Writing

Spellbound & Fabulous — Queer Icons Who Deserve Supernatural Roles

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creepy lookiing guy with face half alien

So, I’ve been thinking (always a dangerous start, right?): What if we could pick our favorite queer actors and bless them with supernatural roles? Like, how amazing would it be to see some of the most talented LGBTQ+ folks playing witches, warlocks, vampires, shapeshifters, or whatever other magical beings are lurking out there? I mean, supernatural stories thrive on drama, with all the brooding and epic battles, and who does high drama better than queer folks?? Answer: No one, honestly. The casting universe needs to get with the program and give us more of this.

Okay, let’s dive in.

First on my list—and this might be influenced by my low-key obsession with him—Billy Porter. We already know Billy brings flair, elegance, and power to pretty much everything he does (like, POSE anyone? Have you seen that wardrobe?). Now, imagine him as the most extra, fashion-forward warlock, living in some chic urban magical headquarters. He’d be the kind of warlock who’s ten steps ahead of everyone else, raises an eyebrow and—bam—summons a dragon. And don’t even get me started on the outfits. He’d slaughter in those sweeping ceremonial robes. Plus, his voice alone could literally enchant an entire council of elders into agreeing with whatever scheme he’s cooking up.

Now, let’s talk Indya Moore. If Indya wasn’t already a real-life goddess, I’d say it’s time for them to enter the supernatural world. Indya would make an incredible vampire queen—like, picture it. Regal, ancient, and incredibly fierce. The kind of vampire that doesn’t just sip tea (uh, blood) in a castle, but…stalks the night in designer heels. There’s something in their quiet intensity that screams “ancient power in a very modern world.” Plus, those eyes? Hypnotic. Probably doesn’t even need vamp powers to get you under their thrall (I mean, don’t pretend you’d resist).

I feel like Elliot Page would be such a phenomenal shapeshifter. Hear me out. Elliot has this really grounded, subtle approach to acting—you totally believe him in whatever he’s doing—with the ability to make you care about his character’s journey. A department store shapeshifter, living among ordinary humans while secretly bouncing between identities for fun? Honestly, his dry humor would make those interactions so relatable and hilarious. One second, he’s a sassy cat refusing to get off a random stranger’s car, the next, he’s casually rescuing people without anyone noticing. He’d definitely be chaotic neutral.

And uh, speaking of chaos—Laverne Cox as a kickass witch. So we already know Laverne has this incredible, commanding screen presence, right? Well, imagine her character as this stunning, highly powerful witch who walks into a magical council meeting and just takes over with perfect composure. Everyone else is fumbling around with their spell books, and Laverne’s already untangling interdimensional knots with a snap of her fingers and a perfectly arched eyebrow. I bet she’d have snarky, layered spells where the magic’s elegant, but deadly—and that’s exactly what we need in a world that doesn’t take magical queens seriously. Trust Laverne to shut that down.

Also, I’m going to sneak in Dan Levy for a role as some chaotic, ethereal fae king. Come on, you know it works. The man was born to be a snarky magical creature. I envision him leading a band of misfit fae, being salty about literally everything but also very on top of an ancient war over enchanted forests or whatever it is fae squabble about. There’s such an “I don’t have time for humanity’s shenanigans” look in his eye that he’d wear the crown without even trying. And don’t you just know David Rose believes in magic? No one who owns that many scarves doesn’t believe there’s a magical manatee somewhere out there.

Next up for hero vamp status: Tessa Thompson. Look, we’ve already seen some insane action from Tessa in Thor: Ragnarok as Valkyrie (she literally showed up on a spaceship, casually, while flipping off all kinds of danger). Imagine that energy as a rogue vampire, equal parts conviction, rebellion, and stunning. The blade work alone would be freaking epic. I just want her dressed in leather, owning the night with a cool smirk and her swanky vampiric underground headquarters. Honestly, she could take down a whole council of ancient vampires while sipping a cocktail and not look even mildly stressed. And I’d be lining up for that battle scene.

