Urban Fantasy/Paranormal

(Or why your vampire might prefer Chicago over Cleveland)

Let’s talk cities. Not the kind with brochures and trolley tours—though, yes, ghost tours are a must—but the gritty, rain-slicked, neon-lit, mystery-drenched kind that practically hum with supernatural possibility.

You know the type. The city that’s less “background noise” and more “this place will chew you up and spit out your bones, but like…in a magical way.” If you’re writing (or reading) urban fantasy, paranormal noir, supernatural thrillers, or anything that goes bump between skyscrapers, you need to think of the city not just as a setting—but as a character.

This post is mostly for my fellow writers, but if you’re a reader of Urban Fantasy or Supernatural Fiction, you’ll probably still find yourself nodding along like, “Yep. I knew New Orleans had ghosts in the sidewalks.”

The City Breathes, Bleeds, and Bites Back

Think about The Dresden Files. Could Harry Dresden function the same way if he lived in, say, Des Moines? No shade to Iowa, but Chicago is baked into his DNA. The biting wind, the history, the political corruption, the layered architecture (literal and metaphorical)—Chicago is the magic in that series. You can practically hear the El trains echoing in his spellwork.

Or Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman. London isn’t just the backdrop; it splinters into a whole underground mythos. It drips with old magic and forgotten alleys and subway gods. London Below is a twisted mirror of the actual city, and without London’s ancient bones, the story just wouldn’t have teeth.

Urban Settings = Instant Conflict

Cities naturally come with built-in tension—class divides, gentrification, unsolved crimes, too many people crammed into not enough space. Now throw in a secret werewolf pack in Brooklyn or a necromancer keeping rent-controlled ghosts in San Francisco, and suddenly the supernatural bits don’t feel so far-fetched, do they?

Take The City We Became by N.K. Jemisin. Each borough of New York literally comes alive—like, human-avatar level alive. The city’s personality is the plot. There’s graffiti-level magic and eldritch invasions, sure, but it’s also about culture, resistance, community, and identity. The city isn’t just where things happen. It’s why they happen.

Dark Alleys Make Great Portals

Urban landscapes naturally lend themselves to the spooky and strange. There’s something about flickering streetlights, steam rising from manholes, and alleys that look just a little too quiet. Cities are full of liminal spaces—transit systems, rooftops, abandoned factories—that practically beg for magical weirdness.

Rivers of London (by Ben Aaronovitch) leans into this by grounding magic in the infrastructure of the city—rivers are gods, traffic has power, and the architecture holds secrets. It’s brilliant. And it makes the city feel alive in a way that suburban sprawl just… doesn’t.

Want Vibes? Cities Deliver.

You can get really specific with tone just by picking the right city. Want ancient secrets and ghosts tangled in the Spanish moss? Drop your story into Savannah. Need rainy gloom and underground magic? Seattle’s got you. Desire glamour with a side of decay? Hello, Los Angeles.

One of my favorite examples: The Beautiful by Renée Ahdieh. Set in 1872 New Orleans, it wraps you in opulence, rot, and vampires. The city oozes charm and danger. You smell the blood in the bayou and the perfume in the parlor. It’s lush and decadent and you know—know—there’s something unholy under the floorboards.

Writing Tip: Use the City’s History Like Lore

I’m just gonna say it: if your supernatural city doesn’t have a shady past or some unsolved mystery, what are we even doing here?

The best urban fantasy weaves in real-life history like it was always magical. Murders that never got solved? Witch trials? Abandoned asylums turned condos? Use it. Cities are basically story graveyards, and you get to dig up the bones and whisper to them.

My own writing has dipped into this—I set a paranormal detective story in 1930s Chicago (because of course I did), and let me tell you, between the mobsters, the speakeasies, and the corruption, I didn’t need to invent much. I just added ghosts. The city did the rest.

Readers Notice When the City’s a Flat Prop

This might sound dramatic, but nothing kills a story faster for me than a city that feels like it was pasted on with digital wallpaper. I want to taste the coffee from the bodega, feel the subway grime under my character’s fingernails, hear the street preacher screaming about demons on a corner that absolutely exists somewhere.

Even if you’re inventing a fictional city, like Night Vale or Hollows (from Kim Harrison’s The Hollows series), you want to treat it with the same messy, flawed reverence you’d give a real place.

The City Deserves a Speaking Role

Give your city quirks. Give it moods. Let it be weird and unpredictable and inconvenient. Cities are more than just backdrops for your haunted antique shops and secret supernatural nightclubs. They are the mood. The muscle. The rhythm.

