Five Things I Learned Writing A Curse In The Dark
I don’t write well in boxes, except when I do
My entire urban fantasy series swings across the genre map like a drunk monkey that escaped from the circus but retained a love of dramatic entrances and funny hats. I craved epicness with vampires and werewolves and witches, adventure with characters who were people first and creatures second. I wanted multiple POVs and huge world states, a platform to explore clash of cultures and the lies our societies tell us about people who are “different.” As a result, my Four Houses series doesn’t live squarely in any genre box. It’s a love story, a journey of self realization, a supernatural rebellion, and ultimately a smashing of barriers. I tried to write it as straight-forward paranormal romance…
Holy shit, did that suck. When I threw off the PNR chains, the story shined. I expected the same for this book.
Nope! My drunk monkey carved a straight line with A Curse in the Dark.
Sure, it’s not exactly your standard paranormal romance… but also, it kind of is? Instead of multiple POVs, this book has two—the main romantic leads. It’s focused on their relationship. It follows a standard PNR arc, where two characters come together and find love, with a definitive HEA at the end. It was a surreal experience to write on-brand for a genre and be genuinely proud of the result, and it taught me that, when it’s right for the story, I can write firmly in a box—and continue pushing boundaries in other places.
Consent is key— even in a kidnapping
One of the tropes I like to wallop with a big stick, one that persistently pops its head out of the ground like a fictional whack-a-mole, is the notion of a female heroines who need saving and “owe” the hero for rescuing them… cue some twisted Stockholm situation all dressed up as romance. So what the fuck was I thinking with this story? How could I tackle a story that hinges on the female main character being captured off a tour bus—and not hate myself at the end?
Carefully. Very carefully.
Peeling back a few layers, I realized that my male love interest who was going to “rescue” her, was just as screwed. At the start of this book, they’re both trapped by circumstances and forced into the villain’s underground lair. (Of course it’s underground, my bad guy wears a fricking cape! If there isn’t a subterranean Antebellum mansion filled with bloodthirsty creatures what are your villains even doing?)
In fact, Mitrick, my vampiric male hero would have been toast if it wasn’t for Laine. Not only does she harbor the blood he desperately needs, but the status of a human servant will keep him off the villain’s hit-list. When she signals agreement, she saves his life just as much as he saves hers—and they both know it. Crafting a story where Laine, a human, has as much agency and autonomy as the vampire who “claims” her was not easy, but it also wasn’t as hard as I’d thought. Instead of scraping the side journey, as I’d feared I’d have to, both characters rose to the occasion and owned their narrative.
After all my angst, the solution was ultimately simple: mutual respect.
Laine never sees herself as subservient, never acts it—and Mitrick never treats her that way. They find love and hope together, in a dark place, and to hell with anyone who says they can’t. And if that isn’t #relationshipgoals, I don’t know what is.
Make it hurt. No, more than that.
Both Mitrick and Laine are driven, independent characters. As much as they’re going to click with each other—to find an ally and confidant and bedmate with each other over the course of the book.
They’re also going to piss each other off.
Neither of these characters is a shrinking violet, and neither are going to easily give up on their goals to support the other—especially when those goals set them on a collision course with each other. As much as there are external threats, it deepens the conflict and the stakes if they’re also their own worst enemies. Ultimately, this means my two characters—who I love, and who love each other, and are fucking little cinnamon rolls, I swear—have to end up at odds. They have to break, and for that black moment it has to feel like there’s no coming back.
My first draft didn’t dig deep enough into their wounds, didn’t make it hurt enough, and as a result the happy ending fell flat—it just didn’t feel earned.
That changed with the second draft. I forced myself to rip off my own bandaids and cut right through the skin to the heart of the issue. Both these characters had to bleed onto the page—anything less wasn’t doing them justice. Owning their love had to cost them both, and that cost had to cut deep, in order for their happy ending to carry the weight it deserved.
Be the change you want to see in the world, dammit
The lack of diversity in all areas of publishing is a huge problem. Paranormal romance? No exception. And no, white authors writing characters of color is not the answer. But it’s also not not the answer—so long as we’re willing to put in the time to do it well. It’s simply not helpful, or realistic, to have whitewashed worlds. A) that’s so fucking boring, and B) if this is a change that requires a million drops to form a flood, then why shouldn’t I do my eyedropper’s worth?
Mitrick Black was a vampire who was a gun for hire in the Wild West—of that I was sure.
Everything else required a great deal more consideration.
His character offered an opportunity to further the diversity of my fictional world, and a chance to please my History-loving soul and pick away at the false narrative that cowboys were only white dudes. History-nerd tip: they weren’t. The true history of the cowboy is remarkably diverse and the reclaiming of this history in recent years is fascinating stuff—the US Marshals, gunslingers, cow-rustlers, and their yoke were a rainbow of diversity as western settlers swept across North America. Some seriously shady shit happened during that period, including the theft of Native land. I could imagine a vampire who’d lived through that being willing to do about anything not to have it happen again—even taking a bad contract with a worse vampire. His history simply made sense.
Besides, if I’m sick to death of nearly every Native character (when you’re so lucky to have one in PNR) being a nature-bound mystic or shifter, how must Indigenous people feel? The magical Native stereotype needs to fuck off. So I decided to let my dog shred that trope in a corner and write a complex, kind-hearted, gunslinging vampire. A person who cares for those around him, who lived through some serious shit and thought he couldn’t love—only to discover that he can.
Might I have fucked this up? Oh, without question. No matter how much research or consultation you do, there’s always the potential to fuck it up. But doing nothing? Sitting around and waiting to coast on the coattails of braver humans? That feels so much worse. So here I am, hoping I did it well, and prepared to fix it if I didn’t.
Listen to your art
A finished, edited book isn’t always ready for publication.
Yeah, I know. That sounds kind of bonkers—and it’s why I fought the realization for so long. But they’re different things, distinct ends of the industry, and there’s a reason publishers don’t need to be writers (and visa versa). As an indie author, I had to figure out how to market this book—for me that starts with the cover. And the cover told me, in no uncertain terms, that I needed to cool my jets.
You see, nothing was working for this book. Books 1 and 2 were all fine and dandy, but 3? Big nope. I tried everything—featuring one character, featuring both—desperately trying to match the style of the first two books. Usually when I sit down to art, things flow. Creative visual art is always easier for me than drafting—easier than revision.
Not this time.
Everywhere I turned, I hit a brick wall. Until, of course, understanding followed: it wasn’t working because the covers for Books 1 and 2 weren’t working. Yes, they were lovely and hand-painted and blah blah blah. But that didn’t matter, because they didn’t really show what the story was about. Pausing my publishing plans and taking the time to rebrand those books was hard—and the best thing I’ve ever done.
Now, instead of bashfully sliding a book across a table and then running away, I’m showing my series off. Proudly waving my books around and bolding telling people, yes, you will like this. AND I get to see Mitrick and Laine in their head-to-toe glory. There’s a lot of win in that.
(You might notice that this post is modeled after the ‘Five Things’' series Chuck Wendig features on his blog. There’s good reason for that! Alas, my article didn’t make the cut, but I wanted to share it regardless.)