I've been hearing around the water cooler that Paranormal Romance is dead…
As someone who's written thirty-four novels, of which thirty-three are paranormal, I'm a little sad to hear this news.
So, what's an author like me to do?
Most tell me, "Well, just write a contemporary novel, then."
I never imagined myself writing anything that didn't have angels, demons, or vampires (or 18 year old ice-slinging science experiments....) There's just so much fun to be had with the craziness that ensues with supernatural powers and situations.
But one day I got an idea. What I thought was a start to my next paranormal trilogy….no super powers were involved.
No scientists mixing DNA to make ice or fire-slinging characters….
No 400 year old half-demons seeking salvation….
No Vamp Hunters snuffing out blood suckers terrorizing a college campus...
Instead, the story in my mind was of an ordinary girl struggling with life after a tragic assault.
It surprised me, but I went with the idea like I do whenever I get a story idea. I didn't tell anyone it wasn't PNR, though, including my agent, because I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep the supernatural from leaking into it! LOL!
And a month later….The Fighter Inside was done. Angelina and Hunter's story was on paper, and there weren't any angels, demons, or vampires--Oh my!
I'll share a little snippet of it below, but first…I want to ask you a question (or three).
Do you think Paranormal is dead?
What do you think of authors writing both?
Would you follow your favorite PNR author into the contemporary world?
Do tell! :)
And here's a little sneak peek into The Fighter Inside.
He'll be her strength…She'll show him how to be strong.
Angelina Raine hasn’t left her apartment in over four years, but she’s determined to attend graduation—if she can make it down the hall and to the elevator. On her journey to freedom, she smacks into her worse nightmare: A tall, tattooed hunk of muscle who looks meaner than the men she’d been hiding from for so long.
Hunter Amos has done his best to steer clear of personal attachment and to tamp down the rage that nearly destroyed his family. But when he opens himself to the beauty next door, he will protect her with a vengeance.
When Fate tosses two damaged souls together, they’ll cling to the hope that their love can keep them together, even when the world and their pasts are trying to tear them apart.
A peek at chapter one:
Taking this one step through the doorway of my apartment wouldn’t kill me. Logically I knew that, but somehow my body considered the mere thought of walking out of my apartment a step that could possibly end the world.
At least my world.
I drew in a deep breath, but it didn’t change the drum solo pounding away at my ribcage.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered.
“You can, Angelina. We’ve been to this point more times than we can count. It’s time,” Jenna’s soft voice whispered in my ear.
She was an amazing therapist. Heck, it was two in the morning and she was on the phone with me, helping me take this first step.
I glanced down at my phone and her wide, green eyes filled the small screen. She nodded, encouraging me. Like she had for the past two years.
Two freaking years it’s taken me to get to the doorway. Well, not exactly to the doorway, but to the doorway with the intention of making it all the way to the end of the hallway and into the elevator.
A wave of anxiety stormed through my stomach, clenching the muscles as the bile rose. Heat steamed my cheeks, but a chill puckered the skin along my arms beneath my long sleeved thermal.
I can do this. I will not let them control me.
“Breath, Angelina,” Jenna reminded me.
How did I do that again? Oh, yeah. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
“Name your songs if you need to,” Jenna said.
I nodded and eased my hand down, still holding the electronic lifeline, but I didn’t want to see Jenna’s face. I needed to be strong. I could do this.
Sober. Family Portrait. Try. As I rolled through the list of songs from my favorite, kick-ass, tougher than nails artist, P!nk, I felt my energy rising. My confidence. It was a silly safe guard, but it worked.
I lifted my foot toward the threshold of the doorway: The thin silver frame on the floor separating my plush burgundy carpet from the thin weatherproof layer in the hallway outside. I swallowed hard, squashing the tears threatening to choke me.
Let’s Get This Party Started, Who Knew.
I squeezed my phone as my foot planted on the thin carpet outside my door. Yes.
God, I was sick. For this one little step to give me so much pleasure was just…insane. But I had to do this. Had to. I was graduating this year, and I was bound and determined to make it to graduation.
Or at least a graduation party.
Something to celebrate the monumental occurrence of me getting my degree. Because I’d been in this apartment four years and twelve days, and I’d never left.
As in ever.
And I was more than ready to leave.