(a friendly ramble from yours truly)
You ever read a book, all excited because there are ghosts or witches or old creaky mansions, and then — halfway through — you realize the story has suddenly left the building and wandered into the land of same old, same old? I swear I’ve closed more books in frustration than I care to admit, muttering to myself like a crotchety wizard whose potion went sour. Paranormal fiction is my comfort zone and my playground, but even I have a few things that make me sigh into my coffee like a disappointed parent.
I thought I’d jot down a little rant today. The kind you’d overhear in a bookstore aisle between two readers who smell like evergreen candles and used paperbacks. If you’re nodding along by the end, then at least I know I’m not alone.
1. The dreaded paranormal love triangle
We might as well start with the big one. My personal sore spot.
The thing that crawls across my brain like a cold finger at 2 a.m.
The love triangle.
I get why people write them — tension, swoony jealousy, a little emotional tug-of-war — but usually it just makes me want to reach into the page and bonk all three characters on the head with the nearest enchanted object. Especially when every book feels like it’s contractually obligated to include a brooding vampire and a loyal werewolf fighting over the same girl like prize cattle.
Look, I lived through the Twilight era. I wore the merch. I stood firmly in the Jacob camp, tail and all. (No shame. Wolf boys forever.) But the market got saturated pretty quick. Now when I sense a triangle brewing, I tighten up like someone just whispered brussel sprouts. I’d rather watch two characters build something real than sit through a recurring chapter of “who will she pick this week?” like I’m tuning into a supernatural dating show.
My dream? Give me a paranormal story where the romance is subtle, slow, or at least not a tug-of-war shaped like an isosceles.
2. The instant “we just met but now we’re soul-bonded forever” romance
Picture this:
Main character bumps into a mysterious stranger at the cemetery.
They exchange exactly twelve words.
Boom — cosmic destiny. Eternal connection. Mate-for-life without discussion.
My left eye twitches every time.
I want sparks, sure, but sparks usually fly after friction. Let them talk. Let them argue. Let one of them forget the other’s birthday. I love paranormal romance as much as the next reader clutching their Kindle like a security blanket, but I like to feel it grow. Not get smacked with it like a rogue broomstick swinging out of a closet.
3. Characters discovering supernatural powers and just… rolling with it
If I woke up tomorrow and found out I could move objects with my mind, there would be chaos in my kitchen. Flour everywhere. A ceiling fan bent into modern art. I wouldn’t blink calmly, accept my destiny, and immediately learn to levitate with grace like some shimmering chosen-one Olympic gymnast.
Yet in a surprising number of books, characters shrug and adapt like they just learned to ride a bike. No panic googling. No sweat. No “oh god did I just set Aunt Linda’s curtains on fire?”
I want mess. I crave mess.
Show me someone blowing up a toaster by accident. Show me a witch trying to cast a spell with a cold and accidentally summoning banjo-playing ghosts. Give me the weird.
4. The immortal who behaves like they’re 19 forever
Immortal characters who’ve lived hundreds of years yet talk like they’re fresh out of freshman orientation? That gets me. If you’ve survived plagues, wars, the invention of microwavable pizza, and you still use slang like a TikTok influencer… something ain’t adding up.
Give me an immortal who collects stamps. One who’s tired. One who reads weather almanacs for fun. One whose knees crack when they stand up even though technically they shouldn’t have knees that old. I’d follow that character for 400 pages without complaint.
5. Every ancient evil being defeated by… true love
Now don’t get me wrong — I enjoy affection, emotional healing, quality hand-holding — but sometimes the final showdown feels like it was solved with a motivational poster. You’ve got a demon older than civilization, made of shadow and hunger, and the solution is a heartfelt declaration and one perfect kiss?
I’m just saying: maybe bring salt and iron too. And an exit plan.
I say all this with affection, of course. Paranormal fiction is the genre that made teen-me stay up past midnight with a flashlight wedged between the pages. It still gives me goosebumps and that fizzy feeling in my ribs. The stuff that annoys me often shows up in books I still enjoyed. Maybe that’s the magic — loving something enough to poke fun at it like a friend who keeps misplacing their keys.
And, honestly, if someone writes a story about a ghostly love triangle with banjo-summoning spell mistakes and an exhausted immortal who just wants to take a nap… I’ll probably read it anyway.
Because I’m weak. And curious. And powered by equal parts irritation and obsession.
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 from my Web Store or from your favorite online retailer.