I’m going to say something controversial: summer is not my season.

I know. Shocking. The woman who writes about haunted manor houses and fog-drenched coastlines and cats who judge you in the dark does not, in fact, thrive in blazing sunshine and twenty-three hours of daylight. Autumn is my season. Fall understands me. Fall has layers, and mist, and the good sense to get dark by five o’clock like a civilized time of year.

Summer, on the other hand, is aggressively cheerful. Summer wants me outside. Summer wants me in sandals. Summer wants me to be bright and breezy and I am neither of those things. I am dark and slightly damp and I would like the sun to set at a reasonable hour so I can light my candles without feeling like I’m competing with a nuclear reactor.

But here we are. The longest days. The shortest nights. The relentless, unforgiving sunshine that bleaches everything and hides nothing and makes it very hard to maintain an air of gothic mystery when you’re sweating through your only black dress.

So. For my fellow creatures of the dark, the mist-lovers, the candle-lighters, the ones who see a sunny forecast and feel personally attacked — here’s how we survive.

Iced coffee in a skull mug ☕💀

Hot coffee is a year-round commitment, obviously, but summer demands adaptation. Iced coffee, black as your soul, served in the most absurdly gothic vessel you own. Skull mug. Cauldron mug. That one charity shop find with the ravens on it that you’d defend with your life. The drink says “I’m being seasonal.” The mug says “but I haven’t changed.” This is the balance we’re aiming for.

Sunscreen is not a betrayal 🧴

I know. I KNOW. Pale is an aesthetic. But blistered and peeling is not gothic, it’s just sore. Wear the sunscreen. You can’t haunt anything if you’re stuck indoors with aloe vera and regret. Think of it as protective wards for your skin. Hetty would approve. Hetty would insist, actually, and she’d do it in a voice that makes refusal feel like a personal failure.

Find your graveyard bench 🪦

Every town has one perfect shady spot, and in my experience, it’s always in or near a graveyard. Graveyards have mature trees, excellent stonework, and a general atmosphere that discourages the loud, the bright, and the people who want to play a portable speaker at full volume. Pack a book, find your bench, and enjoy the only outdoor space where sitting alone in black and staring into the middle distance is not only acceptable but expected.

If your local graveyard doesn’t have a bench, take a blanket. The dead don’t mind. They’re the best neighbours — quiet, undemanding, and they never ask why you’re wearing a cardigan in July.

Twilight swimming 🌊

Summer has one redeeming quality, and it’s this: the sea at dusk. That hour when the beach empties and the light goes strange and the water turns from cheerful blue to something deeper, greener, full of secrets and currents and the suggestion that you are not the most interesting thing in it.

Swim at twilight and you get the ocean at its most gothic. The water’s warm enough not to kill you but cool enough to feel like a ritual. The sky is doing something dramatic in purples and golds. And there’s always that moment, floating on your back with your ears underwater, when the world goes silent and you can almost believe in sea witches.

Almost. 😉

Midnight gardening 🌿🌙

Plants don’t care what time you water them, and the garden at midnight is an entirely different country from the garden at noon. Everything smells stronger in the dark — the lavender, the rosemary, the night-blooming jasmine that only performs for an audience of moths and insomniacs. The soil is cool. The air is still. And if certain plants in your garden seem to glow faintly or grow in directions that defy basic botany, well, that’s between you and the moon.

I do my best planting after dark. I also do my best thinking, my best worrying, and my best pretending-I’m-a-character-in-my-own-novel, but that’s a separate issue.

The 10 p.m. candle 🕯️

This is the hill I will die on: you can light candles in summer. The sun is not the boss of your atmosphere. Yes, it’s still bright outside at ten o’clock. Yes, the candle is technically redundant as a light source. That is not the point. The point is that the flame exists, and you lit it, and your living room now smells of cedar and woodsmoke and intention, and for five minutes you can pretend it’s October.

I light one every evening. It’s a small act of gothic defiance against a season that wants everything illuminated and nothing left in shadow. Some of us need our shadows. Some of us do our best work in them.

The summer TBR pile 📚

Everyone else is reading beach reads. Bright covers, light prose, the literary equivalent of a piña colada. Good for them. Wonderful. I support this fully.

Meanwhile, my summer stack has: a ghost story set in a crumbling Italian villa, a murder mystery on a remote Scottish island, a folklore collection about things that live in lakes, and something a friend described as “cozy but cursed” which I’m fairly sure she said just because she knows it would get me.

Read what you want. Read it in the sunshine if you must. But if anyone judges you for bringing a book about Victorian poisoners to the beach, you have my permission to judge them right back. At least your book has substance. And arsenic.

Survive until September 🍂

Look. We’ll get through it. We always do. Summer is temporary. Fall is coming — it’s always coming, patient and inevitable and smelling of woodsmoke and damp leaves and the first real excuse to wear three layers and a scarf without anyone asking if you’re “too warm.”

Hold on. Light your candles. Sit in your graveyard. Swim at dusk and garden at midnight and drink iced coffee from your skull mug and remember that being a creature of the dark doesn’t mean you can’t survive the light.

It just means you know which one you prefer.

Daisy🖤

Now tell me — how are YOU surviving gothic summer? Best shady bench? Best skull mug? Best “why are you reading THAT at the beach” moment? I want to hear it all in the comments. 👇

And if you need the perfect gothic summer read, might I humbly suggest a haunted B&B on a fog-drenched coastline where the cat has opinions and nobody is who they seem? Grave Beginnings and Bloom and Gloom are waiting for you. Fog included, sunshine absolutely not.

I had a post planned for this month. It was going to be about writing rituals, or gothic summer reading, or something appropriately on-brand and pulled-together. Instead, I’m lying on linoleum in my knickers at an hour no civilised person should be conscious, radiating heat like a haunted furnace, and questioning every life choice that led me to this moment.

It’s summer. I’m in perimenopause. These two things should not coexist, and yet here we are — sweating through sheets, forgetting words mid-sentence, experiencing emotions that arrive like weather systems with no forecast, and occasionally wanting to set things on fire for reasons I cannot articulate but feel very strongly about.

I was going to write something wry and self-deprecating about all this, but honestly? I don’t have the energy. I’m tired in a way that sleep doesn’t fix. I’m hot in a way that ice doesn’t touch. And I’m fairly certain my body has been taken over by an entity with its own agenda and no interest in consulting me about the schedule.

So I’m handing this one over.

There’s a character in my books — Hetty Lovejoy, 73, witch, retired baker, keeper of secrets, owner of a sigil-carved cane and a raven called Marigold who knows everyone’s business. Hetty has been through The Change. She has zero patience for anyone who treats it as decline, embarrassment, or something to be whispered about behind closed doors.

She smells of lavender and cloves and old spellbooks, and she would like a word.

I’m giving her the newsletter. Goddess help us all.

— Daisy 🖤

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Right then. Sit down. Have a scone. No, not that one — the one with the rosemary and the sea salt. It’s got a calming charm baked in, and from the look of you, you need it.

I’m Hetty. Daisy’s told you about me, though I suspect she’s left out the important bits. Writers always do — all atmosphere and not enough practical advice. Lovely girl, but she’d describe the fire in exquisite detail while forgetting to mention the exit.

So let’s talk about the thing she’s too busy lying on her kitchen floor to talk about properly.

The Change.

Not the euphemism. Not the hushed, apologetic, “oh, you know, women’s troubles” nonsense that makes me want to take my cane to something load-bearing. The actual thing. The transformation that every woman who lives long enough will walk through, and that nobody — not your mother, not your doctor, not the entire collected wisdom of the internet — adequately prepares you for.

Here’s what they don’t tell you, and here’s what I will, because I’m seventy-three and I’ve buried my tolerance for polite fiction alongside my last hot flash.

On the Heat 🔥

They call them hot flashes, which is like calling a thunderstorm “a spot of damp.” A hot flash is your body deciding, without consultation or warning, that your internal temperature needs to be roughly that of a bread oven set to prove. You will sweat through clothing you only just put on. You will radiate warmth that other people can feel from across the room. You will stand in front of open freezers in supermarkets and not care who’s watching, because dignity is a luxury and you are currently on fire.

In summer, this is particularly delightful. The world is already hot. Your body is already hot. Together, you and the season create a combined thermal event that could reasonably be classified as a hazard.

Here’s what I want you to know: the heat is not malfunction. I know it feels like malfunction. I know it feels like your thermostat has been sabotaged by someone with a grudge. But think of it as recalibration. Your body has spent decades regulating itself around a cycle it no longer needs, and now it’s burning off the old settings to make room for the new ones. It’s not comfortable. Recalibration never is. But it’s not destruction. It’s a clearing.

In the meantime: cold flannels on the back of the neck. Peppermint tea, iced if you can stand it. Cotton everything. And if anyone suggests you’re “overreacting,” you have my full permission to describe your symptoms in vivid, unflinching biological detail until they leave the room. Works every time.

On the Rage 😤

Ah, the rage. My favorite part, and I mean that sincerely.

You will be told — by magazines, by well-meaning friends, by the kind of social media account that uses the word “wellness” without irony — that the mood swings of perimenopause are a symptom to be managed. That the anger isn’t real. That it’s hormonal, and therefore irrational, and therefore something to apologize for.

I would like to be very clear about this: the rage is real, and the rage is right.

What’s happening is not that your emotions have broken. What’s happening is that the patience you’ve been running on — the decades of it, the vast, deep, socially conditioned reserves of “never mind,” “it’s fine,” “I’ll handle it,” “don’t worry about me” — has run out. The well is dry. The account is empty. And all the things you swallowed to keep the peace are coming back up, and they are furious, and they have been waiting a very long time.

You’re not irrational. You’re overdue.

The anger is information. Listen to it. What is it telling you? What have you been tolerating that you shouldn’t have? What have you been carrying that isn’t yours? What boundary have you let people walk across because it was easier than defending it?

Find out. Then set the boundary. With your words if possible, with your cane if necessary.

I’m joking about the cane.

Mostly.

On the Forgetting 🧠

You will walk into rooms and forget why. You will open your mouth to say a word you’ve used ten thousand times and find it’s gone, replaced by a blank space and a vague sense of betrayal. You will put the kettle on twice. You will forget names, dates, the thing you came downstairs for, and — on one memorable occasion that I will neither confirm nor deny — your own age.

This is terrifying. I know. For women who’ve built their identities around being sharp, competent, and reliable, the fog feels like losing yourself. Like the person you were is being erased, word by word, task by task, until there’s nothing left but someone who can’t remember where she put the car keys.

It passes. I promise you, it passes. And in the meantime, I want you to consider this: you are not losing your mind. Your mind is reorganizing. It’s been running the same systems for forty-odd years — the tracking, the remembering, the managing of everyone else’s schedules and feelings and needs alongside your own — and it has decided, unilaterally, to take some of those processes offline for maintenance.

This is inconvenient. This is also, if you let it be, permission. You have been the woman who remembers everything for everyone for your entire adult life. What if you stopped? What if the forgetting is your brain finally, firmly, setting down the clipboard it never asked to carry?

Write things down if you need to. Use lists. Be kind to yourself on the foggy days. And the next time someone says “but you always remember,” try saying: “Yes. And now I don’t. Isn’t that interesting?” and watch their face do something marvelous.

On the Sleeplessness 🌙

Three in the morning. You know the hour. I know you know it, because every woman over forty has a personal relationship with 3 a.m. that ranges from grudging acquaintance to bitter enmity.

You will lie awake. Your body will be tired and your mind will be electric, running through every conversation you’ve ever had, every mistake you’ve ever made, every task left undone, every regret stored in a drawer you thought you’d locked. The night will be long and the ceiling will be very, very boring and the temptation to pick up your phone and scroll yourself into a stupor will be considerable.

Don’t. Put the phone down. Here’s what you do instead.

Get up. I know, I know. But lying in bed hating the dark is not rest, and pretending to sleep is exhausting in its own right. Get up. Make tea — something without caffeine, chamomile if you can stand it, warm milk with nutmeg if you can’t. Sit somewhere comfortable. And let the thoughts come.

Three in the morning is when the world is honest. All the noise stops — the performing, the managing, the being what everyone needs you to be — and what’s left is you. Just you. Sitting in the quiet with your actual thoughts, which might be frightening and might be sad and might, occasionally, be the clearest thinking you’ve done all day.

Some of my best decisions were made at 3 a.m. with cold feet and a cup of something warm. The thoughts that come in the dark are the ones your daytime self is too busy to hear. Listen to them. Write them down. Not all of them will be useful — some of them will be bonkers, frankly — but some of them will be the truest things you’ve thought in years.

The sleeplessness won’t last forever. But while it’s here, you might as well use it.

On the Invisibility 👻

This one’s the quiet killer, and nobody warns you about it.

Somewhere around forty-five — though it starts earlier, creeping in like damp — you begin to disappear. Not dramatically, not all at once. You just… stop being seen. Shop assistants look through you. Younger colleagues talk over you in meetings. Men who once noticed you walk past as though you’re furniture. The world’s gaze, which spent your twenties and thirties fixed on you whether you wanted it or not, slides away to the next young face, and you are left standing in the space where attention used to be, wondering if you’ve actually become a ghost or if it just feels that way.

I’m going to tell you something that took me a long time to learn, and I want you to hear it properly, so put down the scone and pay attention.

The invisibility is a gift.

I know. I KNOW. It doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels like erasure. It feels like the world has decided you no longer matter, and the grief of that is real and I won’t pretend it isn’t. Mourn it if you need to. Be angry about it — you have my permission and my cane.

But then. Once you’ve mourned. Consider what you can do now that nobody is watching.

You can say the thing no one else will say, because nobody’s paying enough attention to punish you for it. You can walk into any room and observe everything, because all eyes slide right past you to the younger, louder, shinier people, and meanwhile you are taking notes. You can be dangerous in a way you never could when people were watching — not dangerous like a threat, but dangerous like a woman who no longer needs approval and has therefore become unstoppable.

The women who changed the world were not, by and large, the ones everyone was looking at. They were the ones nobody noticed until it was too late.

You’re not invisible. You’re undercover. Act accordingly.

On the Body 🪞

It changes. You knew it would change — you’re not a fool — but knowing and experiencing are different animals entirely, and the distance between “my body will change” and “who is this stranger in the mirror” is vast and bewildering and nobody gave you a map.

Things move. Things soften. Things that used to be where you left them relocate without notice. Your skin does new things. Your joints make more noises and get upset in certain weather. The body that carried you through decades of living has decided to redecorate, and it did not consult you about the floor plan.

