Kathy Grant
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kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Kathy Grant
@kgrantwrites.bsky.social
960 followers 1.5K following 170 posts
(she/her) life’s too short to not be drinking coffee and writing fiction | rep'd by Kiya Evans at Paper Literary | reading and writing in Vancouver 🇨🇦
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kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Happy #caturday
November 16, 2025 at 12:17 AM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Today was a good #WIPSnips word choice--helped me to cull the overuse of "building" in my current #WIP (Paper Guitar). #WritingPrompts #writesky #amwriting
The following text on blue and white background: There are many things I could do in twenty-six minutes. For example, I could take a shower. (Would it be presumptuous of me to use Rafe’s soap?) I could explore the building—find the laundry room and where to put my compostables, recyclables, and things destined to pollute the planet for the next thousand years. I could get cleaning supplies out of the kitchen closet, swap out anything toxic for baking soda or vinegar, and give my room a good wipe down to remove any lingering Sebastien cooties. I could unpack the cooler bag holding the three soft apples and the near-expiry-date tub of yogurt rescued from my dorm fridge. Or I could sit on the stair of the turret, imagining the contents of the envelope Rafe left on top of his dresser.
November 13, 2025 at 3:50 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
How nice could a romcom be without the word nice? Well, this instance unfortunately comes from the cut chapter I'm still weeping over ... so "less nice." #amwriting #Wipsnips #writingprompts #writesky
I hoist myself out of bed on Wednesday morning with the certainty I’ve time-travelled fifty years into the future. It’s not until I’m peering into the bathroom mirror that I convince myself I’m not ninety-two, recovering from hip surgery and a run-in with a MACK truck. “I showed you where the hot tub was,” drawls Kale as I shuffle up to the table where he, his grandmother (who may actually be ninety-two), and Kylie are having breakfast. Other guests occupy the room today, but I’m in no state to chitchat with people who don’t profit from being nice to me. With a grunt, I ease myself onto a chair at the Hardwick’s table. I immediately regret sitting down.
November 3, 2025 at 3:06 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Didn't think I had any #WIPSnips for scary week, but I found one in a #WIP I've placed on the back burner for a while. #amwriting #writesky #Writingprompts
Images of a soccer ball, a girl hanging from monkey bars, and a spider crawling near a jack-o-lantern, overlaid with the following text: “Girls, time to head to grandma and grandpa’s place,” Ryan called them back from the monkey bars. They eagerly took a hand each, treating his arms like another play structure. They walked linked together like a three-headed monster along the path that ran beside the soccer turf. As usual, Ryan’s eyes strayed to the door of the equipment room across the field. He tamped down the feelings that place brought up, looking instead at the field itself.
October 31, 2025 at 2:45 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Hats off to another snip from a chapter cut. RIP until the day I can figure out how to work you into another book.
#WIPSnips #writesky #amwriting #writingprompts
The following text appears on a wood-grain background: I needn’t have worn the dressy shirt. Although the Ranch can accommodate thirty guests, the ten or so tables nestled between the dining room’s large windows and stone fireplace (not lit in the early September heat), are empty save for one. Kale Hardwick dines alone. He waves me over. His hat rests on the chair next to him. Its band has left an indentation in the sandy-blond waves above his ears. “Pull up a chair and join me Just Millie.” Rolling my eyes at his insistence on using “just” as an honorific, I do as he suggests.
October 26, 2025 at 1:54 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
One instance of lottery that I could find--in my current #WIP (Paper Guitar). #WIPSnips #Writesky #amwriting
The following text appears over an image of fried eggs and bacon on a plate on a wood table: I agree to move in with him. The move will take place the following Tuesday as Rafe has Tuesdays off work and can pick me up from the dorm with his car, which saves me cab fare. We agree to terms over a full meal of eggs with tomato slices, bacon, and toast, all cooked by him before he woke me with a gentle shake to say, “breakfast is ready.” How cool is that? I’ve won the roommate lottery.
