Kirk Rafferty ✨is editing✨ 📖
LightNews LightNews
banner
kirkrafferty.com
Kirk Rafferty ✨is editing✨ 📖
@kirkrafferty.com
5K followers 5.1K following 1.2K posts
Dad, husband, award winning author, killer of darlings (he/him)
Links: https://linktr.ee/kirkraff
Represented by @jessicaberg.me at Rosecliff Literary
Co-host of the podcast @badlitfriends.bsky.social
‬with @thecrumpet.bsky.social‬
Posts Replies Media Videos
kirkrafferty.com
Holdup

#WritingCommunity
November 7, 2025 at 2:00 PM
kirkrafferty.com
November 5, 2025 at 3:21 PM
kirkrafferty.com
So your search engine can offer up an AI slop summary while providing links to AI slop mingled with AI slop ads.

#AIWriting sucks.
A Bluesky account promoting How to use AI to Write Blog Posts That Answer Search Queries
November 4, 2025 at 2:50 PM
kirkrafferty.com
Messing with a scammer who claims to "strengthen my book's visibility" on Amzn (throwaway email). I sent a random link on an older book by an author who hasn't published in about 8 years. This is the free "report." 😂 Still trying to find out how much they want to charge.
@victoriastrauss.com
October 28, 2025 at 7:42 PM
kirkrafferty.com
Seen on Threads.

I would be very cautious about #amquerying an agent who wants to control your process. (Advise? Recommend? Yes please! Demand? No.) Your book should speak for itself, no matter how you arrived at the finished product.
#WritingCommunity
October 28, 2025 at 3:13 PM
kirkrafferty.com
Not my usual genre. From a spooky short story I'm writing for a contest.
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #Halloween
I barged out the front door and onto the sidewalk. Behind me, music thumped, and people laughed, oblivious. Of course they were. They hadn't just watched their boyfriend shove his tongue down some fairy princess's throat. It was late. Even the trick-or-treaters had gone home. I pulled up the Rideo app and ordered a ride. The little car icon appeared instantly. Less than a minute away. That was…lucky? Weird? Whatever. I just wanted to go home and cry. I shivered. It was Fall, and my costume—black dress, fishnets, cat makeup—wasn't exactly built for warmth. My cat-ears headband was lopsided.
October 28, 2025 at 3:01 PM
kirkrafferty.com
Thought I'd do something a little different this time.