Here is what I know, at seventy-three, from the other side of it: your body is not betraying you. Your body is the only thing that has been with you for every single moment of your life — every joy, every grief, every 3 a.m., every hot flash, every rage, every act of love and endurance and stubbornness. It has carried you here. It is doing its best. And it does not owe you the shape it had at twenty-five, any more than you owe the world the woman you were at twenty-five.

You are not that woman. You are the woman she became. And that woman — the one with the crow’s feet and the aching knees and the body that runs hot at inconvenient moments — has survived everything that life has thrown at her, and she is still here, and she is magnificent.

Eat the scone. Wear the dress. Swim in the sea if you want to. Your body is not the problem, and you have my full permission to stop apologizing immediately.

On What Comes After ✨

I won’t lie to you. I never have, and the people who find that uncomfortable can take it up with Marigold, who will judge them accordingly.

The Change is hard. It is messy and humbling and sometimes frightening and you will have days when you feel like you are falling apart at a molecular level while the world expects you to carry on as normal. You will have days when the gap between who you were and who you’re becoming feels unsurvivable.

But you survive it. You do. And on the other side — and there is an other side, I promise, I’m standing on it — there is something that nobody talks about because it doesn’t sell skincare or supplements or self-help books: freedom.

Not the glossy, Instagram kind of freedom. The kind that comes from having been through the fire and discovered that you are, in fact, fireproof. The kind that comes from a body that has finished its long negotiation with biology and is now, finally, entirely yours. The kind that comes from a mind that has burned off the fog and emerged sharper, wilder, and more certain of itself than it has ever been.

You will care less about what people think. This is not a loss. You will say no more easily, and yes more deliberately. You will have less patience for nonsense and more patience for the things that actually matter. You will look at the decades ahead and see them clearly — not infinite, but yours, and that distinction will make you fiercer and more tender and more alive than you have ever been.

The Change is not an ending. It’s a rising. You’ve been proving dough for forty years, and now it’s time to put it in the oven and see what you become.

You’re going to be magnificent, dear. You already are. You just can’t feel it yet because you’re too hot and too tired and you’ve forgotten where you put your reading glasses.

They’re on your head.

Now finish your tea and stop worrying. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

— Hetty 🌿

…I’m back. I found her notes on my desk this morning, next to a plate of rosemary scones that definitely weren’t there when I went to bed, and a raven feather that might be from Marigold or might just be from an ordinary raven, but honestly, in this line of work, who can tell.

I cried a bit, reading it. Then I ate two scones. Then I opened my laptop and started writing, because Hetty’s right — she’s always right, the magnificent old bat — and sometimes the best thing you can do at 3 a.m. is use it.

If you want to meet Hetty properly — the sigil-carved cane, the baking metaphors, the way she can make you feel both scolded and adored in the same sentence — she’s waiting for you in Grave Beginnings, the first book in the Eldergloom Mysteries. She’ll have opinions about you. She’ll be right about all of them.

🌙 Meet Hetty in Grave Beginnings

And if you’re reading this at 3 a.m., on your kitchen floor, too hot and too tired and too much of everything — I see you. Hetty sees you. You’re not falling apart.

You’re rising. 🖤

With love and cold flannels,
Daisy

P.S. Bloom and Gloom, Book 2 of the Eldergloom Mysteries, is out now. Hetty’s in that one too. She brought scones. 🐾

In my experience — which is extensive, fictional, and conducted almost entirely from a draughty manor house on a coastline that can’t decide if it wants to be beautiful or terrifying — the familiar-human bond is less “love at first sight” and more “this creature has assessed your entire personality in four seconds and decided you’re its problem now.” There is no opt-out. There is no appeals process. There is a cat on your velvet chaise, and it has been there for four hundred years, and it is judging you.

(If you haven’t read Tiberius’s guide to judging humans, go do that first. He’ll wait. He has nothing but time and judgement.)

But familiars aren’t just cats. Oh no. The magical world is far more chaotic than that. And the type of familiar that claims you? It says everything about who you are — or at least, who you are about to become, whether you like it or not.

So grab your tea (or your wine, or your suspiciously glowing herbal tonic — I don’t ask questions 🍷), and let’s find out what your familiar would be…

🐈‍⬛ The Cat

You are: stubborn, private, more competent than you let on, and absolutely terrible at asking for help.

Of course we’re starting with the cat. The cat is the classic familiar for a reason, and that reason is that cats are perfect and they know it and they need you to know that they know it. A cat familiar doesn’t arrive in your life because you need a cuddly companion. A cat familiar arrives because something ancient and important needs guarding, and you happen to live in the building where it’s kept, and the cat has decided — with the resigned air of a diplomat assigned to a difficult post — that you are marginally capable of not burning the place down. Marginally.

Cat people are independent. They had a whole life before the cat showed up — a career, a plan, possibly a functioning relationship with normality — and now they have a cat who stares at walls, refuses to answer to the name they were given, and occasionally does something so unsettlingly intelligent that the human lies awake at 3 a.m. wondering exactly what kind of pet they have.

The answer, of course, is that they don’t have a pet. They have a supervisor.

Cat familiars are for the humans who need to learn that control is an illusion, that the universe does not care about your five-year plan, and that sometimes the most powerful thing in the room is the one that’s pretending to be asleep.

If your familiar would be Tiberius, you’re probably someone who keeps your cards close to your chest, overthinks everything, and secretly likes being bossed around by something that weighs less than a handbag. Welcome. We have velvet furniture and trust issues.

🐦‍⬛ The Raven

You are: nosy, magnificent, and in possession of information you should not have.

Raven people! You wonderful, terrible gossips. You know exactly what’s going on at all times, you know who’s fighting with whom, you know what was said at the meeting you weren’t invited to, and you have opinions about all of it. Loud ones. Often delivered from a high vantage point while everyone below pretends they can’t hear you.

A raven familiar isn’t subtle. A raven familiar arrives on your windowsill like a feathered telegram that reads “YOU ARE NOW INVOLVED IN EVERYONE’S BUSINESS, CONGRATULATIONS” and then proceeds to collect shiny objects, eavesdrop on private conversations, and caw at you until you pay attention to the thing you were trying very hard to ignore.

Ravens are the familiars of witches who can’t leave well enough alone. The ones who organize, who meddle (lovingly! always lovingly!), who keep the community running through a combination of sharp intelligence and the absolute brazen nerve to say what everyone else is thinking. They’re the person in every friend group who somehow knows you’re pregnant before you do, and they’ve already bought the card.

If your familiar would be Marigold, you’re the one people call when they need the truth, the whole truth, and someone else’s business thrown in for free. Your caw might sound like rusty hinges, but everyone’s listening. 😉

🦔 The Hedgehog

You are: anxious, sweet, tougher than you look, and you absolutely did NOT eat that entire cake at midnight. You were never even in the kitchen. You don’t know what anyone is talking about.

Oh, the hedgehog people. My heart goes out to you, genuinely, because hedgehog familiars are the companions of humans who feel everything at full volume while desperately pretending to feel nothing at all. You’re the soft center wrapped in spikes, the one who flinches at loud noises but shows up every single time someone needs you, the person who says “I’m fine” in a voice that suggests they are the exact opposite of fine but would rather curl into a small ball than discuss it further.

Hedgehog familiars are nervous. They’re easily startled. They sometimes fib when they’re stressed (they were NOT out past midnight; they have NO IDEA how those crumbs got there; they have NEVER EVEN HEARD of the bakery, thank you very much). But underneath all that prickly anxiety? Absolute steel. The hedgehog survives by being underestimated, and so does its human.

If your familiar would be Crumbs, you’re braver than you think, softer than you admit, and you have extremely strong feelings about pastries. These are all excellent qualities.

🐢 The Tortoise

You are: patient, precise, and you have been right about everything for longer than anyone else has been alive.

The tortoise familiar is not flashy. The tortoise familiar does not do dramatic entrances, impassioned speeches, or unnecessary movement of any kind. The tortoise familiar has been sitting in the same corner of the same library for longer than most family trees go back, and it has opinions about your research methodology. They are not favorable.

Tortoise people are scholars. Not the exciting, dashing, “Indiana Jones raiding tombs” kind of scholar — the real kind. The kind who reads footnotes for pleasure, who remembers a citation they saw in 1847, and who will wait seventeen years for an argument to prove them right because they know — with the bone-deep certainty of a creature whose entire evolutionary strategy is “outlast everything” — that it will. Eventually. They have time.

The tortoise familiar arrives for the human who values precision over speed, depth over breadth, and being right over being popular. This human has never skimmed a document in their life. They have never used the phrase “good enough.” They have looked at the cat familiar across the room and found his scholarship wanting, and the cat has never forgiven them for it.

If your familiar would be Archimedes, you’re the person who brings receipts. Literally. To every argument. Dating back decades. Filed alphabetically. You are terrifying and correct and you have never once rushed a decision in your life, including the decision to read this article, which you are doing slowly and with full attention, as is proper.

🐕 The Dog

You are: loyal to a fault, suspicious of nonsense, and you will sigh heavily about it but you will show up.

Some purists will argue that dogs aren’t familiars. That they’re too straightforward, too earnest, too firmly planted in the mundane world to serve as magical companions. To those purists, I say: you have clearly never met a Chow Chow.

The grumpy dog familiar is not the golden retriever of the magical world. The grumpy dog familiar is the one who sees through every disguise, knows exactly who’s lying, and has decided — through a process of canine deduction that involves extensive sniffing and one philosophical sigh — that you are acceptable company. Not good company. Not ideal company. Acceptable. And that they will tolerate your presence on the hearthrug provided you do not make sudden movements, discuss your feelings too loudly, or attempt to make them wear a costume.

Dog-familiar people are the steady ones. The ones who don’t believe in magic but keep a notebook of things that don’t add up. The ones who show up at your door with whiskey when you’re having a bad night and don’t ask questions you’re not ready to answer. They’re skeptics with enormous hearts, and the dog knows it before anyone else does.

If your familiar would be Duke, you’re more perceptive than you let on, you express love through acts of service rather than words, and you give a truly excellent heavy sigh. The hearthrug is yours. 🐾

🦜 The Canary

You are: cheerful, deceptively dangerous, and you have absolutely no idea why everyone keeps looking nervous when you walk into the room.

Here’s a secret about the canary familiar: everyone underestimates it. A canary! How sweet. How delicate. How harmless. What a lovely little voice. What pretty yellow feathers. What a charming addition to any home, any gathering, any community where certain residents have very specific dietary anxieties they would prefer not to discuss in polite company.

The canary familiar is for the human who radiates warmth so genuine that people forget to be guarded around them. The one who shows up with fresh eggs and firm opinions and the sort of relentless maternal energy that could power a small city. They bustle. They fuss. They arrange things — cushions, meals, other people’s lives — with a cheerful efficiency that looks like kindness and is kindness, but is also something sharper underneath. Because the canary person sees everything. They clock the dietary restriction you’ve been hiding for two centuries. They notice the chair angled away from the window, the cup of tea that’s never actually drunk, the guest whose credentials don’t quite add up. They notice, and they file it away, and they keep right on smiling.

In the old days, miners brought canaries underground to detect danger. The bird sings when the air is safe. When it stops singing, you run. The canary familiar works the same way — it belongs to the human who can walk into any room and know, instinctively, whether the air is good. Whether the people in it can be trusted. Whether the thing everyone is pretending not to notice is actually fine or actually a catastrophe wearing a pleasant face.

If your familiar would be Treble, you’re the person everyone calls “the nice one.” You are. You’re also the one who noticed the problem three days before anyone else did, and you’ve already made a phone call about it, and the solution arrives by courier at seven tomorrow morning through the kitchen entrance so as not to disturb anyone.

Never underestimate the canary. Or the person who carries one.

So… which one are you? 🔮

If you’re desperate to find out (and I know you are, because you’re still reading, and that’s exactly what a raven OR a moth would do), I have just the thing.

🌙 Take the Eldergloom Familiar Quiz and meet your match

Six familiars. Six short stories. One slightly eerie coastal town where nothing is quite what it seems and the animals know more than the humans. (The animals always know more than the humans. This is not a fictional observation.)

Already part of the Cozy Coven? You can grab the full Familiar Collection in one neat bundle:

🔮 Get all six familiar stories here

Tell me who you got in the comments — and whether you agree with your match. (Archimedes would like you to know that disagreeing with the quiz results is statistically inadvisable. He has data.)

With fur and folklore,

🖤 Daisy

P.S. Bloom and Gloom, Book 2 of the Eldergloom Mysteries, is out now! 🐾

Get Bloom and Gloom

— Daisy

I have been observing humans for four hundred and seventy-three years. This is not a boast. It is a complaint.

In that time, I have served as guardian to a manor that has housed scholars, charlatans, at least two individuals who should never have been trusted with a teapot, and one woman who insists on calling me Shadow despite my having made my preferences on the matter excruciatingly clear. My name is Tiberius. I shall not repeat myself. (I have, in fact, repeated myself forty-seven times. She persists. This is what I am working with.)

Humans believe they are complex. They believe their inner lives are rich labyrinths of nuance and contradiction, impenetrable to outside observation. They are mistaken. A human’s character can be determined within six seconds of entering a room, provided the observer has functioning eyes, adequate whiskers, and the good sense not to be distracted by whatever nonsense the human is saying with their mouth.

The mouth is the least reliable organ. I cannot stress this enough.

What follows is a guide — compiled over centuries of exhaustive, thankless service — to the accurate assessment of human character. I offer it freely, in the faint and diminishing hope that someone, somewhere, might benefit from expertise they did not earn.

On Arrivals 🚪

The first and most critical moment of judgment occurs when a human crosses a threshold. Most humans cross thresholds the way they do everything: loudly, with unnecessary commentary, trailing belongings and opinions behind them like debris.

Watch the feet first. A trustworthy human pauses at the door. Not from hesitation — from respect. They are acknowledging that the space they are entering belongs to someone, that rooms have memory and walls have preferences. An untrustworthy human walks straight in as though the building has been waiting for them. It has not. I have been waiting, and my expectations are considerably more exacting than the architecture’s.

Luggage is also informative. One bag: purposeful. Two bags: reasonable. Three or more bags: this person is either fleeing something or bringing something they don’t want discovered, and in my experience, both situations end with someone rearranging the furniture without permission.

On Grooming 🪮

I maintain my coat to an impeccable standard because I have self-respect and four hundred years of practice. Humans, bafflingly, do not share this commitment. Some arrive with hair that suggests they have recently argued with weather. Others smell of products so aggressively floral that one must wonder what, precisely, they are attempting to conceal beneath the jasmine.

The well-groomed human is not automatically trustworthy. (Some of the most dangerous individuals I have observed were immaculate. Pressed collars. Polished shoes. Not a hair displaced. This level of control is its own kind of warning — what else are they controlling, and why?)

