Whether spooky, creepy, fangy, funny, or just plain whacked-out, I love the supernatural. And I’m a “paranormal” writer, through and through. No matter how hard I try to write a straight novel or romance, it turns south toward that big “P.” It’s just something in my blood, I guess. Thing is, though, I have both dark and light sides to my supernatural-loving personality.
So after writing a dark historical vampire tale for Kensington Brava’s Immortal Bad Boys anthology, something odd happened one day as I sat in my little home office contemplating the plot line next dark tale. I stared at the shelf displaying my original Barbie doll, and a big question appeared to plague me, as those pesky questions sometimes do. The question was this:
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