The book I’m writing right now tells the story of a young woman who is the daughter of a brilliant but detached physician and his artsy wife. It’s a simple bildungsroman about growing up both wealthy and poor, both loved and estranged. My three main characters represent reason, faith and consequence. But you wouldn’t know that right off if you read it–because it’s just a little love story. About the parents falling in love with each other and with the idea of their child and grandchildren. About a family.
There is not one elf, troll, faerie, witch, wizard, vampire or werewolf among them. The closest things they have to supernatural powers are the ability to read very young and the ability to be a brilliant doctor.
I often wonder if anyone will get the chance to read it. Because even if I finish it, it seems that the only books getting the green light right now have to be Urban Fantasy. Now, I didn’t know until recently that “Urban Fantasy” was the name given to all those books where otherwise normal lives are disrupted by the existence of sexy vampires and hunky dogboys. I was just calling them “boring”.