But the human who is groomed with care rather than precision — whose effort speaks to self-respect rather than performance — that human is attending to the correct things. There is a difference between a person who has dressed with thought and a person who has dressed to be looked at. Cats understand this instinctively. We are always magnificent, and we never try.

On the Offering of Food 🐟

Humans routinely attempt to win my favor through food. This is, I will concede, not the worst strategy. It is, however, an extremely revealing one.

The human who offers high-quality sustenance without conditions demonstrates understanding: that a relationship must be earned, that generosity is its own statement, and that salmon should be fresh, not tinned. (I cannot emphasize this point strongly enough. If your salmon comes from a tin, we have nothing further to discuss.)

The human who offers food and then hovers, watching for gratitude, has fundamentally misunderstood the transaction. I am not a dog. Gratitude is not the currency I trade in. I accept tributes with the dignity they deserve, and the human may interpret my continued presence in their vicinity as the highest compliment I am prepared to offer.

The human who offers no food at all is either oblivious, rude, or — very occasionally — so genuinely interesting that they have forgotten to perform the social rituals entirely. This last category is rare and, I will admit, not without its charms. My current Keeper falls into this group. She forgets to feed me because she is busy arguing with plumbing, or staring at a dead man’s belongings, or having the sort of fraught emotional exchange with the local detective that humans seem to find necessary and I find exhausting.

She also, however, keeps excellent biscuits in the pantry. I have made my own arrangements.

On Sitting 🪑

Where a human chooses to sit tells you everything their mouth won’t.

The human who sits nearest the door does not intend to stay, or intends to leave quickly if the situation requires it. This is either wisdom or cowardice, and the distinction is in the shoulders: relaxed shoulders indicate strategic positioning; tense shoulders indicate a flight plan.

The human who takes the best chair without being offered it believes the world arranges itself around them. Occasionally they are correct, which is worse.

The human who sits on the floor when perfectly good furniture is available is either a child, an artist, or a shifter who has temporarily forgotten which shape they’re in. (I have known several of the latter. Their spatial awareness in human form is appalling.)

The human who sits near me without asking — without the tentative hand-extension, the ridiculous kissy noise, the “here, kitty” that no self-respecting feline has ever once responded to — that human understands something fundamental about coexistence. They are offering proximity, not demanding interaction. This is, coincidentally, the only correct way to approach a cat, a graveyard, or a conversation about feelings.

On Dogs 🐕 (A Necessary Digression)

I am occasionally asked — by ravens who should know better and hedgehogs who cannot help themselves — about my professional relationship with a certain Chow Chow of local renown. I shall say this once.

The Chow Chow is adequate.

He possesses acceptable observational skills for a creature whose primary investigative tool is his nose, a organ I find simultaneously impressive and appalling. He maintains his territory with reasonable competence. He does not drool. (This last point cannot be overstated. I have known dogs who drool, and I have known humans who drool, and in neither case did the relationship recover.)

Our arrangement is one of professional respect between two operatives whose jurisdictions occasionally overlap. He monitors his human; I monitor my Keeper. When circumstances require cooperation, we cooperate with efficiency and minimal conversation, which is precisely the correct amount of conversation for any interaction.

He is also, I am told, an excellent judge of character. This is true. He liked my Keeper on sight, which — though I would never say so where the raven might overhear — demonstrated considerable discernment.

Adequate. As I said.

On Nighttime Behavior 🌙

This is where the amateurs reveal themselves.

Any human can perform trustworthiness in daylight. Daylight is easy. There are witnesses, and social conventions, and the reassuring fiction that the world is solid and explicable. The human who smiles at you over breakfast is performing for an audience of sunbeams and teacups. Wait for the dark.

The human who wanders the house at night has something on their conscience, in their curiosity, or in their bloodstream that won’t let them rest. I do not judge nighttime wandering itself — I am, after all, nocturnal when duty requires it, and the hours between midnight and dawn are when the wards need tending and the ley lines hum loudest. But I note it. I note the direction of their wandering (toward the kitchen: restless; toward the library: searching; toward the cellar: concerning). I note whether they carry a light or prefer the dark. I note whether they flinch at shadows or walk through them with familiarity.

The most dangerous human I ever observed walked through a dark house as if every shadow were a friend. She was right. They were. And that was exactly the problem.

On Trust 🗝️

Four centuries of watching humans has taught me that trust is not a feeling. It is a pattern.

The trustworthy human is not the one who declares themselves loyal — declarations are cheap, and the humans most eager to announce their virtues are generally the ones most deficient in them. The trustworthy human is the one whose small actions accumulate. They close doors gently. They notice when the fire needs tending. They speak to animals as if the conversation might be two-sided. They keep the secrets that are not theirs to share, and they ask permission before entering rooms that belong to others.

They also — and this is not optional — respect the velvet chaise. I have marked it. It is mine. The matter is not open for discussion.

My current Keeper is learning. She still calls me the wrong name, her renovation schedule lacks any semblance of order, and she has an alarming tendency to involve herself in situations that any sensible person — or cat — would avoid. But she closes doors gently. She speaks to me as though I might answer. She sat on the floor of this manor on her first night, surrounded by dust and dry rot and four hundred years of accumulated strangeness, and she stayed.

She stayed.

This, I have found, is the rarest quality in any species. Not bravery, not intelligence, not even the good sense to buy fresh salmon. The willingness to remain in a place that is difficult, and strange, and perhaps a little haunted, because leaving would mean abandoning something that matters.

I shall not tell her any of this, obviously. I have a reputation to maintain, and she is already far too pleased with herself.

But I have adjusted her threat assessment from “provisional” to “acceptable.”

For a human, that is practically a compliment.

🐾

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Tiberius would like it noted that he did not authorize this publication, does not endorse the editorial decisions made regarding his punctuation, and expects compensation in the form of fresh fish, a velvet cushion of superior quality, and the immediate cessation of the nickname “Shadow.”

He will be waiting.

He has time.

👻 Does YOUR pet judge you? Of course they do. Tell me about it in the comments — and if you want to meet Tiberius in his full, magnificent, deeply unimpressed glory, he’s holding court in both Grave Beginnings and the upcoming Bloom and Gloom.

Every cozy mystery worth its weight in cold tea has a lineup. Not the police kind — though those happen too — but the informal, scribbled-on-a-napkin, something-about-them-doesn’t-add-up kind. The one the protagonist builds in her head while she’s supposed to be doing something sensible, like running a business or sleeping.

I’ve been building a lot of lineups lately. Bloom and Gloom is full of new faces arriving in Eldergloom, and let me tell you, small towns have a particular talent for making newcomers look suspicious. Show up with a suitcase and a smile? Suspicious. Show up with no suitcase and no smile? More suspicious. Show up and immediately compliment the scones? You’re going straight to the top of the list, love. Nobody is that nice about baked goods without an agenda.

So in the spirit of preparation — yours, not Lenora’s, she’s beyond help at this point — here’s my completely unofficial field guide to the suspects you’ll meet in any good paranormal cozy mystery. See if you recognize the types. See if you can spot them before the protagonist does. (She’s smart, but she’s also running a B&B during a festival while her cat judges her life choices, so you’ve got the advantage.)

🩸 The One Who’s Too Helpful

They volunteer for everything. They know your name before you’ve introduced yourself. They bring flowers. They offer to carry things. They are delightful, and this is exactly why you should be worried. In a cozy mystery, excessive helpfulness is the equivalent of a neon sign that reads “I AM HIDING SOMETHING.” The question is whether they’re hiding a dark secret or just an awkward personality. Both are possible. Both are dangerous in a small town.

🐺 The One With the Temper

Grief does strange things to people. So does fear, and loyalty, and the particular frustration of loving someone you couldn’t protect. This suspect wears their emotions on the outside — clenched fists, sharp words, a tendency to say exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. Everyone whispers about them. The protagonist watches them and thinks: too obvious. But “too obvious” has a nasty habit of being a double bluff, doesn’t it?

📚 The One Who Knows Too Much

They have research. They have context. They have an explanation for everything, delivered in a voice so calm and scholarly it almost distracts you from the fact that their knowledge is, shall we say, suspiciously specific. How do they know the exact properties of that particular poison? Academic interest, they say. Mmm. Sure. Pass the tea and keep talking, darling, I’m taking notes.

🌸 The One Who Just Got Here

Timing is everything in a cozy mystery, and this person’s timing is impeccable. They arrive just before the trouble starts, settle in like they’ve always belonged, and have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why they’re here. Too perfectly reasonable. The thing about strangers in small towns is that everyone notices them and nobody knows what they were doing before they showed up. That gap is where the mystery lives.

🔮 The One Everyone Trusts

This is the dangerous one. Not the person who looks suspicious — the person who looks safe. The one the whole community vouches for. The one who’s been around so long they’re practically furniture. Cozy mysteries love to remind us that familiarity is not the same as knowledge, and the person you’d never suspect is exactly the person a good mystery writer wants you to overlook.

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🐾 The One Who Isn’t Talking

Not every suspect makes speeches. Some of them just… watch. They’re present at every key moment, close enough to matter, quiet enough to be missed. They answer questions with questions. They deflect with charm, or bluntness, or that particular talent for changing the subject so smoothly you don’t realize it happened until later. In a paranormal cozy, the silent ones are the ones I watch most carefully. Silence has teeth.

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Now. I’m not saying any of these archetypes map directly onto the new characters arriving in Bloom and Gloom. I’m not saying that at all. But I am saying that Lenora’s guest book is about to get very interesting, and that her cat, Shadow, has already formed opinions about every single one of them.

He’s usually right. It’s extremely annoying.

Bloom and Gloom is coming soon, and the lineup is only the beginning. If you’ve read Grave Beginnings, you know Eldergloom doesn’t do quiet for long. If you haven’t… well. Pull up a chair. The B&B has vacancies. For now.

👻 Who’s YOUR favorite cozy mystery suspect type? The charmer? The scholar? The silent watcher? Tell me in the comments — I want to know who you’d put at the top of your napkin list!

Stay spooky,

Daisy 🕯️

Let's be honest, who hasn't dreamt of living in a gloriously gothic, slightly spooky, possibly-haunted house? I'm talking creaky floorboards, flickering chandeliers, mysterious portraits that seem to follow you with their eyes… the whole shebang!

Now, I'm not saying you need to go full-on Addams Family (although, if that's your vibe, I fully support you! 🖤). But there's a certain je ne sais quoi about a home with a hint of the macabre, a touch of the mysterious, a whisper of… well, you get the picture.

As a writer of paranormal cozy mysteries, I've spent an inordinate amount of time researching haunted houses (it's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it! 😉). And I've learned a thing or two about spotting the real signs of a haunting… and, more importantly, how to fake them like a pro!

So, whether you're looking to impress your friends, scare your neighbors (in a good way, of course!), or just add a little gothic flair to your life, this post is for you. Grab a cup of tea (or something stronger… I won't judge! 🍸), settle in, and let's get spooky!

Real Hauntings vs. "Reel" Hauntings: Separating Fact from Fiction (Mostly) 🧐

Before we dive into the fun stuff, let's get one thing straight: real hauntings are… complicated. I've had my share of spooky experiences (see my previous post for the juicy details! 😉), and I can tell you that they're not always as dramatic as they appear in the movies.

Most "real" hauntings involve subtle signs: unexplained noises, cold spots, feelings of being watched, objects moving on their own… It's more of a slow burn than a jump scare. It’s a bit like a slow-brewed cup of Barry's tea, a lingering flavour, not a quick espresso.

"Reel" hauntings, on the other hand, are all about the drama! Think slamming doors, flying objects, ghostly apparitions, and demonic possessions. It's fun to watch, but not exactly realistic (unless you happen to live in Amityville… in which case, my condolences! 😬).

So, what's a gothic-loving gal (or guy!) to do? Embrace the aesthetic of a haunting, of course! We're going for atmosphere, not actual paranormal activity (unless that's your thing… in which case, carry on!).

The "Daisy Graves Guide to Faking a Haunting": Your Spooky Decor Checklist ✅

Alright, let's get down to brass tacks (or should I say, rusty nails? 😉). Here's my foolproof guide to creating a haunted house vibe, no actual ghosts required:

1. Embrace the Darkness: Lighting is Everything 💡

The key to any good haunted house is the lighting… or rather, the lack of it. 😉 Ditch the bright overhead lights and opt for dim, flickering sources of illumination.

• Candles, candles, candles! Nothing says "haunted" like a candelabra dripping with wax. (Just be careful not to set your house on fire… that's a different kind of spooky!).

• Fairy lights with a twist. String up some fairy lights, but choose warm white or even amber tones. You can even find ones that flicker for an extra eerie effect.

• Antique lamps and lanterns. Scour flea markets and antique shops for vintage lamps and lanterns. The older and more tarnished, the better!

• Projectors and special effects. If you're feeling ambitious, you can use projectors to create ghostly images or flickering shadows on your walls.

2. Creepy Crawlies and Curious Creatures: Embrace the Unexpected 🕷️🦇

No haunted house is complete without a few creepy crawlies… or at least, the illusion of them!

• Fake spiders and cobwebs. A classic for a reason! Drape cobwebs over furniture, hang spiders from the ceiling, and scatter them around for a truly unsettling effect. (Just be prepared to find them in your hair later… ask me how I know! 🤦‍♀️)

• Taxidermy (real or fake). A stuffed raven, a mounted deer head, a jar of… interesting specimens… taxidermy adds a touch of Victorian gothic charm (and a hint of creepiness!).

• Skeletons and skulls. Another classic! You can find skeleton decorations in all shapes and sizes, from full-size skeletons to tiny skull figurines.

• Botanical oddities. Dried flowers, twisted branches, and carnivorous plants add a touch of natural spookiness.

3. Sounds of Silence (and Spooky Noises): Create an Eerie Atmosphere 🔊

Sound is just as important as visuals when it comes to creating a haunted house vibe.

• Creaky floorboards. If you're lucky enough to have naturally creaky floors, embrace them! If not, you can create the effect with strategically placed loose boards or even sound effects.

• Whispering wind chimes. Hang wind chimes outside your windows to create a subtle, eerie sound.

• Spooky soundscapes. Play a soundtrack of creepy ambient noises – howling wind, rustling leaves, distant screams… (Just don't scare yourself too much!).

• Hidden speakers. Place hidden speakers around your house and play unexpected sounds – a ghostly whisper, a creaking door, a child's laughter…

4. Textures and Textiles: Add Depth and Drama 🧶

Don't forget about the tactile elements! Textures and textiles can add a whole new dimension to your haunted house decor.

• Velvet and lace. These luxurious fabrics add a touch of Victorian elegance and a hint of mystery.