Editing has been a slog, and during the hardest parts, I sometimes wondered if it would ever come together. So here's a snippet from one of my beta readers about my WIP. Please clap. 😀
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #HistoricalFiction
This was such an elegantly told, taut, and beautifully written start to this historical espionage story. It is cinematic, meticulously researched, and propelled by a heroine who commands attention from the start. What stands out most from the opening chapters is your control over tension and atmosphere. The Moscow of 1950 feels fully realized; it is oppressive and cold, with the danger of betrayal in every shadow. I loved your prose for evoking the grounded, sophisticated tone of John le Carré, blended with the kinetic immediacy of Greg Rucka or Olen Steinhauer, and for reminding me of the lush, emotionally charged aesthetic of The Americans. It is a spy thriller and a psychological study of identity and trauma.
October 22, 2025 at 1:34 PM
kirkrafferty.com
Excerpt from one of the scenes I'm currently editing. One of my favorite passages, and although it takes place in 1950, it seems timely in this era too. 🇺🇦
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky #HistoricalFiction
“When the Bolsheviks came demanding their grain, the villagers had hidden some of it beneath the floorboards of the church.” Anna’s voice takes on a distant quality as she recites from memory. “When the soldiers found it, they lined up the men in the square.” She continues stirring, her eyes fixed on the swirling liquid. “The commissar shot the first man, then the second. My grandfather stepped forward and told him he knew where more was hidden, then led them to a well two kilometers from the village.” Anna’s lips curve into a small, sad smile. “There was nothing but water in the well. But it gave the village enough time to move the children and grain deeper into the forest. When the Russians returned, they came back to an empty village.” She picks up both mugs, turning to face Jo. “They beat him, and then they shot him. They threw his body into the well so that nobody could drink from it. “I asked my grandmother why he did such a thing. She said, ‘It wasn’t courage that drove him to give his life. It was stubbornness. Ukrainians are too stubborn to die, even when Russians tell us to.’” She turns to face Jo. “I won’t go back.”
October 21, 2025 at 2:41 PM
kirkrafferty.com
Aviation usually features in my works. As a pilot myself (sadly not current), I love imbuing a love of being in the sky into my characters.
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
Crossing the runway threshold, Vika flares the biplane, then coasts less than two meters above the runway, bleeding off speed in “ground effect”—a cushion of air keeping her aloft until gravity finally wins—until the wheels kiss the tarmac with barely a bump. She taxis to the ramp, eyes flicking occasionally to where Lena still stands, unmoving except to push back a strand of dark hair that the hot, late summer breeze has loosened from her braid.
October 13, 2025 at 2:07 PM
kirkrafferty.com
From my short story YELENA, a prequel to THE COSMONAUT.
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
Lena stands in the hallway, tense, her eyes red. “What happened?” Vika says, pulling her inside. “What did he want?” Lena’s eyes moves to where Pyotr Vladislav, Vika’s father, has appeared in the sitting room doorway, his expression shifting to polite concern. “Good evening, Pyotr Vladislavovich,” Lena says. “Yelena,” he replies in greeting. “Welcome. You look like you could use a drink. Brandy?” “No, thank you,” she replies. Vika takes her friend’s arm, glancing at her father. “Let’s go to my room.”
October 11, 2025 at 3:02 PM
kirkrafferty.com
On the next Bad Lit Friends, we’re speaking with Amber Hamilton, author of Seven Deadly Thorns! We were so excited to have Amber be our first interview, and it was an absolute joy speaking with her. Drops Wednesday!
#WritingCommunity #ReadingCommunity #Podcasts #YA
October 10, 2025 at 6:04 PM
kirkrafferty.com
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
She shifted her gaze back to where Raymond stood, his hands in his pockets, a victorious smirk on his face. He thought he’d won. He’d come here to claim her like a stuffed prize at the county fair. Over my dead body.
October 10, 2025 at 5:06 PM
kirkrafferty.com
From my #ColdWar #espionage novel. Even though I have "basement" in this snippet, I'm substituting "dungeon" for "Lubyanka." The Lubyanka was (and still is, unfortunately) an actual dungeon of horrors.
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #historicalfiction
Could Anna be this naive? Does she expect Jo to receive a trial? There won’t be any courtrooms. Just a basement room in the Lubyanka, pain, and questions until they’ve extracted everything. Then a bullet to the head, if she’s lucky. And yet…they’re out of options. The church has only two entrances: the main doors, barricaded, and the rear, where the militiaman’s body now lies. Both are certainly covered. The windows are either boarded or too small and too high. Six or seven rounds in the Tokarev, four in the revolver. Against how many men? Twenty? Thirty? The math is brutal, unforgiving.
October 8, 2025 at 4:33 PM
kirkrafferty.com
October 7, 2025 at 4:47 PM
kirkrafferty.com
From my short story (if you can call 16,000 words "short") prequel to THE COSMONAUT.

There's a saying in aviation: there are old pilots, and bold pilots. But there are no old, bold pilots.
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
Vika’s hands tighten on the controls, making constant minor adjustments to maintain their course and altitude. Then the first downdraft hits, a powerful current of descending air that seems to grab the aircraft and pull it earthward. The altimeter unwinds alarmingly as they lose dozens of meters in seconds. Vika responds, advancing the throttle and pulling back on the stick to arrest their descent. The engine roars in protest as the aircraft struggles to climb back to a safe altitude. They level off at just 250 meters. Too low for comfort, and the first moment Vika realizes they’re in trouble.
October 7, 2025 at 1:27 PM
kirkrafferty.com
Happy Monday! This guy is seriously bad news.
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
A dank waft of cheap bourbon and mint assaulted her. “Howdy, Miss Tabby,” Raymond Lee said. “I just dropped in to see if there was anything I could do to help you out. And look here, I got you some daisies.” He thrust the wilting flowers out. She didn’t bother concealing her dismay. “Those are dandelions, Mr. Lee,” she replied. “Thank you kindly for the offer, but we don’t need any help just now. Maybe check in on the Black ranch. I hear they’re digging a new well.”
October 6, 2025 at 2:24 PM
kirkrafferty.com
h̶i̶b̶e̶r̶n̶a̶t̶e̶ sleep
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
It was a ridiculous story. Valentin Tarasenko was no more a spy than Anna was. But sometimes the Sodium Thiopental induced illusion and fancy instead of truth. Vasily broke Valentin Tarasenko into something less than a man, before finally standing him up before a bullet-ridden wall. He’d never found any evidence Valentin had been telling the truth in his confession. No contacts, no camera, no microfilm. A good man had died, but Vasily had saved himself and his family. He had saved Anna. He tells himself these things when sleep evades him.
October 3, 2025 at 6:47 PM
kirkrafferty.com
Gandalf pulled the ring from Frodo's fireplace, still unsure if this was the One Ring. But he tells Frodo to hold it anyway. Because on the off-chance it wasn’t the One Ring, and had given Frodo a third-degree burn, well, at least we know.
#lordoftherings
Gandalf holding the One Ring with tongs after he's pulled it out of Frodo's fireplace.
October 2, 2025 at 6:19 PM
kirkrafferty.com
No salmon, but fish and caviar. When you're a Soviet cosmonaut who crash-lands in rural Texas, breakfast is still the most important meal of the day.
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
Tabby served the stack of griddle cakes with butter and jam. The coffee was hot and strong. “All I got to put on top is peach jam. I hope you like it. You got anything like this? Where you come from, I mean?” Tabby asked, spearing a bite of her own. Vika nodded. “Blini. It is…thin.” She pinched her fingers together. “To put jam on, yes. Also…I don’t know English word. Smetana. Or…” She searched for the English word again. She was still tired and a little disoriented. “Ikra…eggs in fish.” “Oh, I know this…um…caviar?” Tabby asked. “Caviar, yes.” It hurt to smile, but she was glad to connect with the girl in a way she wasn’t able to with her brother. As if on cue, Giles appeared at the top of the landing, dressed in his overalls. His scowl shattered the easy atmosphere Tabby had carefully constructed.
October 2, 2025 at 3:01 PM
kirkrafferty.com
A quieter moment from The Cosmonaut.
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
Vika stood beneath a white oak, its branches heavy with snow and ice. She inhaled the winter air that stung her nostrils. The stillness was broken only by the groaning ice floes and surging undulations of the Columbia River, whose shore she stood along. The frigid water lapped against her galoshes in a soothing cadence. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was standing on the banks of the Moskva River again, or maybe the edge of the little lake she and Leo had spent so many days beside in each other’s arms.
October 1, 2025 at 1:14 PM
kirkrafferty.com
Summer, 1936. Split Creek, West Virginia.

