Midnight Snack
October 30, 2025 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as dark fiction, Halloween, short fiction, writing
At the chiming of eleven bells, the retreat’s evening session began. Squeezed around the table, six people scooted chairs until no one brushed up against anyone else. The room’s reddish glow came from a candelabra on a nearby shelf, and the air hung thick with cedar incense.
Jana coughed into her hand and took side glances at the five others. Duvan, whose laughter burst out at the oddest moments; Metrie, whose face was as pale as the ivory cloth that covered the table; Tartas, who kept shifting among her multiple forms so that Jana wasn’t exactly sure who she was at any moment, and two others, whose names and peculiarities she couldn’t recall.
“This meeting, on Allhallows Eve, marks the time of year when we can at last show our true faces,” Metrie intoned, her voice just above a whisper. Somewhere in the darkened room came the slow ticking of a clock. “Place both your hands on the table, and please remain silent.”
Palms down, Jana let her gaze rove, careful not to engage with anyone. She had heard that one of the five—four, if she didn’t count Metrie, the leader—was a transformed cryptid. More precisely, the Pocono Polecat. Research had pointed her to this Pennsylvania gathering, on this night, when transformers slipped however briefly into their original shape.
A tiny camera, attached as a bead to her necklace, would capture the change when it happened. She hoped. Then she’d have the proof needed for the article she was writing for The Cryptozoologist.
Metrie recited a prayer in an ancient language filled with hard glottal stops and velar clicks. A breath exhaled through the room, bringing with it a rank smell that wrinkled Jana’s nose.
Polecat.
The seat where the black-haired woman wrapped in a white shawl had been sitting was now filled with a human-sized black-furred mammal, a thin white stripe down its nose. It laid its two long, sharp claws on the table.
“Welcome, Shkak,” Metrie said, in English. Duvan exploded in laughter, and Tartas blinked through three form changes in as many seconds. The sixth person at the table, the one with close-cropped hair the color of burnt leaves, collapsed off their chair with a moan.
Jana felt her necklace, rubbing a finger next to the embedded camera, hoping it had recorded what she needed. In response, Shkak bared her teeth at Jana, who gasped. The stomach-turning stench overwhelmed the smoke of the cedar incense.
“You’re real,” Jana croaked, trying and failing to hold her breath. Duvan and Tartas fled the room.
“Of course, she’s real,” Metrie scoffed. She held a lace handkerchief over her nose. “Be careful what you ask for.”
A low-pitched rumble vibrated the table as Shkak stared at Jana. It had to be a growl. The polecat’s claws tore through the table covering, making long slashes.
Covering her mouth and nose with her hands, Jana dropped her gaze. “I’m so glad to meet you … as yourself.” Taking a breath and holding it, she dug out her cell phone, opened her camera app, and turned to Metrie. “Can you snap a photo of the two of us?”
Shkak rose to her full height.
Metrie smiled and put her hand out to take the phone. “Be glad to.” She added, “You do realize that polecats are omnivores, not herbivores, right?”
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When the world was black and white but the circus was a colorful place by Jina Bacarr
October 11, 2025 by Jina Bacarr in category circus, Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as cirucs, Paris, thriller, trapeze, writing, WW2
Hitler loved the circus.
According to classified reports uncovered after the war, the Fuehrer would sit in the front row of the circus and cheer on the performers he perceived to be ‘working class folks’ putting their lives on the line.
He loved the ‘woman in danger’ element in the acts, as my heroine Lia di Montieri discovers when she appears in a circus in Germany in the 1930s. I shan’t spoil the surprise, but we follow Lia’s career, her heartbreak over losing her baby, and how she makes a daring leap to join the Resistance to save Jewish children.
I’ve always been fascinated by circuses since I was a little girl. Especially the trapeze. We had a swing set in the backyard when I was growing up and I’d try every crazy trick I could think of, pretending I was flying under the big top, that I was ‘an angel without wings’ until one day the swing broke. Then we moved. As we did a lot in those days.
And so ended my circus dreams.
Finally, I can fly again! In my Boldwood Books upcoming WW2 novel about Occupied Paris and the circus.
‘The Stolen Children of War’ is…
The heartbreaking story of Lia di Montieri, Queen of the Flying Trapeze, who loses her own baby and risks her life to save innocent children from the Gestapo.
An adorable baby elephant named Bebe.
And lurking in the background is a serial killer preying on circus queens who threatens to destory what Lia holds most dear.
I wanted to write a story about circuses with a twist — there’s danger under the big top at every performance… lions, tigers… knife throwers… high wire walkers, trapeze artistes flying 100 mph from the flybar to the catcher, but what if there was also a killer watching their every move, ready to strike?
You’ll find all that and more at Le Cirque Casini!
It’s a psycological thriller with a mad doctor serial killer, beautiful circus queens in danger, heroes willing to die to protect them, baby animal ‘cuteness’, and ‘stolen children’ who will steal your heart.
Step right up, ladies and gents, and let’s go to the circus!
Now on NetGalley for all you book bloggers and reviewers.
What’s the Answer? by Kitty Bucholtz
October 9, 2025 by Kitty Bucholtz in category Writing
I’ve told you before that I’ve been struggling the last several years with my creativity. Most of it seems to be a result of changes in my hormones during perimenopause and menopause. But before that I realized I’d gotten pretty deeply mired in burnout. Slowly, my creativity has been coming back, ideas have begun to flow again, and this past month I’ve been plotting away on my next superhero book. Yay!