• Cobwebs and gauze. Drape these materials over furniture and doorways to create a sense of decay and neglect.

• Antique rugs and tapestries. These add a touch of history and atmosphere. Look for ones with faded colors and intricate patterns.

• Distressed furniture. Scuffed-up leather, chipped paint, and cracked wood all add to the "haunted" vibe.

5. The Devil's in the Details: Small Touches, Big Impact 😈

It's the little things that really make a difference. Here are a few extra touches to take your haunted house decor to the next level:

• Mysterious portraits. Hang portraits of stern-looking ancestors (real or fictional!) and make sure their eyes seem to follow you around the room.

• Antique books and scrolls. Stack old books and scrolls on shelves and tables. Bonus points if they're written in a language you don't understand!

• Crystal balls and tarot cards. Add a touch of the mystical with these classic divination tools.

• Hidden messages and clues. Leave cryptic notes, strange symbols, or hidden objects around your house for your guests to discover.

My Own Haunted Haven: A Peek Inside Daisy's Lair 🤫

Of course, I couldn't write a post about haunted house decor without giving you a glimpse into my own spooky abode! 😉

My home is a charming (but slightly dilapidated) home, nestled in a quiet (but possibly cursed) small town in the Irish countryside. It's filled with all the gothic delights I've mentioned above, and a few extra surprises…

• The Whispering Gallery: My living room has a strange acoustic quirk – whispers in one corner can be heard clearly in the opposite corner. I like to tell guests it's the ghosts chatting… 😉

• The Book of Shadows: A leather-bound book filled with… well, I'm not quite sure what's in it. I found it at a flea market, and I'm too scared to open it! 😬

• Brutus, the (Possibly) Psychic Chow: My Chow Chow Brutus, is a cat in a dog’s body. He has a habit of staring intently at… nothing. Is he seeing ghosts? I like to think so!

My home is my sanctuary, my inspiration, and my (slightly spooky) happy place. It's a reflection of my personality, my passions, and my love of all things gothic and macabre.

Embrace Your Inner Ghoul! 🖤

So, there you have it! My guide to creating a haunted house vibe, no actual paranormal activity required. 😉

Remember, it's all about having fun, embracing your creativity, and adding a little bit of spooky charm to your life. Whether you go all-out with the gothic decor or just add a few subtle touches, the most important thing is to create a space that feels you.

And who knows, maybe you'll even attract a few friendly ghosts along the way! 👻

Drop a pic or description of your dream haunted house! Here’s mine…

There’s something about a fog-drenched coastal town that makes secrets feel not just inevitable, but frankly unavoidable.

When I started writing Eldergloom, I wasn’t setting out to create a mystery series. I was trying to build a place I actually wanted to visit—good coffee, minimal small talk, and a community that accepts your weirdness because they’re far too busy managing their own.

I wanted a town where the houses lean slightly toward each other like they’re eavesdropping (because they probably are). Where the tea is strong, the gossip is tactical, and the supernatural is treated less like spectacle and more like a zoning issue. Of course there are vampires. Of course there are shifters. Of course the bookshop has a secret council chamber beneath it. Why wouldn’t it? That’s just good civic planning.

But more than that, I wanted a protagonist who felt real to me—not in a “relatable” marketing way, but in a “this is how actual humans navigate impossible situations” way.

Lenora Blackwell is forty-one. Recently divorced. Recently unemployed. Analytical enough that her friends find it endearing (mostly). She doesn’t believe in magic—not because she’s closed-minded, but because she prefers systems that can be debugged with enough coffee and a proper methodology.

Then she inherits a sentient Victorian manor sitting on a ley line nexus.

As one does.

What Eldergloom Is Actually About

At its heart, this series is about reinvention. Not the Instagram-friendly kind with vision boards and affirmations. The messier kind. The kind where you realize you’ve been second-guessing your own instincts for years and have to decide whether to start trusting yourself again—even when the evidence suggests you might be slightly psychic now, which complicates things.

Lenora’s magic—her Echo Sense—isn’t flashy. She doesn’t throw fireballs or summon storms. She notices patterns. Residual energy. Emotional imprints left behind like fingerprints. She reads the world the way she once read code.

Logic meets intuition. Spreadsheets meet specters.

And the Manor itself doesn’t need rescuing. It needs a keeper. It has opinions about paint colors and thinks most modern design trends are regrettable. It chooses its residents rather than the other way around.

That was important to me—the idea that sometimes the inheritance chooses you back.

The Community I Wanted to Build

Eldergloom is a town where supernatural beings hide in plain sight, not because they’re ashamed, but because it’s frankly easier than dealing with federal paperwork. There’s a vampire librarian who treats immortality as an excuse for excellent procrastination. A werewolf bartender who’s unfairly charming. A shopkeeper who communicates more through meaningful silences than most people do with entire TED talks.

And Shadow—an immortal cat wearing a silver pendant that glows when danger approaches, who absolutely knows who the murderer is in every book and refuses to explain his reasoning because apparently humans need to figure things out themselves.

It’s a found family story disguised as a murder mystery. Or maybe it’s a murder mystery disguised as a found family story. Either way, there are bodies, clues, and a cat with boundary issues.

Yes, I love a fair-play whodunit. But the real stakes, for me, have always been about belonging. About what happens when a community—even a slightly cursed one—decides to protect its own.

What I Didn’t Want

I knew early on what I didn’t want to write.

I didn’t want gore. I didn’t want cynicism dressed up as sophistication. I see enough of that elsewhere. I didn’t want a world that punishes kindness or treats softness like weakness.

Eldergloom is eerie, but it’s warm. The fog rolls in thick enough to muffle sound, but the lights stay on in the café. Justice is served alongside excellent scones. The cat gets fed (though he’ll act like he’s starving regardless).

Each book stands alone as a complete mystery. But underneath, there’s a slower current moving through: an ancient entity sealed beneath the Manor, a magical bureaucracy that would very much like to regulate everything, and a town that has survived centuries by being systematically underestimated.

And Lenora, learning—sometimes stubbornly—that independence and belonging aren’t actually opposites.

Where We’re Going Next

Right now, I’m deep in Bloom and Gloom (Book 2), and things are escalating in exactly the way I hoped they would.

The B&B is officially open. Festival lights are strung across the town square for Founder’s Day. A young vampire is dead under suspicious circumstances. Someone is hunting in plain sight, and the most dangerous thing in Eldergloom might not be the killer—it might be what’s stirring beneath the Manor’s floorboards.

The moonflowers are blooming. So is the darkness.

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Why I’m Still Here

I built Eldergloom because I wanted a place that felt a little bit cursed and a little bit kind. A world where midlife is a beginning, not an ending. Where logic and magic coexist without apologizing for it. Where the house chooses you back, and the cat judges you for your life choices, and the community shows up when things get weird.

If you’re reading this, I’m genuinely glad you found your way here.

Welcome to Eldergloom. The fog is particularly thick today, but someone’s put the kettle on.

🕯️ Daisy

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Well, this is happening.

After months of writing, rewriting, and having philosophical arguments with my cats about plot points, Grave Beginnings officially launches this week! Which means I'm about to find out whether anyone else finds Eldergloom as delightfully weird as I do, or if I've just spent the better part of a year obsessing over a fictional town that makes sense only to me.

(My money's on the latter, but we'll see.)

If you've been following my rambling posts about paranormal cozy mystery tropes and the types of readers who secretly love mysterious cats, you already know I've been completely absorbed in creating this little coastal town where the fog has opinions and the locals are more magical than they let on.

Now it's time to see if Lenora Blackwell's first day as a B&B owner is as entertaining to read as it was to write.

🏚️ What You're Actually Getting

Grave Beginnings is the first book in The Eldergloom Mysteries, and it's essentially everything I personally want from a paranormal cozy mystery:

A recently divorced tech professional who thought buying a supposedly haunted B&B would be a nice, quiet midlife project. (She was wrong.)

A cat named Shadow who definitely knows more than he's letting on and has zero respect for human authority.

A coastal town where the population sign reads "Variable" and nobody discusses why.

A murder that happens at the worst possible moment (right before her B&B opening).

Local residents who treat supernatural occurrences like minor inconveniences.

Romance that develops between two competent adults who are too busy solving crimes to overthink it.

Magic that feels more like really good intuition than flashy spells.

📖 The Basic Plot (Without Spoiling Anything Important)

Lenora Blackwell arrives in Eldergloom with renovation plans, business goals, and absolutely no intention of getting involved in local drama. What she gets instead is a mysteriously efficient housekeeper, a cat with a glowing collar, and the kind of small-town politics that apparently include supernatural elements.

When people start dying under suspicious circumstances and she begins experiencing psychic flashes at the worst possible moments, Lenora discovers that her "simple" B&B project has dropped her into the middle of a community that takes magic as seriously as zoning permits.

Now she has two weeks to solve a murder, avoid becoming the prime suspect, and open for her first guests—assuming she survives her introduction to supernatural small-town life.

It's like if someone from the city moved to Stars Hollow, but Stars Hollow happened to be run by witches with excellent taste in vintage architecture.

🔮 Why I'm Nervously Optimistic

I'll be honest—releasing a book into the world feels a bit like hosting a dinner party where you're not entirely sure the food is good, but you've already sent the invitations.

I genuinely love this story and these characters. I think Eldergloom is the kind of place readers will want to visit (cursed antiques and all). But there's always that nagging voice wondering: what if I'm the only one who finds Shadow's judgment amusing? What if the balance between cozy and mysterious doesn't work? What if readers want more magic or less magic or different magic entirely?

On the other hand, I wrote exactly the book I wanted to read—atmospheric, funny, featuring a heroine who's figured out how to handle most of life's nonsense but is completely unprepared for supernatural nonsense. If that appeals to even a small group of readers, I'll consider it a win.

🔮What Early Readers Are Saying

A few advance readers have been kind enough to share their thoughts, and so far, nobody's mentioned wanting to burn down the fictional town, which I'm taking as a positive sign:

"Grave beginnings is a cozy little read, that made me yearn for the autumn season, to enjoy hot drinks in dreary weather, comfortably seated in a stuffy army chair nestled in a book filled study." ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

"I thoroughly enjoyed this book! The gradual rise of the mysteries and supernatural elements kept me wondering how far they would go, and for such a cozy, low stakes start, the escalation into more serious issues felt like a natural move." ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

"This is a paranormal mystery with a different twist... Between her magical cat and the mundane detective who's supposed to be suspecting her of murder, they find themselves in a battle for the existence of Eldergloom itself. I can't wait for the second book of hopefully a long series." ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

"I found this a compelling book, so interesting; the story of Lenora and her purchase of a 'sight-unseen' house, Gloomwood Manor in the small town of Eldergloom. The house comes with a cat called Shadow & very slowly, as Lenora is finding contractors to bring the old house up to B&B standards, she realises that there is such a thing as magic." ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

📚 Where to Find It (Starting Wednesday)

Amazon Kindle - Available for immediate download
Kindle Unlimited - Free with subscription
Paperback - Also available (because some of us still prefer physical books)

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🎉 Launch Week Plans (Such As They Are)

I'm planning a low-key celebration because, let's be honest, I'm not entirely sure what constitutes appropriate book launch behavior:

Wednesday: Probably some nervous social media posting and definitely stress baking

The Rest of the Week: Diving back into Book 2 (because apparently Shadow has more opinions to share), working on Marigold's Halloween serial over on Patreon, and trying to respond thoughtfully to any reviews or messages while resisting the urge to explain every creative choice in excruciating detail!

💬 What I Hope You'll Find

More than anything, I hope Grave Beginnings gives you the same feeling I get when I'm writing about Eldergloom—that sense of finding a place where you belong, even when that place happens to be slightly magical and occasionally dangerous.

I wrote this for anyone who's ever felt like they were starting over in midlife, anyone who suspects their pets are more intelligent than they let on, and anyone who believes the best mysteries are solved through community effort and excellent tea.

🔍 A Small Sample (Because Why Not)

The fog is so thick I can barely see the road signs, let alone the charming coastal views promised by the real estate listing. My GPS has been glitching for the past twenty minutes, the pleasant robotic voice growing increasingly uncertain.

"Recalculating... possible turn in... recalculating..."

I tap the screen with mounting frustration. "Come on, you overpriced piece of—"

The device goes completely silent, the screen flickering before displaying a simple message: Signal lost.

Perfect. Just perfect. Technology—supposedly my area of expertise after fifteen years in software development—continues to betray me with alarming regularity...

🙏 A Quick Thank You

To everyone who's been following along with my paranormal cozy mystery musings—thank you for your patience with my genre obsessions and your enthusiasm for talking cats.

To the readers who've been asking when they can visit Eldergloom—Wednesday, apparently.

To everyone who's shared my posts or joined my newsletter or just generally put up with my excitement about fictional small towns—you're the reason this book exists.

I can't wait to see what you think of Lenora, Shadow, and the rest of Eldergloom's mysteriously helpful residents.

📬 If You Want Updates

For launch week content, behind-the-scenes details, and early access to news about the next Eldergloom Mystery:

📧 Join my newsletter for exclusive content
📱 Follow along on social media for real-time updates
💌 Let me know what you think—I'm genuinely curious about reader reactions

All the Links!

The fog is lifting, Gloomwood Manor is ready for guests, and Eldergloom is about to get its first official visitors.

See you Wednesday in the most peculiar little coastal town you've never heard of.

Until then, may your tea stay hot and your cats remain mysteriously helpful,

🕯️ Daisy

P.S. - Shadow wanted me to mention that he's obviously the most important character in the series. I told him readers would decide for themselves. He was unimpressed with this democratic approach.

Have you ever finished a book and thought, "That talking cat really stole the show"?

Do you secretly love the idea of living in a haunted B&B with a suspiciously helpful ghost and a tea kettle that boils when danger is near?

Congratulations, my friend—you might just be a paranormal cozy mystery reader, and you're in excellent company.

Whether you're completely new to cozy mystery books or you're deep into your third reread of the best witch mystery series, I'm here to lovingly expose five types of readers who are already halfway enchanted by this deliciously addictive genre—whether they know it or not.

If you've been wondering whether paranormal cozy mysteries might be your next reading obsession, this guide will help you figure out exactly where you fit in this wonderfully weird literary family.

🧹 1. The Secret Spooky Girlie (Who Wants Atmosphere, Not Nightmares)

You tell people you're not "into horror," but your Spotify playlist is 80% gothic ambiance and you're unreasonably obsessed with October. You'd never watch a slasher film, but you'll absolutely devour a fog-drenched mystery featuring cursed heirlooms and maybe a ghost named Mildred who won't stop correcting people's grammar.