When you find yourself in a serial killer story, it's important to go check things out for yourself. Alone.

#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
She stands and inches toward the clearing, facing down, eying each step, avoiding dry twigs and crinkling leaves. An explosion of sound shatters the silence, and she comes close—very close—to screaming. Barking erupts from the pickup’s cab. A large dog, some kind of shepherd mix, lunges against the passenger side window, spittle flying from its jaws as it snarls and barks. Its paws scrabble against the glass, desperate to escape, to reach her. Joanne bolts backward, stumbling over an exposed root. Her heart hammers against her ribs. She scrambles backwards into the treeline, diving around a thick pine just as the cabin door slams open.
September 30, 2025 at 1:46 PM
kirkrafferty.com
Fun fact: Early Soviet cosmonauts detached from their space capsule after reentry and landed by parachute. Our heroine had the misfortune of plunging into a thunderstorm, her visor punctured by hail, and her pressure suit filling with water. #CosmonautProblems
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
Where was her knife? She had gone through every checklist at least a dozen times. Had she really forgotten it? But then, her numb, gloved fingers found the lanyard. Vika pulled, dragging the knife out of her pocket. She shivered and fumbled with the snap on the sheath; the pressure suit’s bulky gloves dulled all sense of touch. The water was up to her waist now. She was losing feeling in her legs, and she couldn’t feel her toes anymore. Bearing down with both hands, Vika released the knife from its sheath…only to have it snatched from her hands by the turbulent winds.
September 29, 2025 at 2:29 PM
kirkrafferty.com
1961, Hockton, Texas. When you're a highly trained cosmonaut, but you also have to dig fence posts.
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
At last, the girl leaned forward and spoke slowly. “You need to help with the chores. You know how to work a ranch?” “Chores?” the boy snapped, looking at his sister with almost comical levels of outrage. “You want her to do chores? She’s a commie.” “And you are tiresome,” Vika snapped, at the end of her patience. She returned her gaze to the girl. Vika clearly had the upper hand, but this girl dared to demand labor from her. Vika admired her. She was bold but practical—a girl who knew how to pull something, anything, out of a bad situation.
September 26, 2025 at 4:01 PM
kirkrafferty.com
Hey #WritingCommunity, what's the best way to open your novel? Wrong answers only.

I'll start: Having your character wake up from a dream that they're being chased in the woods...only to find they're sitting in their car on the way to work.
Ernest Hemmingway writing on a notepad
September 25, 2025 at 2:57 PM
kirkrafferty.com
"Write a historical thriller about ballet," I said. "It'll be fine," I said. Turns out, writing ballet is hard. Who knew?

What scenes have you had to write where you had no practical experience/expertise, and how far did you want to sling your laptop?

#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
She retreats from Mikhail, her bourrées now frantic, arms pressed in first position against her chest, as if to keep her heart frozen against the coming thaw. But Mizgir pursues—determined, desperate. “You’re perfect tonight,” Mikhail murmurs as he catches her in a fish dive, her body arched backward over his arm, one leg extended to the ceiling. The compliment is genuine; even he cannot be entirely self-absorbed in the face of her performance.
September 25, 2025 at 1:30 PM