Last, but nowhere near least, Janelle Monáe needs to play a goddess—preferably one who shifts between realms like it’s just… brunch plans. I mean, have you seen her entire aesthetic? I’m imagining a goddess of chaos and cosmic justice, one who’s got one foot in the real world and the other in something totally otherworldly. She’d wear those super sleek, futuristic outfits from her music videos, but in a divine way, and her powers would just be unstoppable. Oh, and music would definitely bend to her will—so calling on different dimensions with a different style of music every time? Yeah, that.

Okay, I realize I could go on for hours—Sara Ramirez would make a gnarly werewolf leader who’s actually balancing classes at law school, and don’t get me started on Ezra Miller—but we don’t have all day. So, if you’re feeling any of these picks, let me know, and we can totally start drafting some petitions to send to Hollywood. They’re way overdue on queer magical representation. 😉

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Whiskey, Wards, and Wisecracks—How Noir Paved the Way for Urban Fantasy Detectives

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Noir detective at work

So here’s a thing I’ve been thinking about (probably too much): modern urban fantasy detectives are basically chain-smoking, spell-slinging love children of classic noir gumshoes. Like, if Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe woke up in a world full of vampires, magical artifacts, and ghosts with unfinished business, you’d get about 80% of today’s gritty, snarky paranormal investigators.

Seriously—if you love stuff like The Dresden Files, Rivers of London, or even Netflix’s weird little gem The Order(RIP), you owe a big, grimy hug to noir.

Let’s go back a sec. Classic noir detectives—think Sam Spade (The Maltese Falcon) or Mike Hammer—were loners. Cynical. Had questionable hygiene but, like, were somehow still magnetic. They lurked in alleys, drank too much, trusted no one, and almost always got emotionally wrecked by a femme fatale with legs for days and secrets for centuries.

Sound familiar?

Now imagine swapping out the fedora for a charm-laced trench coat, the revolver for a runed dagger, and the cigarette for… okay fine, they probably still smoke. Just maybe cloves or enchanted ones now. And boom: you’ve got Harry Dresden (The Dresden Files, Jim Butcher’s long-running series). He’s basically a noir detective wrapped in wizard drag—he works cases, gets beat up a lot, deals with shady clients, and has that whole “I’m tired but I care too much” thing going on. Also, his office literally has “Wizard” painted on the door. No subtlety, just vibes.

Another one? Peter Grant in Ben Aaronovitch’s Rivers of London series. He starts off as a regular beat cop who accidentally sees a ghost and gets roped into a hidden magical underworld. There’s bureaucracy, ancient gods squatting in public housing, and a talking river goddess who could probably punch your soul out of your body. Peter’s dry humor and methodical cop brain are pure noir, but now it’s layered with arcane rituals and angry fae creatures.

You know what I love about this noir-meets-magic cocktail? It’s messy. Noir has always thrived in moral gray areas, and urban fantasy just throws glitter on those grays. Like, your local necromancer might be shady, but if he’s the only one who can stop a soul bomb from going off in the subway, guess what? You’re working with him. Begrudgingly. Probably while insulting each other the whole time.

Let’s not ignore the visuals, either. Classic noir is all rain-slick streets and flickering neon signs. Urban fantasy kept that aesthetic but added gargoyle sentries, haunted jazz clubs, and the occasional demon-possession incident in a 24-hour diner. It’s like someone took Double Indemnity and decided it needed more tentacles. I am not mad about this.

Also! Fun fact: the word “noir” literally means black in French. So noir fiction? Black fiction. As in dark, shadowy, morally twisted. Not just about literal lighting (though I do love a good backlit silhouette and a dramatic cloud of cigarette smoke). Source: Merriam-Webster, because I’m nerdy like that.