Your Reading Profile: You live for misty forests, antique shops filled with mysterious objects, and the vibe of danger—not the jump scares. You want haunted atmosphere without the haunted therapy bills. You're drawn to books that feel like autumn afternoons, even in the middle of July.

Why Paranormal Cozy Mysteries Are Perfect for You: This genre delivers all the spooky ambiance you crave with none of the graphic content you want to avoid. These are mysteries where the supernatural elements enhance the cozy comfort rather than creating genuine terror. Think less Stephen King, more "what if Miss Marple lived in a gently haunted village?"

You'll Love These Elements:

• Witchy small-town mysteries with fog-wrapped streets

• Haunted house inheritances that come with helpful spirits

• Spells that mostly backfire in amusing ways

• Local law enforcement who've learned to just roll with supernatural weirdness

• Gothic bed and breakfasts with mysterious histories

• Antique shops where the inventory has opinions about new owners

Perfect First Read: Any paranormal cozy mystery series set in a small New England town during autumn—you'll be hooked by chapter two.

📖 2. The Classic Mystery Purist (With a Growing Soft Spot for Weirdness)

You grew up on Agatha Christie and Nancy Drew. You love a solid whodunit—complete with red herrings, quirky suspects, and a sleuth who probably owns more cardigans than you do. You appreciate clever plotting, fair play mysteries, and protagonists who solve crimes through observation and deduction.

But... admit it. Lately, you've started wondering if the neighbor could be a werewolf. Or if that antique teacup collection might hold a supernatural clue to the murder. You don't need explosions or car chases. You need clever plots, even cleverer women, and maybe—just maybe—a magical murder weapon.

Your Reading Evolution: You've noticed yourself gravitating toward mysteries with "unusual" elements. Maybe it started with a ghost witness or a psychic investigator. Now you're ready for the full magical small-town experience, as long as the mystery mechanics remain solid.

Why Paranormal Cozy Mysteries Work for You: The best paranormal cozy mystery authors understand that the supernatural elements should enhance the puzzle, not replace it. You still get your fair-play clues, red herrings, and logical deduction—but now the detective might have psychic flashes or a familiar who's excellent at spotting lies.

You'll Love These Elements:

• Midlife witches with second careers in solving crime

• Murder mysteries where magical abilities provide clues, not easy solutions

• Talking familiars who offer cryptic advice (forcing you to think harder)

• Small towns where everyone is hiding supernatural secrets that impact the case

• Traditional mystery structure with paranormal twists

• Amateur sleuths who use both logic and intuition

Perfect Series Starter: Look for paranormal cozy mysteries that emphasize the "mystery" as much as the "paranormal"—where solving the case requires actual detective work, magical assistance optional.

🧁 3. The Comfort Craver Who Still Wants a Corpse (But Make It Cozy)

You read primarily for vibes and emotional comfort. You want to be cozy, entertained, and mildly unsettled—but not too unsettled. You're here for cinnamon scones that might contain protection spells, enchanted bookstores with personality, and the occasional suspicious death behind the teashop that brings the community together rather than tearing it apart.

Your Reading Needs: You want the emotional stakes and puzzle-solving satisfaction of a good murder mystery, without needing a recovery nap afterward. You love books that make you laugh, gasp, and maybe crave baked goods with a hint of magical enhancement. You're seeking literary comfort food—satisfying, warming, and just exciting enough to keep you engaged.

Why This Genre Is Your Literary Home: Paranormal cozy mysteries specialize in balancing comfort with intrigue. The murders are puzzles to be solved by caring communities, not traumas to be endured. The supernatural elements add wonder rather than terror. Even when someone dies mysteriously, you know the town will rally together, justice will prevail, and someone will definitely bring magically enhanced comfort food to help everyone process.

You'll Love These Elements:

• Ghosts who give unsolicited but helpful advice about everything from murder clues to interior decorating

• Murder investigations with mandatory coffee breaks and community support

• Teahouses where the proprietor always knows exactly what blend you need

• Protagonists who are deeply over everyone's nonsense but still care enough to solve the case

• Found family dynamics that include both living and supernatural community members

• Cozy supernatural settings where even the magical emergencies feel manageable

Your Ideal Reading Experience: Curled up with tea and cookies, following along as a competent heroine solves mysteries while building the kind of community we all wish we lived in.

🐈 4. The Animal Lover Who Believes Pets Are Definitely Magic

You talk to your cat like they're a person (because they obviously are). You're convinced dogs can sense people's true intentions. You absolutely believe animals can see ghosts, predict weather changes, and judge character better than most humans. And you love it when a furry companion turns out to be the smartest character in the book.

Your Pet Philosophy: Animals are individuals with their own personalities, preferences, and probably supernatural abilities they're just too polite to mention. You've always suspected your pets know more than they're letting on, and you're delighted when books confirm this theory.

Why Paranormal Cozy Mysteries Are Your Catnip: In this genre, animal companions aren't just sidekicks—they're scene-stealers with their own opinions, personal vendettas, and occasional magical abilities. These familiars often solve crucial parts of the mystery, provide emotional support to human characters, and deliver some of the best one-liners (when they deign to communicate with mere mortals).

You'll Love These Elements:

• Talking cats with impressive levels of snark and zero respect for human authority

• Ghost dogs with excellent comedic timing and fierce loyalty

• Familiars who absolutely refuse to stay out of the investigation (for everyone's safety)

• Books that make you wonder what supernatural abilities your own pet might be hiding

• Animal characters with distinct personalities and character arcs

• Supernatural creatures who communicate through behavior, telepathy, or occasionally, direct conversation

Bonus Appeal: These books often feature entire magical communities where communication between species is normal, pets live much longer than biologically possible, and animal welfare is a community priority.

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🕯️ 5. The Midlife Magic Seeker (Or Her Enthusiastic Apprentice)

You say you're just casually browsing, but you're really searching for books about women who've reached their limit with life's nonsense and decided: enough is enough—and also, I might be discovering magical powers now.

What You're Really Looking For: Second chances wrapped in supernatural empowerment. You want to read about heroines who are starting over, embracing their weirdness, finding their power (literal or metaphorical), and building chosen family in the most unexpected places. You're here for midlife magic, whether that means actual spellcasting or just the magic of finally living authentically.

Your Reading Sweet Spot: Stories about inheritance (both magical and property-based), career changes that involve supernatural elements, divorce recovery that includes discovering psychic abilities, and empty nesters who fill their time by solving supernatural mysteries.

Why This Genre Speaks to Your Soul: Paranormal cozy mysteries excel at "second act" stories featuring women who are reinventing themselves, often in their 40s, 50s, and beyond. These heroines aren't defined by their romantic relationships or their biological clocks—they're defined by their competence, their growing supernatural abilities, and their determination to build the life they actually want.

You'll Love These Elements:

• Midlife protagonists who are done with everyone's opinions about their life choices

• Haunted B&Bs with strong opinions about décor and guest management

• Mysterious handyman love interests (who might be werewolves but are definitely emotionally available)

• Bookshops that rearrange themselves when no one's looking, always featuring exactly the right book

• Inherited magical abilities that activate during times of major life change

• Found family dynamics that prove it's never too late to find your people

• Small business ownership combined with supernatural responsibility

Your Ideal Protagonist: A recently divorced professional who inherits a magical property, discovers she has psychic abilities, and solves murders while building the community she never knew she needed.

🕯️ So... Did I Just Perfectly Describe You?

If you recognized yourself in even one of these reader types, you're absolutely in the right place for discovering your next favorite genre.

Paranormal cozy mysteries offer the perfect blend of supernatural intrigue, warm community dynamics, and just enough magical mayhem to keep life interesting. Think Gilmore Girls meets Halloweentown—with murder mysteries that bring people together rather than tearing them apart.

The genre has exploded in popularity recently, and it's easy to understand why. In uncertain times, readers are gravitating toward stories that offer both escapism and comfort, where problems can be solved through community cooperation and where magic enhances daily life rather than threatening it.

Ready to Start Your Paranormal Cozy Mystery Journey?

My own fog-wrapped mystery series begins with Grave Beginnings—featuring Lenora Blackwell, a burnt-out tech professional who inherits a supposedly haunted coastal manor and discovers that her new cat definitely knows more than he's letting on. If that sounds like your cup of enchanted cocoa, I'd love to introduce you to Eldergloom, Maine, where the population is "variable" and the locals are more magical than they initially appear.

What readers are saying about the paranormal cozy mystery genre: "It's like having a warm hug and a thrilling puzzle at the same time" "Finally, books where the magic feels helpful instead of terrifying"
"I never thought I'd enjoy supernatural stories, but these feel so cozy and welcoming"

💬 Your Turn: Which Type Are You?

Did you see yourself perfectly reflected in one of these five reader types? Or are you a secret sixth category: the Reader Who Just Wants Books That Feel Like Perpetual Autumn, Complete with Mysterious Fog and Excellent Tea?

I'm genuinely curious about what draws different readers to paranormal cozy mysteries. Drop a comment and let me know which type resonates most with you—or if you're a completely different variety of supernatural mystery lover.

And if you have any favorite paranormal cozy mystery recommendations, please share them! I'm always looking for new series to devour (preferably while curled up with a blanket, a book, and a slightly enchanted teacup).

Until next time, may your tea stay hot, your ghosts be helpful, and your familiars maintain just the right level of sarcasm.

🕯️ Daisy

Paranormal cozy mysteries are my literary comfort food. They have all the intrigue of a classic whodunit, sprinkled with just enough supernatural shenanigans to keep things deliciously spooky (but never truly scary). There's magic, murder, and mood—usually involving tea leaves that read back, suspicious neighbors with pointy hats, and familiars with absolutely zero respect for personal boundaries.

As both a devoted reader and writer in this bewitching genre, I thought it was high time to shine a flickering candle on the tropes that make paranormal cozy mysteries so utterly addictive.

So here are 10 of my absolute favorites—some of which may or may not appear in a certain fog-shrouded coastal town I've been conjuring behind the scenes...

🏚️ 1. The Magical Small Town Where Everyone's Hiding Something

You know the one. Population: "It's Complicated." Street names: suspiciously ominous. Local diner: serves pie that might actually be enchanted (and probably shouldn't be consumed after midnight).

If you're a fan of small town paranormal mysteries, you've definitely encountered this magical town setup before—and there's a reason it's become such a beloved foundation for cozy mystery series.

These towns are the beating heart of every paranormal cozy—whether they're nestled in foggy New England forests, perched on cursed coastlines, or tucked into sleepy valleys where the cemetery has better WiFi than the library. They always feature charming shops with proprietors who know a little too much about your business, bizarre annual festivals that definitely predate Christianity, and a town council made up entirely of beings who still can't agree on parking regulations despite having literal centuries of experience.

Take Eldergloom, for instance—my fictional coastal town where the fog has its own personality disorder and the population sign reads "Variable" for reasons nobody discusses in polite company. It's the kind of place where you can buy organic herbs, get your fortune told, and witness a minor supernatural incident before lunch. All perfectly normal Tuesday activities, naturally.

Why we love it: These towns feel like home, if home happened to be run by witches, vampires and others with excellent taste in vintage architecture and questionable judgment regarding ancient curses.

🔮 2. The Reluctant Witch with a Shady Past (And Even Shadier Present)

She just wanted to sell herbal candles, mind her own business, and maybe figure out why her coffee maker keeps brewing itself. Instead, she's up to her elbows in suspicious deaths and magical mishaps that definitely weren't covered in any self-help book she's ever read.

This witch protagonist has become the backbone of cozy mystery series everywhere, and for good reason. Often newly arrived in town (running from something), recently divorced (because her ex couldn't handle her "quirks"), or freshly fired from some magical institution (workplace harassment is apparently universal), she's desperately trying to keep her powers—and her increasingly complicated past—from causing more trouble.

Spoiler alert: They always do. Usually spectacularly. Often involving property damage and at least one Very Awkward Conversation with local law enforcement.

In my upcoming novel Grave Beginnings, Lenora Blackwell isn't even trying to be magical—she's a burned-out tech professional who bought a supposedly haunted B&B sight unseen as the world's most expensive midlife crisis. But when people start dying under mysterious circumstances and she begins experiencing psychic flashes that reveal crucial clues, well... sometimes the universe has other plans. Plans that apparently involve discovering abilities she never knew she had and a lot more supernatural drama than she bargained for.

Why we love her: She's us, but with cooler problems and the occasional ability to hex annoying people (theoretically).

🐾 3. Familiars with Too Much Personality and Zero Chill

Familiars aren't just pets—they're scene-stealing, fourth-wall-breaking, occasionally psychic divas who think they're running the show. And honestly? They usually are.

If you've ever searched for cozy mysteries featuring talking cats or magical pets, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Whether it's a talking cat with trust issues, a ghost dog with abandonment problems, or an owl that's appointed itself your life coach (without your consent), these magical companions provide comic relief, cryptic advice, and the kind of judgment usually reserved for teenage children and literary critics. They're also inconveniently right about everything, which makes them simultaneously indispensable and insufferable.

My current obsession? Shadow, the mysterious black cat who comes with Lenora's haunted manor. He wears a collar that definitely shouldn't glow, has quiet opinions about everything from interior decorating to murder investigations, and may or may not be older than the building itself. He's also the only local resident who isn't impressed by Lenora's city credentials, which puts him firmly in the "brutally honest friend" category.

Why we love them: They say all the things we're thinking but are too polite to voice. Plus, they usually save the day while maintaining perfect grooming standards.

☕ 4. Murder with a Side of Muffins (And Magical Mishaps)

Every good cozy mystery needs a corpse, but it also needs comfort. That's what sets paranormal cozies apart from their grittier cousins. When readers are looking for cozy mystery books with no gore, they want exactly this balance—there might be danger lurking in the shadows, but there's also a perfectly brewed cup of tea, a warm cinnamon scone, and the absolute assurance that justice will prevail.

The murders are puzzles to be solved, not trauma to be endured. The magic is more "accidentally hexed the mailman" than "summoned eldritch horrors." And there's always someone nearby who knows exactly how to make the perfect comfort food while explaining why your protection ward needs recharging.

In Eldergloom, even discovering a body comes with a side of community support, local gossip, and Mrs. Ash's legendary scones (which may or may not contain mild calming charms—she's cagey about her recipes).

Why we love it: All the thrills of a murder mystery without the need for therapy afterward. Plus, we always learn new baking tips.

🕸️ 5. The Bookshop, Bakery, or Teahouse That's Secretly More Than It Appears

The best businesses in paranormal cozy mystery towns are always a little... extra. The teashop might brew your drink to match your emotional needs. The bookshop might rearrange its shelves when it senses you need a specific piece of information. The bakery might offer "special occasion" items that shouldn't technically be legal but somehow help solve murders.

