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lisettebrodey.bsky.social
HOTEL OBSCURE: A Collection of Short Stories 🌆

A troubled musician has a shocking reunion w/ his mother. 🎸

Evan says a fitting goodbye to his cruel aunt. 🏺

Ellmore has a life-altering incident at the diner. 💥

mybook.to/HotelObscure 📗

#LitFic ✨ #KindleUnlimited ✨ #Boosky
November 27, 2025 at 8:07 AM
curiousreaderspod.bsky.social
Day 27 of #NovellasInNovember is SNOW COUNTRY by Yasunari Kawabata which follows an affair between Shimamura, a detached Tokyo intellectual, and Komako, a young geisha in a remote mountain hot-spring town. A meandering slow burn plot with clean, elegant prose #BookSky #LitFic #Reading #Translation
November 27, 2025 at 7:10 PM
d2montgomery.bsky.social
Thank you Rose City Book Blogger! “…If you like immersive novels with strong women characters and a strong sense of place, you will love A Map of Her Own. It is an excellent book club pick or holiday gift.” www.rosecityreader.com/2025/11/a-ma... #writingcommunity #booksky #litfic #work
A Map of Her Own by Dede Montgomery -- BOOK REVIEW
Dede Montgomery’s new book, A Map of Her Own, is historical fiction at its best. Find my review on Rose City Reader.
www.rosecityreader.com
November 26, 2025 at 5:32 PM
vebesterling.bsky.social
Book 46 of 2025: “The Virgin Suicides” by Jeffrey Eugenides, via ARC. Book vs. Movie post will be up on my website soon!
🖋️📚💙 #booksky #litfic #mentalhealth
November 24, 2025 at 11:28 PM
ahardreturn.bsky.social
Absolutely recommend this book! A fab story of childhood, mystery, murder that immerses the reader in indigenous culture, religion, and history.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/5 Rec:👍👍👍

💙📚⏳📚🖋️📚💬

#BookSky #Literature #Fiction #Mystery #Novel #LitFic #Books #Review #AmReading #Love #HistoricalFiction #BookReview #BookRec
A paperback library book sits on a white, cube shelf. It is “The Round House” by Louise Erdrich. It leans against a prayer plant with deep green leaves painted with bright red veins. “Shelfy” items are seen around it. A frame sits against the wall behind, more library books and a pink ball of yarn with circular needles in it are seen on the shelf below. The book cover itself is white. A woman stands on the left half of the image, ankles together and arms tight to her sides. Long black hair blows straight out to the right across the cover. Every part of her from one eyebrow down is obscured by a bright red color that imitates fabric. It also trails straight out from her body across the cover filling most of the image. Title and author are in black and white across the red.
November 22, 2025 at 4:18 PM
birdwriterwrites.bsky.social
A storybook with a Christmas message for young readers.

www.amazon.co.uk/Housie-Mousi...
www.amazon.ca/Housie-Mousi...
www.amazon.com/Housie-Mousi...
www.amazon.com.be/-/en/Suzy-Da... #mglit #litfic #readingforpleasure #bekind #helpful #kindnessmatters #friends #family #values #childrensfiction
November 21, 2025 at 3:10 AM
elalitmag.bsky.social
✍️ The submission window is OPEN at ELA Literary Magazine ✒️📚

Check out our website for details: ela-literary-magazine.squarespace.com/729158575509

We can't wait to see what you come up with! ❤️🔥❤️🌶️

#WritingCommunity #BookSky #ShortStory #Writer #Romance #litfic #SubmissionsOpen #litmag
November 26, 2025 at 2:38 PM
brandyo71.bsky.social
#wipsnips
#writingcommunity
#writing
#writersofbluesky
#writesky
#booksky
#authorsofbluesky
#amediting
#litfic
Why did she think for a moment that she could come and have a solitary stroll with Bingley, a bit of time for reflection and grief? Now she stood before her worst nightmare: a group of people who want to express sympathy to her. Dozens of eyes turn to her as Iris walks her towards the makeshift memorial. What is it about the look of sympathy? The intensity of the kindness, the soothing tone, the soft closeness? The physicality of emotional proximity, the hand on the arm or the back, the performative attempt at a lack of judgment. But judgment is what Helen feels emanating off the people who turn from the pile of offerings to her. She wants to hide, to flee the feeling of nakedness that has overcome her. She should have curled up on the sofa and slept the day away with her dog. She should have walked in the other direction. Iris gently squeezes her arm. You can do it, she whispers to Helen. Once you’ve faced it, it will get easier. Will it? Helen asks the woman, hoping for some sliver of wisdom. Iris shrugs. Maybe. What the fuck do I know?
November 21, 2025 at 8:44 AM
ahardreturn.bsky.social
Just over halfway. How am I not seeing this book everywhere?! So glad my #library displayed it bc this was a book I picked up for the cover.