Anyway, back to feelings. One of the reasons I love this noir-to-now lineage is because it gives us detectives who don’t always win—but they try anyway. They’re the kind of characters who’ll go toe-to-toe with a cursed mobster or a succubus assassin even when they’re bleeding out and down to their last sarcastic quip. They’re compelled to do the right thing, even when it’s probably the stupidest option on the table. I vibe with that.

So yeah. Next time you’re watching some brooding private eye cast a spell while bleeding into his trench coat and muttering about justice, just know—he’s channeling the ghosts of noir legends past. And probably getting ghost-mugged in a magically seedy alleyway for his trouble.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go reread Storm Front and pretend I don’t want to name my future cat “Mab.”

Stay strange and solve things.

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The Art of the Slow Burn – How to Make Your Detective Yearn (Without Making Readers Yawn)

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Okay, so here’s the thing—there’s something borderline magical about slow burn romance when it’s done right. I’m not talking about the kind where the characters barely touch for 700 pages and you’re just sitting there like, “Are we doing this or not?” No. I’m talking about that good, simmering tension, the kind that hums under every shared glance and unfinished sentence. Especially when it’s tangled up in something gritty, like a detective noir world where everybody’s wearing too much wool and probably hiding a gun under their trench coat. Which, hi, is exactly the headspace I’ve been living in lately, since I’m elbow-deep writing about ghosts, crimes, and gay detectives with haunted pasts. (Don’t judge—it’s 1937 Chicago, everybody’s haunted.)

So let’s chat about what makes a slow burn between a detective and their love interest actually work. Because there’s a delicious art to it, like cooking risotto or perfectly ironing pleated pants. You’ve gotta have tension, you’ve gotta have friction, and most of all, you’ve gotta make me want them to get together so badly that I’m mentally screaming at the page, “Just kiss already!” But not actually ready for them to kiss. Yet.

I think we need to talk about Jake Gittes and Evelyn Mulwray from Chinatown (1974) first, because wow, talk about complicated. Jack Nicholson plays Gittes with this oily charisma—he’s a P.I. who thinks he’s seen it all until Evelyn (Faye Dunaway, cheekbones of legend) shows up with her secrets stacked three layers deep. You want them to connect. You see the chemistry. But the closer he gets to her, the more things fall apart. It’s less about the sexy payoff (though their one intimate moment has this weird, sad softness to it) and more about the suspense of peeling back emotional layers. That’s what good slow burn does: it gives you reasons for them not to get together. Yet.

One of my other personal favorites is more recent: True Detective Season 1. Now hear me out—yes, Rust (Matthew McConaughey, peak haunted-weirdo mode) and Maggie (Michelle Monaghan) aren’t your typical slow-burn pair, but there’s this whole murky undercurrent of tension between Rust and everyone. What makes it juicy is that we don’t want_them to get together—and yet, when it happens, you _get why. It’s messy and wrong and kind of inevitable. That edge-of-your-seat messiness is what makes noir slow burns special. Love is never neat in noir. It’s lipstick-stained and a little bloody around the edges.

And if we’re going full classic? Sam Spade and Brigid O’Shaughnessy in The Maltese Falcon. Humphrey Bogart plays Spade like a man perpetually two seconds from lighting a cigarette and two seconds from throwing someone out a window. Mary Astor’s Brigid is mysterious, manipulative, and maybe a little doomed. Their tension is all tangled up in lies and double-crosses and the slow, creeping realization that no one is really who they say they are. And still—still—you catch those tiny sparks. A brush of the hand. A locked gaze. A smirk. It’s the good stuff. The stuff noir was made for.

For a more queer-coded (okay, not even coded, just… there) example: I need to throw some love to Rope (1948). Yes, it’s Hitchcock. Yes, it’s technically a murder story in real time. But have you seen Brandon and Philip? John Dall and Farley Granger practically burn holes through each other. The tension is thick enough to carve your name into. Their dynamic is sharp, uncomfortable, and charged in a way that still makes people write academic papers about it.