The ”how” is partially from balancing my hormones with hormone replacement therapy (HRT) and partially from several small things that have made a big difference. I got a scholarship to attend Author Nation last year, and it really helped energize me. There I met and decided to have a weekly check-in with some writer friends who are “more like me.” (I’m not going to try to explain the specifics; when you’re with people who get you and to whom you don’t have to explain your thinking, it’s so freeing! It really helped open the valve on my joy and creativity.)
That led to me backing a Kickstarter by Johnny B. Truant a couple months ago. He wrote a book called The Artisan Author: The Low-Stress, High-Quality, Fan-Focused Approach to Escaping the Publishing Rat Race based on the class he taught at Author Nation last year. (Release date November 4, 2025 – look for it!) I decided to back the level that included a 10-week college-style class based on the book. We’re just a month in and I’ve already met so many more authors who feel like I do – like, I started writing, and particularly self-publishing, so I could write my way. Then, in trying to learn how to sell books, I got caught up in all the reasons I “needed” to change this or that so that my perfect readers could find me on Amazon and other vendor sites.
I wrote a more detailed post on Substack if you’re interested. I talk about self-publishing and using your voice and standing up for others. Here is the ending to that post. I hope it gives you something to think about. It’s worth it.
0 0 Read moreYOU have more power than you realize. That’s the actual tagline. So let me encourage you to use your words. Use your power. Even if you believe the exact opposite of me, use your words. A world that becomes more and more homogenized becomes more and more unsafe for “the other.” Love isn’t just for the people like you. To Love means to take care of the widow and the orphan, the illegal immigrant and the transgendered neighbor, the politician and the farmer.
That’s how Love becomes the answer.
World Building
October 5, 2025 by Tracy Reed in category Writing I’ve been writing romance fiction for a while and this year, I got a revelation about world building. Chalk it up to naivety. I thought deep world building was reserved for paranormal or fantasy genres. Not contemporary fiction.When I wrote my first couple of books, I used the city of New York as my backdrop. I included local landmarks as points of reference to make the stories more relatable. I stand by my decision to do so. To this day, when I include New York, I sometimes use my old building number, not the full address out of respect for privacy to the current residents. However, life and time moves forward and some places mentioned no longer exist which made my stories dated.
When I started writing, I reached out to a well-known author and asked for advice on how to better my writing. I was shocked at her answer, Don’t read any authors in your genre. I followed that advice for quite a while. Then I was at a conference and heard an author say the opposite. She reading other books in her genre greatly improved her writing. I started reading books in my genre, incorporating some of the craft I gleaned and she was right, I saw a vast difference and improvement in my storytelling.
Fast-forward. This year I decided to only read new-to-me black romance authors. I am embarrassed to admit I had not heard of any of these phenomenal authors. In reading their work, I have learned so much about storytelling and world building.
In my own writing, I have extracted characters into spinoffs, but I hadn’t included the characters and places across my other books. World building. I reviewed a couple of my books and realized I had dabbled in world building, but not like the women I had been reading. I noticed they had created schools, cities, brands and products, celebrities, media outlets, retail and other businesses that were used throughout their stories. They even crossed over characters. One author has a prominent celebrity who has ties to characters in some of her other books. In her book world, everyone knows him and is familiar with his work.
This clever world building got my creative juices flowing. I had a list of places mentioned in two of my series, but not like she did. I’m in the course of rewriting a book and I’m doing this world building. I’ve taken a magazine briefly mentioned in one book and carrying it over to another book. It’s going to be one of the media publications in my writing world. I’ve also taken one of the retail stores that belongs to a character and making it a shopping destination for my writing world. I’ve got a lawyer from one series who is the mentor and friend to a lawyer from another series.
World building like this has opened my eyes to deeper story telling. We’re supposed to be fiction writers, but how good are we at our craft, if we aren’t making full use of our creative muse. If you haven’t really committed to world building, I encourage you to do so. Get a notebook and start building your world. 0 1 Read more
Night Shift
September 30, 2025 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as Dianna Sinovic, flash Fiction, short story, transformation
A crab shell on the riverbank marked the end of day. No crab inside, just the empty carapace and claws, bright objects against the darker sandy grit along the water. Jyr laid thin branches of hemlock around the shell, then watched the river current flickering where the setting sun touched the ripples.
She had gathered bare sticks and limbs to make a fire, but that was for after night dropped its curtain over the landscape. For now, she sat cross-legged on the bank, next to the shell, and waited.
Soon, the heron had told her. The change was approaching. Was she ready?
She’d asked, “Will I like it?” The heron had preened, offering nothing else.
With a weathered branch, Jyr drew shape after shape in the damp sand. Maybe the runic symbols Belna had taught her as a child would help hurry along whatever lay ahead.
Six mallards swam past, their soft quacks of conversation weaving with the low rush of water over stones. A breeze from the northeast ruffled Jyr’s hair and brought the sharp scent of pine sap. Small rocks mixed with the finer sand pressed into Jyr’s bottom, forcing her to shift.
As the sun sank below the horizon, the river darkened. Instead of a fiery glint, the running water now reflected the spangle of stars emerging overhead.
And still Jyr waited, her stomach rumbling in a low growl. When?
As hard as she stared, nothing and no one appeared out of the night. Finally, a crab moved at the edge of the water, and with a quick stab she had it in her beak. Beak? Now standing, she lifted one leg and then the other, her knees bending backward, then she shook, feeling her feathers move and rearrange themselves.
Another crab, another swallow. Jyr resumed her slow stalk along the bank, the memory of what she had been already fading, like the shapes and symbols drawn in the wet sand.
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