💙📚🖋️📚⏳📚
#BookSky #Dystopian #Fiction #LitFic #Literature #Mystery #Literature #AmReading #MondayRead #Books #BookRec #Review #Love #Reading
My left hand holds a hardcover library copy of “The Book of Guilt” by Catherine Chidgey. Morning light on a bedroom wall and household clutter peeks behind the book. The cover itself mostly blue sky with green sumner clouds. At bottom is green grass rolling down to the right at a soft decline. A blonde haired boy lays on the grass with the top of his head toward us, booted feet and knobby knees to the sky and askew. He could be cloud gazing and wiggling as kids do or in a kind of somersault down the incline. Above and across the sky, the title is written in a coordinating blue and looks like it was written with a brush.
November 24, 2025 at 3:28 PM
brandyo71.bsky.social
#wipsnips
#writingcommunity
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#writesky
#booksky
#amediting
#litfic
There’s something else, Rosie says to her. I’m not sure how to say this, because I do understand your feelings about the bench. And I know you are protecting the family and, she pauses, perhaps yourself. No one wants to be constantly reminded of a tragedy like this. I get it. It’s just that something like this bench isn’t just for the Davies family, or for you. It’s for the community. When something like this happens, it doesn’t just happen to one. It happens to all. Everyone sees themselves in the family; they see their child. There needs to be an outlet for those feelings to emerge as a group. We all belong to each other. That’s what makes it so special on the hill.
November 20, 2025 at 9:57 AM
birdwriterwrites.bsky.social
A fun-packed cheese-rolling adventure, perfect for fall reading.

www.amazon.in/Housie-Mousi... #cheese #snacks #booksandsnacks #geronimostilton #detectives #mystery #autumn #fall #readers #kidsbookstagram #LitFic #KidsLit #folktaleweek2025 #Friday #children #raiseareader #classic #story #books
November 20, 2025 at 8:54 PM
remnews.bsky.social
open.substack.com/pub/tahamtan... #litfic
Her Imprint
I’m writing this on a Sunday afternoon.
open.substack.com
November 23, 2025 at 10:24 PM
brandyo71.bsky.social
#wipsnips
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#amediting
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George pulls up in front of Helen’s house and beeps. She gives Bingley a shinbone filled with peanut butter and heads out to find his big black van when she was expecting Patrick’s little VW Golf. She pulls open the door to see Patrick in the second row and Brian and Claudia in the third. Helen gives Claudia a smile, surprised and glad to see her and Brian are joining, and receives what feels like a curt grin. An atmosphere pervades the vehicle, and she looks at Rosie who gives a brief eyeroll. All are dressed appropriately in dark colours, and the air feels equally sombre. She sits next to Patrick and puts on her seatbelt. He kisses her cheek and asks how she is. As good as one can be, I suppose, she answers.
November 19, 2025 at 10:09 AM
kathygiuffre.bsky.social
So excited that this is really happening! I feel like I'm Jo March -- at last! #booksky #southernlit #Arkansas #armadillos #southernhumor #bookdeal #litfic #cozymystery 💙📚
Publishers Marketplace Deal Report: "Author of The Drunken Spelunker's Guide to Plato Kathy Giuffre's Armadillo Massacre Number Three, narrated by a murder victim, pitched as similar to Carl Hiaasen's Skin Tight, in which the fallout from a $1.5 million inheritance in Walmart stock affects an Arkansas family and its hangers-on, to Jaynie Royal at Regal House, for publication in fall 2027.
November 20, 2025 at 7:49 AM
brandyo71.bsky.social
#wipsnips
#writingcommunity
#writing
#writersofbluesky
#writesky
#booksky
#authorsofbluesky
#amediting
#litfic
Why did she think for a moment that she could come and have a solitary stroll with Bingley, a bit of time for reflection and grief? Now she stood before her worst nightmare: a group of people who want to express sympathy to her. Dozens of eyes turn to her as Iris walks her towards the makeshift memorial. What is it about the look of sympathy? The intensity of the kindness, the soothing tone, the soft closeness? The physicality of emotional proximity, the hand on the arm or the back, the performative attempt at a lack of judgment. But judgment is what Helen feels emanating off the people who turn from the pile of offerings to her. She wants to hide, to flee the feeling of nakedness that has overcome her. She should have curled up on the sofa and slept the day away with her dog. She should have walked in the other direction. Iris gently squeezes her arm. You can do it, she whispers to Helen. Once you’ve faced it, it will get easier. Will it? Helen asks the woman, hoping for some sliver of wisdom. Iris shrugs. Maybe. What the fuck do I know?
November 21, 2025 at 8:44 AM
brandyo71.bsky.social
#wipsnips
#writingcommunity
#writersofbluesky
#authorsofbluesky
#writesky
#booksky
#amediting
#litfic
Elisabeth sinks down further into the armchair than before, settling in. Helen does the same, as if opening up more room for this exchange, giving it breadth and reverence, staying completely aware that this woman just did the unimaginable, made funeral preparations for her child. Made the decision to burn her child’s body. Helen believes in cremation, believes in natural burials. She finds the thoughts of spending outrageous amounts of money on preserving a dead body with chemicals and ornate boxes nauseating. But still. She could not imagine making the choice to set a child’s corpse on fire. The finality of it. As if death weren’t final enough.
November 17, 2025 at 9:57 AM
alessandronai.bsky.social
Isn't this the best character description you've ever read?