Anyway, my point is: the slow burn works in detective stories because everybody’s too damaged, too cautious, or too busy dodging bullets to fall into each other’s arms. And honestly? That makes it better. If they have the emotional bandwidth to flirt in a healthy way while someone bleeds out in the next room, they are not my people. Give me the detective who grumbles a soft “be careful” instead of “I love you.” Give me the love interest who patches them up in a dingy bathroom while they both pretend it means nothing. Let it smolder. Let it ache.

One last thing—sometimes, not letting them get together at all is the biggest power move. Because then that tension lives in your bones forever. Like Rick and Ilsa in Casablanca (I know, I know—it’s not noir, but it feels noir if you squint). That final goodbye is so emotionally loaded you can practically taste the regret in the fog. Sometimes, walking away hurts more than staying. And that hurts so good.

So yeah. If your detective has a love interest? Make it messy. Make it slow. Make every look, every almost-touch, count. And if you ever get stuck, just ask yourself: what would Bogart do? Probably say something heart-wrenching and then vanish into the fog.

Read the book that began it all – the first novel in my Ghost Oracle series: Nick’s Awakening

Nick's Awakening

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More Vampires, Less Vanilla — Why Representation in Genre Fiction Actually Matters

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AdobeStock 715414995.

Okay, let’s talk about something that gets me ranting with my dog (who does not care, but listens patiently): representation in genre fiction, especially in stuff like urban fantasy and paranormal YA. You know the kind—ghosts, witches, werewolves who look like they could model for GQ, and demons with tragic backstories and great hair.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I love this stuff. I’ve devoured every series where a sarcastic teen gets bitten by something and suddenly has to save the world with magic powers she just found out about, like, yesterday. But there’s this weird trend where so many of these stories still revolve around the same kinds of characters. Usually white. Usually straight. Usually inexplicably hot but somehow completely unaware of it. And I’m like—hello? Have you seen real teenagers? They’re weird and messy and beautifully diverse. So why don’t our stories reflect that?

Let me put it this way: genre fiction is basically imagination unchained, right? You’re already asking readers to buy into magic portals and vampire politics—why not throw in a protagonist who uses a wheelchair and still slays demons like it’s nothing? Or a nonbinary necromancer trying to balance spellwork with algebra homework? It’s not just more interesting—it’s realer. And don’t give me the “but it’s fantasy” excuse. Fantasy is exactly where representation should thrive. If you can believe in talking cats, you can believe in a Black bisexual witch with ADHD who’s the chosen one, thank you very much.

I remember reading Shadowshaper by Daniel José Older and thinking, finally. A Puerto Rican girl from Brooklyn who talks like a real teen and paints murals that wake the spirits of her ancestors? That book had flavor. It smelled like hot pavement and street food and teenage rebellion. Sierra, the main character, wasn’t some blank slate waiting to be filled in—she owned the page. That kind of representation isn’t a trend, it’s a necessity. (Also, read it. It’s awesome.)

Same goes for Labyrinth Lost by Zoraida Córdova. We get Alex, a queer bruja who’s terrified of her own magic. The world is lush and alive and unapologetically Latinx, and it doesn’t stop to explain itself—it invites you in, like you already belong there. That’s the vibe. That’s what we need more of.

Now, let’s talk urban fantasy. This genre is basically supernatural soap opera meets gritty alleyway—and yet so many of the “urban” parts are…not actually urban. Like, where are the queer kids of color from South Chicago who can see ghosts? Where are the Indigenous werewolves in New Mexico who keep ancestral stories alive through shapeshifting? I want to see that. I need to see that.

Not just because I’m hungry for good stories (though I am, always), but because the more kinds of people we see in genre fiction, the more kinds of people we give permission to imagine themselves as heroes. That’s huge. Especially for teens. Imagine being sixteen and seeing someone who looks like you on the cover of a fantasy novel, doing cool magical things and making out with the brooding guy (or girl, or nonbinary sea witch) of their dreams.

