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.
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