October 25, 2025 at 2:33 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
A snip from the #WIP I #amwriting, tentatively titled PAPER GUITAR. #WIPSnips #Writesky #Writingprompts
A photo of the total eclipse of the sun with the following text: I look around the attic, like I expect to see him, arm resting against the wall of a dormer, eyes as black as the totality of his eclipse over my life, mouth curved in the barest hint of a smile, T-shirt riding up for a glimpse of flesh above his jeans. My heart hammers as memories go off like flash bombs. My frenzied scoop of his duvet and cramming it into the box, wanting to snatch and preserve something of him, before I fled the apartment and he returned. Was his phone lying there on the bed? Oh god. Has it been in the box this whole time? My hand goes to my mouth, scared I’m going to be sick.
October 24, 2025 at 1:59 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
A SECOND chance for a snip that didn't survive the chopping block during edits on This Is Not A Hockey Romance. #amwriting #Wipsnips #writesky #writingprompts
The following text appears on a yellow and woodgrain background: I’ve made worse entrances. When I won the Blazer for my second novel, I’d been a nervous wreck backstage. I’d sought refuge in the restroom. Once there, I’d taken the opportunity to pee before marching confidently out on stage with my dress tucked into the back of my nylons—the wreaths decorating my Christmas-themed panties clearly visible. I turned the gaff around like a pro, making a joke about the perfect meet cute I’d staged with the handsome, hipster techie who’d run out after me, gesturing wildly at my clothing malfunction. No doubt I’ll find a way to turn this around too.
October 21, 2025 at 2:23 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
#WIPSnips from the novel I #amwriting (currently titled PAPER GUITARS). #writesky #writingprompts
Photo of a field of daisies against a blue sky with the following text: I thought my parachute was securely fastened—that I’d readied myself for a nice, soft landing next to Sebastien in a field of daisies where we’d sit on the horizon, basking in the sunset. But that was before last night. Before I realized the horizon is a long way away and I can’t find the cannon to launch me. I’m not the clown I used to be. And probably allergic to daisies.
October 20, 2025 at 2:05 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
For "dodge" I had to go with a synonym, "escape" and some "dodging the subject" vibes. (More from cut scenes from THIS IS NOT A HOCKEY ROMANCE.) #WIPSnips #amwriting #writingcommunity #writesky
Hearts, hockey, cowboy, and theatre icons on a blue background with the following text: “Since 1599, anyone in the English-speaking literary world knows what happens to star-crossed lovers. I was born and raised to hate hockey. It was foolish of me to even contemplate writing a hockey romance.” “You were writing a hockey romance or having one?” Kale stands up after adjusting the clay thrower. “Is there a difference?” I snort. “Just trying to figure whether I need to remove any daggers from your bed chamber.” A satisfied laugh escapes my mouth. I’ve stumbled upon a cowboy who gets a Shakespeare reference. Maybe he’s worth flirting with after all.
October 18, 2025 at 2:57 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Been so caught up in a rewrite, haven't played #WIPSnips in a while. Thought I "might" get back in the game. This is from material cut from THIS IS NOT A HOCKEY ROMANCE #amwriting #writingprompts #writesky
The following text appears on the background of tan coloured cowboy boots: “You’re not the first saddle virgin we’ve had ’round here. I’ll give you Agnes. She’s gentle as a lamb. Kids ride her. Not much giddy-up left in the old gal—she trots rather than gallops. Hard on the ass, but that’s what the hot tub’s for.” He stops inside the barn door before a rack of cowboy boots. “What size are you?” “Women’s seven-and-a-half.” “Oh, I know you’re a woman, Just Millie.” Kale draws out the word know in a way that seasons his grin. “I thought they might be in men’s sizes,” I say, my face going red. Clearing my throat, I ask, “anything else I need to know before we start?” “Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the back, or a fool from any direction.”