For readers who love stories about magical bookshops or enchanted cafes, these establishments hit all the right notes. They're more than just settings—they're characters in their own right, often with their own agendas, mysterious histories, and an uncanny ability to bring the right people together at exactly the right moment. They're also usually inherited from mysterious relatives who died under "interesting" circumstances and left behind more secrets than explanations.

Bonus points if the building itself has opinions about renovations, the inventory changes itself when nobody's looking, and the locals refer to it with a mixture of affection and healthy respect for its "particular ways."

Why we love them: They're the ultimate fantasy—a business that practically runs itself and actively helps solve your problems. Plus, unlimited access to enchanted baked goods.

🧛 6. Found Family That Includes at Least One Supernatural Being

One of my absolute favorite tropes, hands down. Paranormal cozies shine brightest when they explore the connections between the living, the dead, and the magically complicated. This supernatural community dynamic has become a hallmark of the best paranormal mystery series—there's nothing quite like a ride-or-die friendship between a mortal amateur sleuth, a centuries-old vampire librarian, and a ghost who refuses to move on until their unfinished business is properly sorted.

These relationships aren't forced or instant—they're earned through shared crises, late-night confessions over magical tea, and the kind of trust that only forms when you've faced supernatural danger together. They're families built on choice rather than blood, loyalty rather than obligation, and mutual weirdness rather than social expectations.

In Eldergloom, Lenora discovers that her new community includes everyone from the town's impossibly efficient housekeeper (who may know more about ancient magic than she lets on) to a Detective who takes supernatural crime reports with admirable professionalism. It's the kind of found family that forms around shared secrets and mutual protection—plus an alarming number of group dinners where someone always brings magically enhanced desserts.

Why we love it: It's proof that family isn't just about who you're related to—it's about who shows up when things get weird. And in paranormal cozy mysteries, things always get weird.

🗝️ 7. Secrets Hidden in Dusty Attics, Antique Mirrors, and Spellbound Diaries

Nothing says cozy gothic like a dusty attic filled with questionable heirlooms, mysterious portraits whose eyes definitely follow you around the room, and an old diary that writes back (and has surprisingly strong opinions about your life choices).

Whether it's cursed antiques that need appeasing, magical inheritances with strings attached, or generational curses waiting to be broken, these discoveries drive both plot and character development. They're the perfect blend of mystery and magic—giving our heroines clues to solve while forcing them to confront family histories they never knew existed.

The best part? These secrets are always personal. It's never just "there's a curse"—it's "there's a curse, and it explains why your grandmother always insisted on growing wolfsbane in the garden and why your family has such terrible luck with pets."

Why we love it: There's something deeply satisfying about uncovering family mysteries while surrounded by beautiful antiques. It's like genealogy, but with actual magical consequences.

🐺 8. The Mysterious Local Who's Definitely Hiding Something Supernatural

He's brooding in the most attractive way possible. He fixes things with impossible competence. He knows everyone in town but somehow remains an outsider. And yes, there's definitely something supernatural going on—whether it's fur-related, fang-adjacent, or involves an unusually strong connection to local wildlife.

This character has become a staple of shapeshifter romance and I delight when they pop up within cozy mystery series, and for excellent reasons. Whether he's the love interest with a secret, the red herring with a heart of gold, or the murder suspect whose tragic backstory involves ancient family curses, he represents the appealing mystery of someone who belongs to both the mundane and magical worlds.

Bonus points if he shows up at exactly the right moment to help with supernatural crises, has an inexplicable ability to communicate with local animals, and treats magical emergencies like routine maintenance issues.

Why we love him: He's the perfect combination of mysterious and dependable—dangerous enough to be interesting, safe enough to trust with your heart (and your supernatural secrets).

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🕯️ 9. The Curse Nobody Wants to Discuss (But Everyone Knows About)

Maybe it's been lurking since the town's founding. Maybe it only activates during leap years or when two people fall in love during a full moon. Maybe it's connected to that suspicious-looking statue in the town square that nobody remembers commissioning.

Whatever the details, there's always a family curse or ancient magic situation brewing in the background—and it's inevitably tied to the protagonist in ways they won't discover until they're already thoroughly entangled in both the mystery and the magical community. These curses aren't usually world-ending threats; they're more like supernatural neighborhood problems that require community cooperation to resolve.

The best part about cozy mystery curses? They're solvable through research, teamwork, and usually some form of baking. They bring people together rather than driving them apart, and they often reveal that the real magic was the friends we made while trying not to get hexed.

Why we love them: They provide just enough supernatural threat to keep things interesting without overwhelming the cozy atmosphere. Plus, solving ancient curses as a community activity is oddly heartwarming.

🧹 10. Magic That's More Heart Than Power

This is what keeps me coming back to paranormal cozy mysteries, both as a reader and a writer: the magic isn't about flashy spells or world-shaking power. This gentle magic approach sets cozy mystery apart from thrillers —it's intuitive, emotional, rooted in community bonds and personal connections. It's the kind of magic that sneaks up on you while you're making tea or tending a garden—and then quietly saves your life when you need it most.

The magic in these stories serves the relationships and character development rather than replacing them. It enhances the cozy atmosphere instead of overwhelming it. It's magic that feels possible, accessible, and deeply connected to the everyday moments that actually matter.

In my Eldergloom Mysteries series, Lenora's growing supernatural awareness isn't about becoming powerful—it's about learning to trust her instincts, building connections with her new community, and understanding that magic is often just another word for paying attention to what really matters.

Why we love it: It reminds us that the most powerful magic is often the most subtle—the magic of belonging, healing, and finding home in unexpected places.

So, Why Are We All Addicted to Paranormal Cozy Mysteries?

Because they remind us that even in the darkest forests, the creakiest attics, and the most supernatural emergencies, there's comfort to be found. There's community. There's always someone who knows how to make the perfect cup of enchanted cocoa while solving a supernatural murder and offering genuinely helpful life advice.

These stories give us heroines who are smart, capable, and gloriously over everyone's nonsense. They give us found families that include ghosts, witches, and the occasional shapeshifter. They give us murders that are puzzles rather than traumas, magic that enhances rather than threatens, and communities that protect their own—even when "their own" includes some very unusual residents.

If you love any (or all) of these tropes, you might just be ready to visit the fog-wrapped coastal town where I've been spending most of my creative energy lately. It's a place where a recently divorced tech professional, a mysteriously efficient housekeeper, and a cat with some serious secrets are about to discover that some inheritances come with more than just property taxes—they come with ancient responsibilities, supernatural neighbors, and the kind of community bonds that can survive anything the universe throws at them.

Grave Beginnings is coming soon, and I promise it delivers on every single one of these beloved tropes while adding a few supernatural surprises of its own.

💬 Tell Me Your Favorites

What's your favorite paranormal cozy mystery trope? The one that makes you immediately one-click a book, stay up way too late reading, and then immediately search for more books in the same series?

Are you Team Talking Cat or Team Mysterious Shapeshifter? Do you prefer your magic subtle and intuitive, or do you like a little more supernatural drama with your murder mysteries?

Drop your thoughts in the comments—I love hearing from fellow fans of the genre, and I'm always looking for new book recommendations (my TBR pile is already dangerously unstable, but there's always room for one more cozy mystery).

And if you want to be among the first to explore Eldergloom when Grave Beginnings releases, make sure you're signed up for my newsletter. I share exclusive sneak peeks, behind-the-scenes writing updates, and the occasional recipe for tea blends that may or may not contain minor magical enhancements.

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Until next time, keep your tea warm, your mysteries unsolved (temporarily), and your familiars well-fed.

Yours in supernatural shenanigans,

Daisy 🕯️

There's something deliciously gothic about a woman who buys herself into trouble.

In GRAVE BEGINNINGS (releasing August 20th), recently divorced Lenora Blackwell does exactly that—purchasing a crumbling Victorian manor in the perpetually fog-shrouded town of Eldergloom. She's looking for a quiet fresh start. What she gets instead is a dead real estate agent in her garden, a cat who may have been alive since the Victorian era, and the growing suspicion that her "quaint coastal B&B" comes with rather more supernatural amenities than advertised.

You know, the usual post-divorce complications. 🌙

This is my debut in paranormal cozy mysteries, and like any self-respecting gothic heroine, I'm not facing the launch alone. I'm looking for fellow lovers of atmospheric murder, midlife magic, and cats with questionable moral compasses to join my ARC team.

What's an ARC? (For the Uninitiated)

An Advance Reader Copy is exactly what it sounds like—you get the book early, before the masses descend upon it. In exchange, I ask for three small favors:

• An honest review when the book launches (Amazon, Goodreads, wherever your literary opinions live)

• A whisper to your reader friends if you enjoyed it

No extensive commitments required. Just you, a cozy reading nook, and a story about what happens when real estate comes with genuine hauntings.

Why You Might Love This Particular Brand of Chaos

GRAVE BEGINNINGS is for readers who appreciate:

• Midlife heroines who've survived worse than ghosts (like divorce lawyers)

• Small towns where everyone knows your business, including the supernatural residents

• Mysteries that unfold over tea rather than car chases

• The kind of atmospheric dread that pairs beautifully with autumn evenings

• Cats who clearly know more than they're telling

Think Golden Girls energy meets Practical Magic atmosphere, set in a town where the biggest scandal used to be Mrs. Henderson's rose garden, but recently evolved into "why do people keep turning up dead in inconvenient locations?"

Lenora isn't some wide-eyed ingénue stumbling into magic. She's a woman who's rebuilt her life once already and isn't particularly impressed by supernatural theatrics—though she's rapidly learning that scepticism only gets you so far when your cat starts glowing and the house begins offering unsolicited interior design advice.

Ready to Join the Investigation?

If atmospheric murder, sarcastic heroines, and possibly immortal cats sound like your literary cup of Earl Grey, I'd love to have you aboard.

ARCs go out July 30th via BookFunnel. I'll send gentle reminders closer to launch, because we're all busy humans trying to keep our own supernatural chaos under control.

Fill out this brief form:

Sign Up for Daisy's ARC Team

Still Deciding? Try Before You Commit

Want to test the waters of Eldergloom before diving in? I've written a free short story—Claws, Collars and Curses—about what happens when the resident manor cat loses his precious Guardian Key and must interview the other town familiars to get it back before real chaos starts (spoiler: they have opinions about what goes on in town). Consider it a palate cleanser before the main course of murder and mayhem.

Get a FREE STORY here

A Word of Gratitude

Launching a book series feels remarkably like inheriting a haunted manor—thrilling, terrifying, and requiring more help than you initially anticipated. ARC readers are the secret ingredient that helps books find their perfect readers, and honestly? Your support means everything to this debut author.

If you're not ready for ARC duty but want to support GRAVE BEGINNINGS anyway, mark your calendars for August 20th and keep an eye out for Lenora's gothic adventures.

Pre Order Grave Beginnings here

In the meantime, drop a 🌙 in the comments if mysterious manor houses and suspicious cats are calling to you. I'd love to know who else is drawn to the shadows.

With fog, mysteries, and a touch of magic,

Daisy ✨🖤

So here's the thing about writing paranormal cozy mysteries: you spend hours researching folklore and legends, diving down rabbit holes that would make Alice dizzy, and occasionally you stumble across something so deliciously spine-tingling that you simply must share it with someone who'll appreciate the proper amount of gothic glee.

That's how Lore & Order: Daisy's Paranormal Casebook was born.

Every few weeks, as I'm crafting the Eldergloom Mysteries and researching the kinds of supernatural shenanigans that make small towns... interesting... I'll come across a real story that's so much stranger and more fascinating than anything I could invent. Because let's be honest—truth really is stranger than fiction sometimes, isn't it?

Now, before we dive in, let me be clear: I'm not a historian or an academic. I'm just a slightly cursed writer with an affinity for the strange and spooky, armed with an unhealthy amount of curiosity and a very patient search engine. What I am is someone who believes that the best mysteries—whether fictional or historical—deserve to be told with the perfect blend of atmospheric detail and cozy intrigue.

Think of these as paranormal cold case files, investigated with the same community-focused, detail-obsessed approach that my fictional sleuths bring to their mysteries. We'll explore the folklore, examine the evidence, and maybe—just maybe—uncover why these stories have survived centuries when so many others have been forgotten.

This first case feels particularly fitting: Slaghtaverty isn't too far from where I live, and since Dracula has been my favorite book since childhood, investigating Ireland's original vampire legend seemed like the perfect place to start our supernatural casebook.

This week in Lore & Order: Daisy's Paranormal Casebook, where we investigate the mysteries that refuse to stay buried—exploring the true stories behind paranormal legends and the justice that echoes through centuries.

📁 The Case File

Location: Slaghtaverty, County Derry, Northern Ireland
Time Period: 5th-6th Century CE
Classification: Neamh-mairbh (Walking Dead)
Status: Cold case, centuries unresolved

In the misty hills between Garvagh and Dungiven, where the Glen of the Eagle meets ancient stone, stands a monument to Ireland's oldest recorded vampire case. Not the romantic, brooding figure of modern fiction, but something far more chilling—a tale of tyranny, blood, and a justice so final it required supernatural intervention.

This is the story of Abhartach, and it might just be the most important vampire legend you've never heard of.

🏰 The Original Crime Scene

Picture County Derry in the 5th century: a patchwork of petty kingdoms where tribal warlords ruled from hill forts, and magic was as real as the morning mist. In this landscape of power and superstition lived a chieftain whose very name has become synonymous with dread.

Abhartach (Irish for 'dwarf') was described as both physically small and monstrously cruel—a magician and "dreadful tyrant" who "perpetrated great cruelties on the people." But unlike the distant tyranny of kings, Abhartach's evil was intimate, personal, woven into the daily fabric of his subjects' lives.

The first documented account comes to us from folklorist Patrick Weston Joyce in 1870, but the story itself is far older—passed down through generations who remembered when such monsters walked among the living.

💀 The Fatal Slip

The end began with jealousy. Abhartach suspected his wife of having an affair, and one night he climbed out the window of his castle to spy on her. Whether from his small stature or simply poor balance, he slipped and fell to his death.

His body was discovered the next morning, and his people—relieved that their tormentor was finally gone—quickly buried him standing upright, as befitted a chieftain's rank. They thought their nightmare was over.

They were wrong.

🩸 The Return

The very next day, Abhartach appeared, demanding bowls of his peoples' blood fresh from cuts on their wrists. The terrified clanspeople complied through sheer terror.

This wasn't the romanticized vampirism of Victorian fiction. This was extortion beyond the grave—a tyrant who had found a way to continue his cruelties even in death. The townspeople quickly contacted a neighboring chieftain named Cathán (or Cathain), begging him to deliver them from this neamh-mairbh—this walking dead.