And no, it’s not just “pandering.” It’s called reality. Here’s a real fact: A study from the Cooperative Children’s Book Center (CCBC) indicate that approximately only 10% of children’s books published in the U.S. that year featured Black characters (Source: https://ccbc.education.wisc.edu/literature-resources/ccbc-diversity-statistics/books-by-and-or-about-poc-2018/) That’s embarrassing. We can do better. Especially in fantasy, where there are literally no limits except the ones we invent.

You know what’s cooler than a vampire with abs? A vampire with abs and generational trauma and an accent that reflects their real-life immigrant roots. Representation doesn’t take anything away from stories—it makes them richer, weirder, more layered. More…us.

Anyway, that’s my soapbox for today. If you’re writing or reading genre fiction, I hope you start looking for the stories that aren’t being told yet. Or better yet—tell them yourself. Your weird is valid. Your voice is magic. And your werewolf deserves better than another moody white guy in a leather jacket.

Catch you in the spirit realm (I’ll be the one in the glittery combat boots).

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The Lost Art of Cursive… AKA My Chicken-Scratch Future!

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image of cursive writing with fountain pen

Okay, so here’s something that genuinely blew my mind recently. Apparently, there is an entire generation of young people walking around totally incapable of reading (let alone writing) in cursive. I know, right? It’s like discovering the secret underground world of, well… people who will never know the pain of perfecting a capital “Q” (seriously, HOW was that considered a “Q”? It’s literally a curly number 2).

Now, I’ll be the first to admit, my cursive isn’t exactly a work of art. My chicken-scratch handwriting has definitely seen better days, thanks to a combination of speed, laziness, and, well, being me. But still, every single notebook I own is filled with cursive scribbles from top to bottom. Side note: I’m talking actual notebooks, guys. Not the notes app on my phone (which is reserved for my random 3 AM thoughts like, “Do ghosts wear pants?”). Cursive, for me, is just faster, messier, and – believe it or not – easier for my brain to churn out ideas without hitting the ol’ mental speed bump every 10 seconds.

I’ve tried printing, mainly because a small part of me hopes it’ll make my handwriting less of an aesthetic disaster. But, honestly, going from the nice flowy loops of cursive to blocky, rigid printing? It’s SO much slower, and I end up feeling like I’m writing with a crayon while wearing 20 pairs of mittens. I don’t have the patience to plod along like that! Although, to be fair, I’ve been swimming in cursive for so long, maybe I just haven’t given printing a proper chance. (Let’s be real though, if I can’t even “properly” brush my hair in the morning, I doubt I have the discipline to completely re-learn how I write.)

But what really messes me up is this: can you imagine 20, 30, 40 years down the line when my grandkids (or whoever) find my old notebooks? They’ll probably open them and think I wrote them in Wingdings font. Future generations won’t have a clue how to decipher what is, to me, just regular-old cursive. Like, “Grandma’s got some weird hieroglyphic code going on.” I’m already dreading the day someone looks at my notebooks like they’re staring at the Rosetta Stone, furrowing their eyebrows, probably using some futuristic auto-translate app just to figure out I was jotting down some random grocery list for lasagna.

In all seriousness though, it’s wild how cursive writing is gradually… disappearing? Who would’ve thought? I mean, I get that typing is way quicker, and kids today are typing almost as soon as they can walk. But cursive being on the “endangered species” list of skills just seems… bizarre?

And listen, I’m not saying everyone needs to be out here perfecting their penmanship like we’re all channeling our inner calligraphers. But it’s strange to think that something I grew up doing daily — without thinking twice — is becoming this relic of ancient adulting. It’s like cursive is turning into its own secret code. That, or my terrible handwriting is just doing an excellent job of future-proofing my journals from prying eyes.