October 16, 2025 at 2:29 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Still another bit "snipped" (permanently) from my novel under revision. MC helps to set up for a podiatry conference. (I'm mourning the loss of many good foot jokes.) #WIPSnips #WritingPrompts #writingcommunity #writesky
The following text appears on a white and polka-dotted background: Winnie waits for me in the lobby beside a trolly holding banker’s boxes. “Morning,” she says. “Got your foot jokes ready?” “Ready to dip my toes in.” I’ve done enough conferences with her to know how she works. She leaves me outside the doors of Ballroom D to set up the registration table. It’s binders rather than folders. Winnie has already sorted the name tags into large envelopes of alphabetical groupings. I’m laying them out on a table when someone speaks. “Excuse me, are you Millicent?” I turn to face Trish of Friday-night fame. Fortunately, with ninety-five percent of my skin covered, no make-up, my wavey hair pulled back in a ponytail, and without an empty wine glass dangling from my fingertips, Trish sees a different person.
September 10, 2025 at 2:11 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Yet another clip from #WipSnips from work being cut from my novel under revision. (Loving having a forum to share it!) The MC is a novelist. #writingcommunity #Writingprompts #writesky
The following text appears on a yellow and blue background: Pleased with myself for assuming control of my writing career, I decide to put thoughts of work aside and enjoy my last day at the Two H. With the burden of finding creative inspiration in cowboys vanquished, I embrace the afternoon’s lariat lesson with gusto and engage in some harmless, no pressure flirting with Kale and Brandon—a distant cousin of Kale’s who drove up to prepare for the weekend rodeo. I manage to lasso them several times. Pleased to discover a hidden talent, I purchase a lariat of my own to take home, where it’ll no doubt come in handy to rope others into doing my bidding, tie up loose ends, put myself in knots, and truss up the thanksgiving turkey. (I’ve consciously omitted references to bondage as I don’t want this book to be mis-shelved.)
September 9, 2025 at 1:54 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Another snip from parts being cut 🥲 from my novel under revision prior to submission. I'm going to have to write a cowboy novel to reuse this stuff. 😂 #WIPSnips #writingcommunity #writesky
The Dustbin Saloon merges cowboy kitsch with modern roadhouse taverna. Popular country music blasts at an unnecessarily loud decimal level, but the retro décor has me intrigued. I’m inspecting the ghost town wall mural when a snippet of conversation pierces through the twang coming from the overhead speakers. “Check out that guy wearing the chaps.”
September 6, 2025 at 3:02 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
It seems my love of coffee is reflected on every second page of my manuscripts. Here's a snip from the wip I #amwriting, wherein the MC describes her father. #WIPSnips #writingcommunity #writesky
The following text appears over the image of two lattes in blue cups on a wooden table: Dad’s ideal day starts with an hour run. He then engages every patron at the coffee shop in a plot to takeover the world. After that: day-trading, meeting with at least one town councillor about increasing energy efficiency or reforming tax bylaws, then using every pot and utensil in the kitchen to cook a five-course meal (to which he’s invited the three homeless people he checked on during his morning run). After dinner, he drags my mom to a village thirty-minutes away to sing karaoke until midnight. Then he gets up the next day and does it all again. He’s burned through everything there is to do in small town Nova Scotia. He knows everyone within a 100-kilometre radius. Politicians close their constituency offices when he’s on the street. Locals collapse in exhaustion at the mere sight of him.
September 4, 2025 at 4:33 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Back after some time away ... I've posted this clip before, but it's my only instance of "sane." (From Almost a Love Story)
#Wipsnips #writingcommunity #writesky #writingprompts
The following text appears over the image of a window: I’ve been awake for some time. An hour? Long enough for dark to turn to daylight. The sun reaches me grey, through a filter of heavy clouds and windows that haven’t been washed in years. Even though the cushion on the turret bench is too firm, narrow, and short for any sane adult to use as a bed, I slept better than I have in years. I’m scared to move from underneath Rafe’s duvet, worried now I’ve opened the box, his smell will disperse and dilute into the attic air. Those magic molecules that awaken such a yearning in me will marry dust and moisture to smell like a Salvation Army Thrift Store.