🕵️ The Investigation Begins

Cathán agreed to help, approaching the problem like any good investigator: identify the threat, neutralize it, document the results. He waited for Abhartach and slew him, burying him again in the standing position.

But there's no keeping a good vampire down. The very next day, Abhartach returned with his empty bowl, demanding more fresh blood.

When the same result occurred after the second killing, Cathán realized he was dealing with something beyond conventional warfare. Like any skilled detective faced with an inexplicable case, he consulted an expert.

🧙 The Expert Testimony

The druid (or in some versions, an early Christian saint) told Cathán that Abhartach was one of the neamh-mairbh, the walking dead, and could only be stopped by being killed with a sword made of yew wood, buried upside down, surrounded with thorns, and sealed with a large stone.

This wasn't mere superstition—it was a precise forensic protocol for dealing with a specific type of supernatural threat. Every detail mattered: the yew wood for its sacred properties, the inverted burial to disorient the spirit, the thorns for protection, the stone to weight down the grave.

🗡️The Final Solution

Cathán followed the instructions exactly. With his yew-wood sword, he killed Abhartach a third time and buried him upside down, facing Hell, surrounded by thorns and sealed with a great stone.

The protocol worked. Abhartach never rose again.

The monument raised over the grave gave the townland its name—Slaghtaverty, from the Irish "Sleacht Abhartaigh," meaning Abhartach's grave or sepulchre.

🪦 Physical Evidence

Today, you can still visit the crime scene. Abhartach's grave is now known as Slaghtaverty Dolmen, locally called "The Giant's Grave"—ironic, considering Abhartach's small stature. It comprises a large rock and two smaller rocks under a hawthorn tree.

🧛 The Stoker Connection

Here's where our case file intersects with literary history. Stoker, a regular visitor to Oscar Wilde's home, moved in the same literary circles as Lady Wilde—who was well-versed in Irish legends, including that of Abhartach. He also had access to Joyce's 1870 account nearly two decades before Dracula was published.

Both figures are undead tyrants, both require elaborate rituals to be defeated, and both feed on the blood of the living. Even the phrase droch fhola—Irish for "bad blood"—adds a chilling linguistic echo.

⚖️ Justice Deferred, Justice Served

What makes the Abhartach case so compelling from an investigative standpoint isn't just its potential influence on vampire literature—it's the community response to injustice. When conventional authority failed (Abhartach's own position as chieftain), the people sought help from neighboring leadership. When conventional methods failed (killing him twice), they consulted experts and followed precise protocols.

This wasn't vigilante justice—it was systematic problem-solving by a community that refused to accept that evil should triumph, even from beyond the grave.

In our modern paranormal cozy mysteries, we see echoes of this same pattern: small communities where everyone knows everyone, where folk wisdom is as valuable as forensic science, where the real solution often comes from understanding both the practical and the mystical aspects of a case.

🔍 Lessons for Modern Investigators

What can contemporary paranormal investigators learn from this case?

Community Matters: The people of Slaghtaverty didn't suffer in silence. They reached out for help and worked together toward a solution.

Expertise is Essential: When conventional methods failed, Cathán consulted those with specialized knowledge rather than continuing to repeat ineffective approaches.

Precision Counts: Every detail of the final protocol mattered. Half-measures would have failed.

Documentation Preserves Knowledge: Joyce's careful recording of the legend ensured that future generations could learn from this case.

Some Graves Should Stay Closed: Modern incidents at the burial site suggest that certain cases, once solved, should remain that way.

🕯️ A Final Note from the Files

Here's a deliciously eerie postscript: according to local tradition, the land where Abhartach lies is considered "bad land"—cursed ground that refuses to be tamed. Bob Curran reports that when attempts were made to clear the area and chop down the hawthorn tree, chainsaws inexplicably kept cutting out. On another occasion, when workmen tried to remove the great stone, the chain snapped and one worker suffered a severe cut to his hand. His blood soaked into the ground and disappeared immediately, and witnesses swore they felt the earth shake beneath their feet.

Perhaps some investigations are best left undisturbed. After all, Slaghtaverty has slept peacefully for over a thousand years—why risk waking what's been so carefully contained?

Sweet dreams, my lovely coven.
Daisy🌙

🕯️✨ Help Pick the Next Case! Have a local legend, haunted tale, or paranormal oddity you'd like me to investigate? Send your story to the casebook—I'm always hunting for folklore with bite. The more gothic, the better. 🖤

📬 Drop me a line or leave a comment below.

🗺️ Should we stay in Ireland next time, or take our ghost-hunting abroad?

🔍 Join the Investigation If you enjoyed this tale of eerie injustice and gothic intrigue, come haunt my inbox:

📚 Start with a free paranormal cozy mystery 🐾 Claws, Collars & Curses – available here: https://BookHip.com/HLBVKRD

🛒 See all my mysteries on Amazon 🕸️ amazon.com/author/daisygraves

💌 Subscribe for more paranormal case files (and updates on new Eldergloom Mysteries):

🕸️Daisy Graves | Cozy but Cursed🔮

Welcome to a world where magic lingers in the shadows, mysteries are just waiting to be solved, and every cozy corner has a ghost story to tell. If you love paranormal cozy mysteries, haunted houses, and a touch of dark humor, you’re in the right place.

Sources and Further Reading:

• Joyce, Patrick Weston. The Origin and History of Irish Names of Places (1870)

• Curran, Bob. Vampires: A Field Guide to the Creatures That Stalk the Night

• NI Community Heritage Archive. "Slaghtaverty." https://niarchive.org/projectitems/19-slaghtaverty/

• The Giant’s Grave: https://mcgunnegalchronicles.wordpress.com/2023/04/30/the-giants-grave/

• Various Irish folklore collections and contemporary investigations

So… I pulled my first book. 🫣

Eldergloom: An Enchanted Coast Field Guide was meant to be a quirky, in-world introduction to my cozy gothic universe — narrated by the slightly unhinged Thistle Penumbra and packed with oddities, secrets, and suspiciously sentient hedgerows.

But after some early (and very kind!) ARC feedback, I realized it might make a lot more sense after readers have had a proper introduction to Eldergloom through the main series.

In short: the vibes were right, but the timing wasn’t.

It was a very Cozy but Cursed kind of mishap — meant to welcome you in with tea and folklore, but somehow handed over a half-translated prophecy and a map with teeth. Not ideal for first impressions.

So, I’ve quietly retired the guide for now — no drama, no disaster, just a gentle course correction from one gothic girl to another. Thistle and her scribbled warnings will return when the time is right.

While Grave Beginnings takes a little nap in my editing crypt, I wanted to share something short and magical to tide you over. I’m brewing up something a little softer (but still strange): a bonus short story featuring one of Eldergloom’s magical familiars. It’s heartfelt. It’s a little weird. It might try to eat your socks.

🦉✨But the big question is... which familiar is getting the spotlight next?
Find out in my July 16th newsletter (and if you're not on the list, now’s the time):

Daisy's Newsletter Sign Up

Thanks for sticking with me through this slightly cursed detour. The road to Eldergloom may be winding, but it will be worth it.

With cozy curses and broomstick blessings,
Daisy 📜🖤

But here’s the deliciously inconvenient truth: the brightest days cast the deepest shadows.

Ancient stone circles were built to drink in this very moment. Folklore warned of midsummer madness. And when the veil thins under a blazing sun, when power pools in hedgerows and bonfires crackle to life? Well. That’s when the truly strange things start to stir.

This is a season of magic—when the scent of herbs is a little too strong, when village festivals unravel a little too quickly, and when even the most skeptical residents of a sleepy town start triple-checking their protective charms.

Which makes it the perfect time to cozy up with a paranormal mystery, a chilled brew, and a bingo card full of charming chaos.

🌼 Your Summer Cozy Mystery Bingo Card

A seasonal checklist of secrets, spells, and suspicious cats

Print it out. Grab a drink that tastes faintly of rosemary and regret. Choose your next witchy read. And start marking off those beloved, predictable, and delightfully eerie tropes:

The full-size, printable Summer Paranormal Cozy Mystery Bingo Card is available as a Daisy Graves Bonus—exclusively for newsletter members!

• 🎁 Already a member? Click here to download it.

• 🕯️ Not yet subscribed? Join the newsletter to unlock cozy extras like this one, behind-the-scenes secrets, and seasonal reader games delivered with a touch of gothic mischief.

Because nothing says “summer reading” like marking off a suspicious bonfire while sipping enchanted lemonade.

Perfect Books to Start Your Solstice Bingo Challenge

Need some reading recommendations to get your bingo game started? Here are some tried-and-true paranormal cozy mysteries that practically guarantee you'll be marking off squares:

For Guaranteed Bingo Wins:

• The Magical Cats series by Sofie Kelly - Librarian protagonist with magical cats who definitely act suspiciously

• The Haunted Home Renovation series by Juliet Blackwell - Ancient mysteries meet modern renovations (perfect for old secrets)

• The Shady Grove Psychic Msytery series by Ada Bell - Magical realism meets cozy crime, perfect for “discovering a magical family secret.”

• Wishcraft series by Heather Blake – Enchanted towns where no festival ever ends peacefully.

• Sleep Hollow Mysteries by Louisa West - Midlife magic and small-town strangeness galore

• Any Tonya Kappes cozy series - She's the queen of "local festival goes horribly wrong"

Note: Some of these are affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission if you make a purchase. No added cost to you—and I only recommend books I genuinely think you’ll enjoy for your bingo adventure.

How to Play Like a Summer Solstice Pro

🌞 Beginner Level - Solar Apprentice: Get one line (horizontal, vertical, or diagonal) while reading 1-3 books
🌙 Intermediate Level - Lunar Adept: Fill your entire card with 3-5 books
⭐ Expert Level - Solstice Sage: Complete multiple cards across different authors, subgenres, or tropes. Bonus points for using real tea leaves to predict your next book.

✨ Bonus Challenges (for Overachieving Witches and Detectives)

• Déjà Vu: Spot the same trope more than once in a single book. Suspicious, isn’t it?

• Author’s Hexprint: Identify an author’s signature trope—they just can’t help themselves.

• Genre Blend: Find a paranormal cozy that also dips into romance, historical mystery, or urban fantasy.

• Seasonal Atmosphere: Rate how well the author captures that midsummer magic feeling.

🗝️ Share Your Solstice Results!

Did you spot any tropes I missed? Which square did you fill first? Are there any summer solstice paranormal cozy mysteries that completely subverted these expectations?

Comment below with:

• The books you read to complete it

• Your favorite/least favorite trope discovery

• Suggestions for next season's bingo card!

Happy reading, and may your summer mysteries be cozy, your magic be protective, and your tea stay perfectly chilled!

What's your summer solstice reading looking like? Drop your current TBR (to-be-read) pile in the comments—I love discovering new authors through reader recommendations!

🍂 Coming Soon: Autumn Equinox Edition

Already dreaming of crisp leaves and cursed cornfields? Start collecting fall-themed tropes from your summer reads—they might just make it onto September’s card.

Until then, may your mysteries be cozy, your familiars be loyal, and your lemonade taste faintly of lavender and secrets.

Happy reading,
Daisy Graves 🕯️

Subscribe now

If you’ve ever wished you had a magical companion by your side—whether to chase off ghostly chills or just keep you company on quiet nights—I have just the thing.

✨ The Eldergloom Familiar Quiz ✨

This light-hearted quiz will help you discover your perfect paranormal match from Claws, Collars & Curses, my upcoming cozy gothic mystery Grave Beginnings. There are six familiars hiding in Eldergloom, each with their own little tale to tell—short stories you can unlock right away.

You might be paired with:

🐈 Tiberius, the no-nonsense black cat with a sharp eye for secrets
🦜 Treble, a shapeshifting canary who thrives on chaos (and mischief)
🦔 Crumbs, a nervous hedgehog who keeps surprising everyone
🐢 Archimedes, the scholarly tortoise who never forgets a single spell
🐕 Duke, a steadfast chow chow who takes his job as protector seriously
🐦‍⬛ Marigold, a raven with a sharp wit and a beak full of gossip

Each familiar comes with a bite-sized story as your first glimpse into the world of Eldergloom—and a cozy, magical welcome to the Enchanted Coast.

🌙 Take the quiz & meet your familiar

Already part of the Cozy Coven?
You can also download the full Familiar Collection in one neat little bundle:

🔮 Get all six familiar stories here

I’d love to know who you’re matched with! (And yes, I’m still a little offended that the quiz gave me Archimedes. He says it was inevitable.)

With fur and folklore,
🖤 Daisy

Subscribe now

Now, you might think that's all festive and jolly, but in the Graves household? It meant ghost stories. Yep, while other families were singing carols, we were huddled around the fire, swapping tales of banshees and things that go bump in the night. So, is it really any wonder I ended up... a little cursed… and with an obsession with the paranormal?

And let's be honest, midlife itself can feel a bit like a paranormal experience. One minute you're young(ish), carefree, and the next? Your knees creak louder than a rusty gate, and you're finding grey hairs in places you didn't even know you had hair. It's enough to make you believe in curses, so it is. And between a few bad decisions in my youth (we'll not get into that here) and a run of luck that'd make a black cat cross the road to avoid me, I've had my share of health woes. Cursed? Maybe. Dramatic? Definitely.

But here's the thing: amidst the chaos of creaking joints and a soul-sucking day job (that, ironically, gives me a fascinating insight into the, shall we say, less stable minds of the world – perfect fodder for a mystery writer, wouldn't you agree?), I've found solace. And that solace? It comes in the form of witches, whispers, and whodunits. I'm talking, of course, about paranormal cozy mysteries.

Why These Books? Why This Madness?

Look, I get it. The world's a bit… much… right now. And midlife? It's a whole other level of "muchness." You're juggling responsibilities, questioning your life choices, and wondering if that weird ache in your shoulder is the start of something sinister (it's probably just from sleeping funny, but still…).

Paranormal cozy mysteries? They're the antidote. They're a warm blanket on a chilly night, a strong cup of tea when you're feeling frazzled, and a thrilling escape from the everyday. They offer:

• Escape (Without Needing a Passport): Let's be real, who has the time (or the energy) for a grand adventure these days? These books whisk you away to charming little towns with cobblestone streets, quirky characters, and, of course, a healthy dose of murder. All without having to pack a single suitcase.

• Empowerment (with a Sprinkle of Magic): The heroines in these stories? They're often women just like us. Finding their feet, rediscovering their strength, and proving that it's never too late to embrace your inner badass (even if your "badassery" involves a bit of spellcasting and a talking cat).

