Demon
hunter Ty Burdin hung up his guns, knife, trench coat and fedora a year ago.
Bags packed, hands washed of all demon politics, he’s done. Forever.
In fact, to get far far away, he dragged Nora, his rockabilly secretary, from Miami to the Tennessee mountains where he’s lived a life of peace—if peace can be defined as drowning in scotch and taking private eye jobs to keep the lights on. Jobs for real people. Not demons.
No demons.
He’s retired from that. Remember?
Demon hunters aren’t a dime a dozen, though, and when Ty’s brother asks him for a favor—just one—what’s a brother to do? Agreeing to take down one hillbilly demon shouldn’t take that long. In. Decapitate. Out. Favor complete. Back to the office where Nora and his bottle of whiskey are waiting.
Unfortunately for Ty, staying retired doesn’t seem to be in the cards, and an avalanche of bad luck draws him right back to an agency he despises and the career that nearly cost him his sanity.
This time, Ty has no way out and will have to face his own demons just to survive.
Today I'm SO excited to have Alex do a guest post for me. I'm positive you will enjoy what he has to say! So take a look! Welcome Alex!
Friends, ghouls, citizens of this fine interwebs,
Brooke has asked me to drop by her fine little space here and talk some. Me talk good. You read gooder. If I do my thing and you do yours, we should get through this guest post within a few seconds; minutes at the most. It depends on if you want to re-read any of the juicy bits, like the part where I spill the beans over...you know, on second thought, you probably don’t want any spilt beans. I’ll keep those to myself, thank you.
So, now we’ve got the standard greeting out of the way we can get down to the brass tax. Or is it brass tacks? I never know. Please feel free to make fun of me in the comment section. Also, if anyone can explain brass tax/tacks to me, I’d appreciate it. Where was I? Oh yes, guest post. Brooke wants me to describe my perfect paranormal character.
He’s suave, cool, funny. I’d say shaggy, curly hair and an ‘is that stubble or a light-beard’ facial hair style. Some days he wears glasses, others not. Wait? No, that’s me. Sorry, sorry, I get distracted and no, I’m not that vain. Honestly, I think I’m a little goofy looking.
My perfect paranormal character has scars. Doesn’t matter what scars specifically, but you don’t live in a world surrounded by terrible creatures without scars, inside and out. I also prefer characters that aren’t model looking. Give me grit. Give me a crooked smile over a perfect figure (that goes for ladies, gentlemen, and werewolves alike).
Honestly, I’m less on physical description for characters. I personally like to give the reader broad strokes and let them fill in the details. So, if you’re reading my writing, fill in your details. Just cause I see my character, Ty Burdin, as an emaciated guy with jaundice tinted skin and blood-shot eyes doesn’t mean you can’t see him as Fabio. Wow, did I really just use Fabio as an example of an attractive person? Sorry guys, apparently my brain is stuck in 1996. Um, doesn’t mean you can’t see him as Benedict Cumberbatch. How’s that? Better?
Besides, the most fun paranormal things to describe aren’t the people. We see those every day. Frankly, I’m a little tired of people. Give me your demons, your ghosts, your poor huddled Swamp Things*. My perfect paranormal characters have wings made out of human tongues; they have four faces or missing appendages. That’s what paranormal writing and reading is all about for me. I don’t want to see a pack of humans strolling through the streets of San Francisco. I want to see a pride of Wendigo’s strutting down Time Square.
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