September 3, 2025 at 2:50 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Perfect morning.
Photo looking up at tall evergreen trees in forest. Photo taken by person sitting in camp chair with book resting on their legs and trees and camping equipment visible.
August 29, 2025 at 2:45 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Here's a snip from the #WIP I #amwriting (ALMOST A LOVE STORY), which I can repost for #WIPSnips on Aug 25, 26 and 27. LOVE the efficiency! ("snake" serving as "reptile")
#writingcommunity
The following text appears on a green background: Hearing the steady, even breaths from the other room, I know I can’t turn on the mattress’s built-in pump without waking Rafe. Using my phone’s flashlight, I find the manual pump included for “Outdoor Adventures.” Five minutes later, I’ve made sense of the instructions enough to attach the nozzle to the mattress and stand up to pump with my foot. The whoosh of each pump sounds through the furniture-impoverished apartment like the exhale of an angry snake. I decide the best course of action is to pump as fast as I can—on the theory that a shorter duration of continuous noise is less likely to wake Rafe than a longer duration of staccato hissing. I silently cheer, come on, come on, come on, urging my foot to move like a jack hammer. So absorbed in the task am I, when a hand emerges from the dark to land on my shoulder, I nearly hit the roof.
August 25, 2025 at 6:03 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Another snip from a fun (but distracting) chapter that is sadly being cut from the #WIP I #amrevising before going on submission. #WIPSnips #writingcommunity
The following text appears on a background of a sky after sunset and an icon of a monster-truck: I’m still wearing the suit jacket and pencil skirt from our meeting. The skirt makes climbing in and out of the truck a challenge. I roll on to my stomach to wiggle my way out backwards. A throat clears behind me. “Offer you a hand ma’am?” My head whips around. The silhouette of a man wearing a cowboy hat, backlit by the sunset, lifts a muscled arm to tip the brim of his hat in a postcard-worthy greeting. I scramble to flip over, whacking my elbow against the steering wheel. “Owe!” The horn beeps when I grab the wheel. The cowboy takes a step forward, revealing playful brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a smirk that says he appreciated the view of my rump. “Hope you brought a pair of Wranglers or Levis. We’re fresh outta side saddles.”
August 23, 2025 at 3:00 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Moment away from writing for some cat love.
Photo of woman petting cat’s head.
August 21, 2025 at 11:23 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
From the #WIP I #amwriting, tentatively titled ALMOST A LOVE STORY, the MC ponders the state of her life and career.
#WIPSnips #writingcommunity #writesky #writingprompts
The following text appears on a green background: “Is that Amelia?” “The one and only.” I observe her with renewed interest. The Industrial French Maid is the woman Dad spoke so highly about—in a why-can’t-you-be-more-like-her sort of way. He meant happy. Why couldn’t I be happy like the woman who ran her own coffee shop instead of one who went off to grad school because she wanted to do something important, work with big ideas, and make her dad proud? (Thoughts as bitter as coffee today.) I don’t have a good answer. For so long, I’ve told myself I’m stuck in a job that doesn’t allow for big ideas. I’m a cog in the waste management and road maintenance machine and I can’t get out. But what if the truth is: I’m a cog because, on some level, I don’t want to work with big ideas? What if big ideas aren’t what makes me happy? Has Clarissa Danes been an obstacle to my career happiness or just a convenient excuse for me not to pursue something that was never my dream in the first place? Should I be making coffee?