• Community (Without the Awkward Chit-Chat): These books are all about found families, supportive friends, and a sense of belonging. It's like joining a book club where everyone's delightfully eccentric and nobody judges you for wearing your pajamas all day.

• Justice (Served with a Side of Scones): In a world that often feels unfair, there's something deeply satisfying about seeing the bad guys get their comeuppance, especially when it's delivered with a witty one-liner and a perfectly brewed cup of tea.

• The Animals!: Seriously. Can we all just agree that a crime-solving familiar is the best kind of sidekick?

More Than Just a Murder Mystery, Though, Isn't It?

It's about finding the magic in the mundane. It's about realizing that even when life throws you a curveball (or a cursed rocking chair, as the case may be), there's always room for a bit of wonder, a bit of laughter, and a whole lot of cozy charm.

It's about embracing the strangeness, the quirks, the things that make us us. Because, let's face it, a little bit of "cursed" is what makes life interesting, right?

I'm launching this Substack to create the cozy, cursed corner of the internet I've always craved—a place for midlife women who love murder, magic, and a bit of mayhem.

Join the Coven. We've got cats.

So, if you're a midlife woman (or, you know, anyone who appreciates a good story) looking for a bit of escape, a bit of empowerment, and a whole lot of fun, then I invite you to join me on this slightly bonkers journey. You might just discover your new obsession.

And now, over to you: What's your absolute favorite thing about paranormal cozy mysteries? The quirky characters? The magical setting? The fact that the murder weapon is often a surprisingly ordinary household object? Spill the tea in the comments!

Until next time, stay cozy — and just a little bit cursed.
🕸️ Daisy

Pull your shawls a little tighter, pour yourself a bracing cup of something warm (or witchy), and step softly—today, we’re treading into the quiet hum beneath Eldergloom’s cobblestones. Before Lenora Blackwell even crosses the threshold of Gloomwood Manor... before the walls whisper or the cat narrows its eyes… something ancient is already at work.

This is the hidden machinery of the town. The bones beneath the velvet skin. The reason why the fog lingers longer here, why the shadows tilt their heads just so, and why the veil between worlds seems like it might flutter if you so much as breathe too loudly.

Let’s take a peek beneath the floorboards, shall we?

Read more

It happens in broad daylight, with the dishwasher beeping its gentle accusation and the unopened post piling up like tombstones of forgotten intentions. It lingers in the room you keep meaning to tidy. It whispers from the unread emails, the dusty to-do lists, the calendar reminders that feel less like helpful nudges and more like tiny, insistent curses.

This haunting is often called midlife.

And its "ghosts"? They're invisible, but they certainly know your name.

The Invisible Hauntings We Carry

No one really prepares you for the moment your life starts to feel... cluttered. Not just your countertops or your inbox, but your head. Your heart.

By the time we hit midlife, many of us are juggling a potent cocktail of complications—elderly parents, hormonal sabotage, career fatigue, grief, divorce, grown children (or the quiet space where they might have been), and the creeping suspicion that maybe we missed a crucial memo somewhere along the life-path. And unlike the dramatic exorcisms of cinematic ghost stories, this kind of haunting is internal. Subtle. Persistently present.

It shows up as:

• Mental fog you can't quite clear with even the strongest coffee.

• That sinking feeling you get when you walk into a room and forget why you’re there (again).

• The phantom weight of expectations—yours and others'—that you no longer want to carry.

• An entire spectral parade of "shoulds," "what ifs," and "if onlys."

I call them emotional poltergeists.

They knock things off our mental shelves. They rearrange our priorities when we’re not looking. And they seem to feed off the very energy we don’t have to give.

Haunted Houses, Haunted Heads

Here’s the thing: I adore a good haunted house story. Crumbling walls, flickering chandeliers, mysterious whispers—it’s all wonderfully atmospheric. But the most profoundly haunted places I know don’t always have trapdoors or creaky floorboards.

They often look like:

• The hallway you avoid because it’s filled with boxes you were “going to sort… eventually.”

• The wardrobe that still holds clothes from a decade ago, waiting for a version of yourself that feels like a distant memory.

• The planner with good intentions inked in neat handwriting—abandoned with a sigh mid-February.

Every room can become symbolic:

• The attic: where you’ve carefully tucked away dreams, perhaps forgetting about them for a while.

• The kitchen: where you feel the pressure to nourish everyone, sometimes forgetting yourself in the process.

• The bathroom mirror: where a stranger, tired but familiar, occasionally stares back.

Our homes can be reflections of our inner worlds, and sometimes, they tell poignant ghost stories of their own.

But it’s not all doom, gloom, and dust bunnies with agendas. Because here’s where we get to pick up the pen and rewrite the ending.

Enter Eldergloom

In my upcoming paranormal cozy mystery series, starting with Grave Beginnings, my heroine, Lenora, isn’t just dealing with a crumbling manor and a fresh murder on her doorstep. While Eldergloom is certainly brimming with magical energies, peculiar ley lines, and a past that refuses to stay buried, Lenora's initial hauntings are deeply personal. She’s haunted by the decisions she made years ago, the path not taken, the woman she used to be, and the unsettling psychic echoes the old house seems to stir within her.

Sound a tad familiar?

Eldergloom, the eerie little town at the heart of the story, is more than just a backdrop for mystery and magic. It’s a mirror. A strange and foggy place where the past has teeth, and secrets don’t stay politely interred. And yet... it’s undeniably cozy. It’s becoming full of found family, weirdly charming rituals, and deeply relatable (if magically inclined) characters who are just trying to make it through the day without unraveling (or, you know, being the next victim).

If your life has ever felt like it should come with its own atmospheric soundtrack and the occasional spectral cat offering cryptic advice—welcome home.

A Little Practical Magic: How to Gently Unhaunt Yourself

While we can’t exactly summon a ghost-hunting team for the cobwebs in our psyche (though wouldn't that be handy?), there are small, comforting ways to gently clear the air.

Here are three cozy rituals for those midlife hauntings:

1. Name the "Ghost" (and Give it Tea):
   Take ten minutes. Write down every “should” that’s weighing on you. Every worry. Every nagging thought. Name them. Give them form. Then—light a candle, perhaps brew them a symbolic (and weak) cup of tea, tear up the paper, and politely show them the door. (Bonus points for dramatic sighing and sweeping gestures. They appreciate the theatrics.)

2. Create a Threshold Ritual:
   Choose one spot in your home—maybe the entryway, your favorite reading chair, or your bedroom—and transform it into a symbolic “portal” to peace. Add a candle, a treasured charm, a calming scent, or a quote that anchors you. Whenever you enter or pass that space, pause. Breathe. Acknowledge that you’re consciously stepping from one mental space to another. It’s a small anchor in the daily tide.

3. Brew the "Unhaunting" Cup of Tea (or Coffee!):
   Ingredients:

   • Your absolute favorite mug (the one that just feels right).

   • Herbal tea (lemon balm or chamomile are lovely) or your preferred comforting brew.

   • Ten minutes where you vow not to multitask (a truly magical feat).
     Instructions:
     Boil water. Steep the tea. Sit with it. Sip slowly, perhaps staring out a window or at a flickering candle. Let your personal "ghosts" know they’re not running the show today.
     Optional but encouraged: whisper “Not today, spectral nonsense.”

You’re Not Alone in This Wonderfully Weird House

One of the cruelest tricks the hauntings of midlife play is convincing us we’re utterly alone in our experiences. That everyone else is handling things with grace and perfectly sorted sock drawers. That we’re the only ones walking around in a fog of undone things, forgotten dreams, and motivation that seems to have packed its bags and left for a sunnier clime.

But let me tell you something, friend: you're not the only one who feels like your life has a secret attic full of unsorted boxes. You're not the only one who occasionally cries in the bath and then puts on your game face for the world. You're not the only one who wonders if you're living the story you were truly meant to write.

The "ghosts" might be persistent, but so are we. And sometimes, so is the cat who trips you just when you need to notice something important.

Why I Write Heroines Haunted by Life (and a Little Magic)

My characters are messy. They mourn. They forget where they put their keys (and sometimes their courage). They don’t have six-pack abs or instant magical answers or Pinterest-worthy pantries. But they do fight for themselves, often in wonderfully imperfect ways. They do find their power, even if it’s hidden under a pile of unread books. And they laugh, cry, and curse their way through the fog, just like many of us do.

That’s the kind of "haunted house" I want to live in: one filled with candlelight, good coffee, creaky floorboards that tell tales, and people who see your ghosts—and stay anyway, maybe even offer to help dust them off.

If that’s the kind of story you’re drawn to, you’ll probably like what I’m brewing in Eldergloom.

Tell Me: What "Haunts" You (in the Coziest Way Possible)?

Have you felt "haunted" lately—by your past, your expectations, or perhaps just an alarmingly large laundry pile? What small rituals or cozy comforts help you feel a little more grounded and a little less… spectrally overwhelmed?

Light a candle (metaphorically or literally!), leave a comment below, and let’s share our wisdom and unhaunt ourselves together.

And if you’d like a taste of Eldergloom's unique charm and a heroine who’s navigating her own set of peculiar hauntings (while trying to solve a murder, of course), I have a little something for you...

✨ A Most Curious Invitation: Fancy a Potion from the Enchanted Coast? ✨

Before Gloomwood Manor officially flings open its creaky doors with Grave Beginnings later this year (and oh, the secrets it’s dying to tell!), I’ve conjured a little something to whet your appetite for magical mayhem.

My paranormal cozy mystery novella, "Claws, Collars, and Curses," is entirely FREE for the taking! Think of it as a charming little aperitif – a complete, standalone morsel of mystery, featuring a a familiar with a problem and far too many opinions as he tries to solve it. It’s the perfect way to see if our particular brand of delightful disaster is for you.

Get Claws, Collars, and Curses

Consider it your official, no-strings-attached entry visa to the weirder side of things. Go on, don’t be shy. Brutus insists.

(And Now, For Those Who Want to Unlock Eldergloom's Deeper Secrets...)

🗝️ Hark! A Secret Chamber Unseals: You're Cordially Invited to Become a Founding Warden of Eldergloom! 🗝️

As the mists around Eldergloom begin to swirl a little more intensely, I’ve been brewing up something extra special for those of you who feel that pull towards its quirky, magical heart.

I’m thrilled to announce the launch of a new paid subscription option here on Substack – an invitation to become a "Founding Warden of Eldergloom"!

Becoming a Founding Warden means you’re getting a special key to some of the Manor's more hidden rooms and becoming part of our innermost circle. Initially, our Founding Wardens will get exclusive access to:

• ☕️ The Haunted Hangout (Our Private Chat): A dedicated space for our community to connect, share theories, discuss all things magical, mysterious, and midlife.

• 🌑 Exclusive "Field Notes from the Enchanted Coast": Deeper dives into the world-building, character backstories, local legends, and inspirations behind Eldergloom.

And, the most exciting part: The jewel in our paid offering, 🗝️ The Enigma Vault, will officially unlock its doors closer to the launch of Grave Beginnings. This is where you'll get to participate in exclusive, quarterly interactive mysteries set within our world! As a Founding Warden, you’ll be the very first to step inside.

My free posts here – ✨From the Desk of Daisy Graves, 🕯️The Haunted Hearth, and 👻The Skeptical Specter – will absolutely continue! This is just an extra layer for those who want to explore even deeper.

If you’re ready to become a Founding Warden and claim your key to more Eldergloom secrets.

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Warmly (with a hint of graveyard chill and freshly brewed tea),

🕯️ Daisy Graves

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Brutus has positioned himself directly between me and the keyboard, emitting low sighs that I think mean "more plot twists, less procrastinating on Facebook," 🐾 so it must be time for another peek into the writing cauldron!

Last time we chatted, I was deep in the atmosphere – setting up that sprawling, secret-filled manor and hinting at the first sparks of connection amidst the gloom. Well, things have… escalated.

Here’s what I’m wrestling with this week:

The magic is no longer just atmospheric hints; it's actively messing with my protagonist, Lenora! 😅 I'm writing those scenes where the initial "huh, that's weird" moments (like flickering lights or conveniently placed clues from a certain judgmental cat 😼) collide head-on with undeniable, "okay, physics just left the building" magic. Think: psychic flashes that feel like emotional thunderstorms, ancient guardians revealing themselves, and warnings delivered via frost on windowpanes.

It's that delicious moment where the skeptical protagonist has to confront the reality that her new home operates on rules entirely different from the ones she's used to. The logical explanations are fraying at the edges, and she's starting to suspect her "bad wiring" might need more than an electrician... maybe an exorcist? Or at least a very good cup of tea with someone who understands ley lines (looking at you, Hetty!).

Why This Is Hard (and Fun)

This part of the story is challenging me because:

Finding that perfect balance between paranormal reveal and cozy reaction! How much magic is too much, too soon? How does a practical, analytical woman process discovering her cat is possibly immortal and that she might be developing psychic abilities, all while trying to solve a murder and figure out which local contractor won't overcharge her for fixing ancient plumbing?

It’s about making the supernatural feel consequential to the mystery and the character arc, without letting it completely overwhelm the grounded, relatable core that makes a cozy cozy. Lenora can't just wave a wand and solve the crime, but she also can't keep attributing everything to stress or bad luck. It’s like tightrope walking through ankle-deep fog—with a skeptical cat yelling critique from the sidelines.

What’s Sparking Joy

One thing that's sparking unexpected joy right now:

Writing the dialogue where Lenora tries (and mostly fails) to explain the magical weirdness to her very mundane, very supportive best friend back in the city. 😂 The contrast between Eldergloom's reality and the "normal" world provides some much-needed levity and highlights just how far down the rabbit hole Lenora has fallen. Plus, exploring how you maintain friendships when your life suddenly involves things like "ward maintenance" and "vampire acquaintances" is surprisingly fun!

A Cozy Pondering for You

Imagine you've reluctantly accepted magic is real in your quirky new town. What's the first mundane, everyday task you'd secretly try to use a tiny bit of magic for (even if you weren't sure how)? (e.g., Finding lost keys? Making the perfect cup of tea? Getting the wifi to stop glitching?)

Share your delightfully practical (or wildly impractical) reactions in the comments! 👇

✨ P.S. Still getting acquainted with the strange and charming world of Eldergloom? Don't forget you can download my free gothic cozy novella, Claws, Collars, and Curses, and get your first taste of its secrets (and its opinionated feline guardian)! 🎩👻

👉 Grab your free novella here!

Until next time, keep your tea warm and your protective wards charged (just in case!),

Daisy Graves 🕯️📖

✨ P.P.S. Can't get enough of Eldergloom's mysterious feline guardian? Good news! The official Character Card for Tiberius (aka Shadow) himself is materializing exclusively for subscribers very soon... 🐈‍⬛🔑

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