My youngest daughter has posed the question to me more than once of whether I’d prefer to be a werewolf or a vampire. I always answer werewolf without a second thought. My reason is no matter who wrote them, every werewolf I’ve ever read about is still at least half human. That got me to thinking about the differences in paranormal creatures. And what about that term, paranormal? Is there really anything normal about them?
In the world of the inhuman, there are degrees of normality. Vampires are expected to drink blood. Werewolves are expected to turn at the full moon. Zombies are dead, there’s no two ways about it. But of course one of the best things about being the author is we get to play around with those worlds. I can make my werewolves a little more or less normal even among their own kind. If I don’t want the moon to mean a single thing to them, it won’t. If I want their wolf half to be a separate consciousness, it will be. I love reading all the nuances various authors spin on the many paranormal creatures.
When I created my world for They Call Me Death I had a couple of facts firmly in mind. My shape-shifters would be able to change at will and they would be able to pass as their animal counterpart if needed. In other words, the werewolves can be small as wolves or as large as their normal body mass would allow. That might not be a big difference in the wolves, but the birds are something else. I also decided to use every animal in existence rather than just wolves. Does my book have weresnails…uh, no. But they aren’t ruled out.
So what do you think is normal for a paranormal creature? Is there one set characteristic you like to read in your shifters, or other paranormals? Leave a comment with your answer and your email address and you might win an ebook copy of THEY CALL ME DEATH.
Humans are no longer at the top of the food chain…
My name is Alexia Williams. In my world, North America is divided between north and south—but not the way it’s taught in the history books.
After losing my family to the shifters, I joined the Combined Human States Army. Now I find myself on the front lines, defending the wall between my species and theirs. My mission is simple: keep the animals on their side by whatever means necessary—and I’m good at it. I don’t talk to them. I don’t sympathize with them. I sure as hell don’t admire them…until one saves my life.
Andor isn’t like any shifter I’ve ever met. He’s a three-hundred-year-old golden eagle asking for help finding missing shifters who may be in my lands. I just have to decide between helping the animals or ignoring signs that my fellow humans aren’t what I thought they were. But how can I help a species I hate and fear? Even if Andor makes me feel alive again?
In the land of the shifters…they call me Death.
*Make reading a guilty pleasure…*