August 20, 2025 at 2:05 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Lots of rainbows, elbows, bowls, and even bowels, but I've settled on a "bow" from a chapter that will, sadly, likely be cut from the novel I #amrevising to go #onsubmission. (Hard to let go ...) #WIPSnips #Writingcommunity #writesky #WIPPrompts
On a background photo of a lone cowboy astride a horse on the desert, appears the following text: I take his hand, prepared to shake. Instead, he pulls me forward, saying “jump,” while his other arm slips around me, hand turning my hip mid-leap such that I find myself standing on the ground beside him in a dance-cuddle, ready to two-step my way into the Ranch House. “Um, thanks.” I let go his hand and step away, turning to face him. Kale looks like the real deal: bow-legged as if he’d just swung out of the saddle. He wears pointy-toed boots destined to give him bunions. His dusty jeans, sun-bleached on the top, cling to his legs in a way that suggests which muscles he uses to stay astride. His shirt is a classic western with mother-of-pearl snaps. I’m eighty-seven percent certain he wears the shirt for the tourists: people like me, who expect to see John Wayne or Clint Eastwood. It’s open at the neck. My eyes cast downward to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. When my eyes turn up to his face, he gives me a full-toothed smile. “You got a name ma’am?”
August 18, 2025 at 2:49 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
A cheap-cheap-cheap snippet from my upmarket romcom likely to be on submission this fall. MC is a struggling novelist looking for her comeback by writing a hockey romance.
#WIPSnips #writingprompts #writingcommunity #writesky
Against a backdrop of a photo of a woman in fancy dress lounging in an armchair is the following text: “Just wait until you try it on. The colour will make your eyes pop.” “I don’t care if it makes my eyes snap and crackle. It will show way too much skin. I’m going there as a serious author doing research. I don’t want to look cheap.” “Cheap?” She sounds rightly outraged. “I wore that dress last summer to a fundraiser. Are you calling me cheap? Or the dress? I’ll have you know it cost—” “Sorry! No, I didn’t mean that.” I’m nervous and lashing out at Jess and her dress, which is probably lovely if I give it a chance. It’s just small. I’m supposed to talk to hockey players tonight. But I’ve been pre-programmed to view them as predators, chasing every young thing in a skirt. At forty-two, I can hardly call myself young, which makes me worry I’ll look like mutton dressed up as lamb. And when I introduce myself as a romance writer, I’ll have to contend with a whole host of other assumptions.
August 13, 2025 at 1:55 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
Today's #WIPSnips from the work I #amwriting tentatively titled "Almost a Love Story." #WritingPrompts #Writingcommunity
Photo of beer glasses with the following text: “What are we celebrating at five p.m. on a Wednesday?” Seb asks. “The end of Institutional Humanity,” Delia says with a sardonic sigh. She pours Seb a sleeve of beer from our pitcher. “Cool. Long live the cold corporate empire.” He clinks his glass against hers and then mine. “You guys wanna order nachos?” Normally, this would be the point in the Sebastien interaction where I would start making excuses to leave. Unfortunately, Delia and I had already placed a nachos order before he walked in. And I’m hungry. On the bright side, we can now split the bill three ways. Saving for grad school means every dollar counts.
August 12, 2025 at 3:16 PM
kgrantwrites.bsky.social
A "real" sample of my current #WIP, which I'm now calling ALMOST A LOVE STORY. #WIPSnips #writingcommunity #writesky
the following text appears on a background photo of a window: I’ve been awake for some time. An hour? Long enough for dark to turn to daylight. The sun reaches me grey, through a filter of heavy clouds and windows that haven’t been washed in years. Even though the cushion on the turret bench is too firm, narrow, and short for any sane adult to use as a bed, I slept better than I have in years. I’m scared to move from underneath Rafe’s duvet, worried now I’ve opened the box, his smell will disperse and dilute into the attic air. Those magic molecules that awaken such a yearning in me will marry dust and moisture to smell like a Salvation Army Thrift Store. That’s probably the sort of place this duvet belongs. I’ll donate it today. Pesky errant thought. There’s no way I’m letting this go—yet another errant thought, considering how I’d acted so swiftly, so decisively, to let go of the real thing. I draw a distinction betwee
August 11, 2025 at 2:13 PM