The Consequences of Writing Paranormal

I know there are a lot of cynics out there, so if you’re one of them, feel free to turn back right now…
You’ve been warned.

I started off writing contemporary romance, then moved to romantic suspense, and now I’m writing paranormal romance and that seems to fit. Well, aside from coming up with witty banter and letting my characters fall in love over the course of several hundred pages, this job also entails that I spend an obscene amount of time researching all things paranormal. That includes ghosts, demons, angels, mediums, psychics, etc. The list goes on and on. I spent countless hours pouring over internet research, watching movies and documentaries, and then returning to my desk to create my own little world of the Paranormal Peacekeepers.
That all sounds swell, right? Completely normal for an author.
Well, it’s not always swell. And I’ll tell you why.

Someone once told me that people can bring paranormal experiences upon themselves by concentrating their time and energy on just the simple idea of ghosts or anything else paranormal.
I just kind of shrugged it off.
That is, until things started happening.
At first, it was just a toy going off when my children weren’t home, a voice here, a weird noise there.
And then… the clock.
We have a huge clock hanging over our couch. The thing is so big that when the battery died, I didn’t bother changing it because it would be a huge ordeal to get the damn thing off the wall. So, it sat there, unmoving.
Until one day I woke up… and it was working again. It had been reset to the right time. I reminded myself to thank my husband for changing the batteries in it before he went to work and I went on with my day, not thinking a thing of it.
Then, when my husband got home, he started chatting about his day and then checked the time.
“Hey, thanks for changing the batteries,” he said, nodding at the clock.
I just stared at him.
“I didn’t change the batteries. I thought you did.”
“No,” he replied. “I didn’t.”
We just looked at each other and shivered.
A week or so later, the clock stopped again.
“Well, looks like we’ll have to change the batteries,” he said one night.
“Sure thing,” I said. “I’ll do that tomorrow.”
We went to sleep and all was well.
Until the next morning. I got up, got my kid ready for school, and shot out the door.
When I came home, I realized I needed to run to the post office. Without thinking, I looked at the clock, realized I had half an hour before I could go to the post office, and went about feeding my youngest. While I was mixing pancake batter, it hit me.
The clock was right. Again.
I tried to shrug it off, but it was hard, considering I couldn’t explain it.
Then, the same exact cycle happened again.
And again.
It stops. It starts. All by itself. Always going back to the right time. Always stopping on a different, obscure hour every time.

Yeah… I’m a wee bit freaked out by this. Now, it’s not something big enough to scare me, but it’s unnerving to say the least.
BUT, I write paranormal. I spend crazy long hours thinking about ghosts, the dead, etc. And I think it’s finally starting to leak into my personal life. My real life.
The words I’m writing are no longer contained to the pages of my books, but spilling over into reality.

Is that scary? A bit.
Am I going to quit? Absolutely not.
Will I work this into a story down the line?
Hell. Yes.

That’s all for today.
Stay classy.


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