So go ahead—write the alleyway that leads to another world, the haunted subway line, the rooftop where witches cast spells using broken satellite dishes.

And let the city speak.

Alright, I’ve rambled enough. I need to go eavesdrop on the guy muttering to pigeons outside my window—he might be casting something.

Or: Why Drum & Bass Makes My Demons Punch Harder

The first time I realized music could actually fuel a fight scene I was writing, I was sitting in my usual corner booth at a coffee shop—half-buzzed on espresso, procrastinating like a pro. My protagonist, a snarky necromancer with a grudge, was supposed to be battling an eldritch creature in an alleyway drenched in rain and neon light. But I couldn’t get it right. Everything felt flat, like a clunky stage play with swords made of cardboard.

Out of frustration, I yanked in my earbuds and hit shuffle on a playlist I’d made for cardio workouts. The opening notes of The Prodigy’s “Invaders Must Die” blasted into my skull—and suddenly, the fight came alive.

And I mean alive.

The Vibe Matters

Urban fantasy is a genre soaked in adrenaline and shadows. You’ve got werewolves scrapping behind nightclubs, witches slinging hexes in subway tunnels, vampires in pinstripe suits pulling knives in back alleys. It’s gritty, fast-paced, a little unhinged—and the music you use to write those scenes? It needs to match that energy.

For me, it’s all about rhythm. That pulse. That driving, relentless beat that makes you clench your jaw and type like your keyboard owes you money. It’s less about melody and more about momentum.

My Top Picks (That Totally Slap)

Let’s talk specifics. These are my go-tos when the fists (or fireballs) start flying:

1. Drum & Bass / Dark Electronica
Artists like Noisia, Pendulum, Sub Focus, and Black Sun Empire. These tracks are tight, aggressive, and make me feel like someone’s about to crash through a window any second now. The rapid-fire percussion is perfect for tracking blows, dodges, and magical chaos.

Favorite tracks:

• “Stigma” – Noisia
• “Tarantula” – Pendulum
• “Timewarp” – Sub Focus

2. Industrial Rock
When I need a grittier, more grounded fight—think brass knuckles in a dive bar or a werewolf-on-vampire showdown—I turn to Nine Inch Nails, Celldweller, or Marilyn Manson’s earlier stuff. There’s something visceral about distorted guitars and electronic growls that just works.

Favorite tracks:

• “The Way You Like It” – Adema
• “Switchback” – Celldweller
• “Wish” – Nine Inch Nails

3. Cinematic / Trailer Music
Sometimes I need the drama turned up to eleven. You know, when the world is literally cracking open and the hero is unleashing some forbidden spell. That’s when I dive into the overly dramatic, brass-heavy world of Two Steps From Hell, Audiomachine, or Epic Score.

Favorite tracks:

• “Heart of Courage” – Two Steps From Hell (cliché? maybe. effective? absolutely.)
• “Blood and Stone” – Audiomachine
• “I Am the Storm” – Ramin Djawadi (Game of Thrones, but still counts)

The Mood Shifter

Here’s the wild part: the right track not only makes the scene flow better, it changes me. I sit differently. I breathe faster. My typing speeds up like I’m trying to win a race. I stop second-guessing myself and just go. It’s like music unlocks the primal part of my brain that knows how to write a brawl better than my thinking mind ever could.

Also, I’ve scared my cat more than once by shouting “DUCK!” at my screen mid-write. So, bonus points for immersion.

Honorable Mentions: Because Not Every Fight Is a Bloodbath

Sometimes you need something less in-your-face. Like if the fight’s more psychological—an underground chess match with telepaths—or stylish, like a sword duel on a rooftop. That’s when I pull out:

• Woodkid – moody and majestic
• Carpenter Brut – synthwave with a sharp edge
• UNSECRET – cinematic with a modern twist

So Yeah…

Writing fight scenes used to stress me out. I’d overthink every blow, every reaction, trying to choreograph it like a Hollywood stunt coordinator. But once I let the music lead the rhythm, everything changed. Now, I build a playlist before I write the scene. I match the tempo to the tone, hit play, and let my fingers go feral.

So yeah. Music isn’t just background noise—it’s my fight choreographer, my pacing coach, and, on some days, the only thing that keeps me from giving up and switching to writing soft-baked vampire romance instead.

Which… might also need a playlist.

But that’s another blog post.