Oh, by the way, random fact that’s kind of cool and relevant: Back in the day, a lot of important documents (like the Declaration of Independence) were written in cursive by people with serious pen game! Imagine John Hancock tossing out his signature in Times New Roman. No thanks. (Source: National Archives)

Anyway, just some thoughts about the slow, unnoticed death of cursive writing. Maybe it’s time I start teaching the younger generation how to write in cursive – ya know, for historical purposes… and for when they eventually need to decode my terrible handwriting.

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Goodbye Field Notes (for now)

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Field notes notbooks on desk

Even though I’ve been a fan of the Field Notes Brand of notebooks for many years now, and I love writing in them, the time has come for us to part ways. I recently went to renew my yearly subscription and I was more than a bit stunned to see that the subscription was now $120 per year — for a few pocket notebooks every three months.

If I used every notebook I received, it might be a different story. But I have stacks upon stacks of the notebooks on my shelf, most of them yet unopened. With the subscription, the company typically sends you two packs of three notebooks each quarter, which comes to about 24 notebooks a year, which is much more than I go through. Usually, it takes me about two months to work my way through a notebook, sometimes less. I also maintain a bullet journal, so a lot of my daily writing ends up in there. I’ve been considering moving my bullet journal to the Field Notes notebooks, given that I have so many of them that are not being used.

Field Notes

So basically, this is a case of me buying way more notebooks than I need, leading to kind of a hoarding situation.

But it was really the cost of the subscription that gave me pause. When I first started subscribing, I think the price was around $80, maybe even less. Even then, I thought the subscription was a tad expensive for paper products, but I liked them, so I figured ‘what the hell.’ When the cost jumped to $99, I hesitated again, trying to decide if they were worth the price. But this time, at $120, I decided to pull the plug. It’s an awful lot of money for something that mostly sits on my shelves, unused. Plus, the ever-growing stack of notebooks is a bit silly. Thus, I made the decision to work my way through the ones I’ve already purchased before bringing any new ones into the house.

Now, am I saying I’ll never again purchase a Fields Notes notebook? Not at all. In fact, if they release an especially compelling edition, I may log onto their site and purchase just that specific notebook pack. I especially like the oversized editions they come out with occasionally. But my main goal is to work through the ones I have first. Once I do, I might even consider subscribing again.

I have to admit that I will miss seeing that package arrive every quarter with exciting new notebooks for me to discover. But, on the bright side, I now get to enjoy all those unused notebooks that came to my house in past subscriptions!

Ghost at the Prom cover

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I wrote a werewolf book!

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A few years ago, I did NaNoWriMo. For those of you who aren’t aware of what this is, it stands for National Novel Writing Month and takes place in November. During this time, people (anyone can join) try to write an entire novel of at least 50,000 words in 30 days. I participated in this a few years back, during which I wrote a gay-themed fantasy novel that follows a group of werewolves.

I set it aside for close to a year, and I finally got around to starting the editing process. I made an entire first pass through it and was quite pleased with the way it was coming along. Well, as luck would have it, I became ill for a bit shortly after that, which was followed by a flurry of doctor visits, hospital visits, medical tests, x-rays, and drastic lifestyle changes. I got so wrapped up in all this that I completely forgot about the novel.

I mean, who forgets that they wrote a book? Apparently, I do.

So there I was, combing through my hard drive in an attempt to do a bit of digital spring cleaning when I came across a Scrivener file entitled, “Werewolf.” I then gave myself a good old-fashioned palm slap to the forehead once I realized what it was. How could I have forgotten? I’d wanted to write a gay werewolf novel for ages, and I was so excited when I finally did it. And then…..it gathered dust in a forgotten computer folder.

Anyway, I read through it last week and really liked what I’d done so far. I was surprised at how far I’d gotten in the editing process. So I resurrected the book and am now once again editing my heart away. I decided to put my Ghost Oracle series (Book 5) aside for a brief moment and instead focus on my werewolves. So hopefully, you should see a new werewolf novel in the coming months, followed shortly thereafter with another Nick Michelson ghost story.

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