacy), decisions still get made — just not with your voice in them.

Why it matters (for us)

Okay, now I get a little personal: as someone who writes novels and runs a blog and generally worries about the state of things, this hits home. I’m used to the world of imagination, but I live in the real world too. And I feel uneasy when I see people assume that “someone else will do it.” That someone else may not share their concerns about LGBTQ+ rights, about environmental policy, about economic justice, about community resources.

Here are some reflections:

  • If you skip local elections because you think “that’s boring,” know this: those local decisions affect your daily life more than national ones sometimes. Zoning laws, school policies, municipal budgets — all that.
  • If you don’t stay informed, you’re handing narrative control to voices that are paying attention. And guess what? The loudest voices often carry the day.
  • If you believe “my one vote doesn’t matter,” there’s evidence the aggregate of thousands of “one votes” absolutely does.

I feel a mix of frustration and hopeful optimism. Frustration because I see avoidable problems caused by disengagement. Optimism because I believe many folks want to care — they just may not feel empowered, or think “what can I do?” So I keep reminding myself: yes, you can.

A few anecdotes (because I’m me)

Back when I worked at that small bookstore, I overheard a customer saying “I don’t vote; it doesn’t change anything.” My stomach knotted. I told them: “Well, if everyone felt like that, you are handing the outcomes to the people who do care (or perhaps care more than you want them to).” They looked at me sideways. But the truth felt heavy.

Another time: in my neighborhood, the city proposed a change to a park’s budget, reducing maintenance. A few people showed up; many didn’t. The result: cutbacks. It wasn’t dramatic—just a park less nice, fewer programs—but it was. It made me feel: small choices do ripple.

What I think we can do

Since I prefer doing to despairing, here are some things I believe that help (and that I’m trying myself):

  • Set aside one hour a week to scan the local news (city council meeting, school board, local candidate).
  • Vote — not just in big presidential years. Mid-terms, local elections: they matter.
  • Talk with friends (yes, you) about community issues. Casual chats over coffee count.
  • Support groups/organizations that inform citizens (registering voters, doing outreach). The more voices involved, the better.
  • Join local protests and marches if it’s for a cause that you believe it (like…I dunno…protesting an authoritarian takeover, perhaps?)
  • Understand that “indifferent” isn’t passive. It lets outcomes happen to us. Choose to be active instead.

So — thanks for reading (and sorry if I got a bit serious there). I believe the cost of sitting out is higher than most of us imagine. And I believe each of us has more power than we give ourselves credit for.



A touch of cedar book cover

One night Marek smells cedar and sees a handsome stranger in old-fashioned clothes. The next, he’s drawn into a mystery over a century old. Grab your copy HERE

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