(From Ayşegül Savaş' The Anthropologists)

#booksky #litfic
A quote from Savaş' The Anthropologists
November 17, 2025 at 5:52 PM
brandyo71.bsky.social
#wipsnips
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#authorsofbluesky
#writesky
#booksky
#amediting
#litfic
Elisabeth sinks down further into the armchair than before, settling in. Helen does the same, as if opening up more room for this exchange, giving it breadth and reverence, staying completely aware that this woman just did the unimaginable, made funeral preparations for her child. Made the decision to burn her child’s body. Helen believes in cremation, believes in natural burials. She finds the thoughts of spending outrageous amounts of money on preserving a dead body with chemicals and ornate boxes nauseating. But still. She could not imagine making the choice to set a child’s corpse on fire. The finality of it. As if death weren’t final enough.
November 17, 2025 at 9:57 AM
brandyo71.bsky.social
#wipsnips
#writingcommunity
#writersofbluesky
#writesky
#booksky
#authorsofbluesky
#amediting
#litfic
Now that she has all these mature traits she coveted, Helen wishes she could stop the clock or slow it a bit. It’s not that she wishes to be younger; just that she failed to anticipate the speed at which the process progressed. She feels almost out of her body with this new clarity of death. A close sibling to the appreciation of life. Never one to shirk the idea of it, and something she encountered head on, especially given the sudden loss of her husband. But this feels different. This vision of herself in the mirror with the absolutely certainty she will die. Maybe not for a long while. Maybe tomorrow. She thinks to the Buddhist practice of contemplating death, maransati, a word she pulls from forty-year-old file in her brain, a word she wrote on a notecard at university, studying for a Sanskrit test. Her taking a Sanskrit class drove her father absolutely mental. Sanskrit! he would say, I want Sanskrit written on my tombstone because I will never believe it. At twenty, she found the thought of fixating on one’s own passing to be macabre. Envisioning of the decay of flesh, the disintegration of the matter that made one physical, real, material. This seems like yesterday to her. And yet. The grey hairs sprout one at a time so slowly that one hardly notices. The breasts that once defied gravity succumb to it centimetre by centimetre. She cups both her breasts and lifts them. They float like this in the water. She releases them again and even in a bra, she feels the pull of them downward. And she never ever goes anywhere without a good pair of tweezers anymore. The hairs sprouting from her grandmother’s chin, especially a long black one from a faint mole right in the centre, would make her wonder at how someone could let themselves go so much as to not notice a wiry hair like that poking out from one’s face? She has more understanding now as she has to put on her reading glasses and stand close to a bright window to identify and extract the ones she feels with her ha…
November 15, 2025 at 1:32 PM
nin9liv3s.bsky.social
A raw, haunting story of love, grit, and finding meaning in the ruins of a city that forgot your name. Set in taisho-era Japan.

#TheWeightOfEmptyPockets #LitFic #GrungeLit #IndieAuthor #BookTok #BlueskyReads #BookAesthetic #booksky

www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0DZVK55Z...
The Weight of Empty Pockets
The Weight of Empty Pockets eBook : Aizuki, Ren: Amazon.com.au: Books
www.amazon.com.au
November 16, 2025 at 3:33 AM
leighkp.bsky.social
I love Karl Ove. I recognize that it is weird to love reading about a man cleaning out his tub, but there's something about big crises happening in the background of the day-to-day that really gets me.

#currentlyreading #booksky #litfic
Book: The Third Realm by Karl Ove Knausgaard
November 15, 2025 at 12:15 AM
brandyo71.bsky.social
#wipsnips
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Helen, too deep in her own merriment to answer, just nods. And Chris looks at her stunned for a moment. She knows it’s wrong. She cannot help herself. She knows she is behaving horribly. Committing a sacrilege. Mirth in this moment? He squeezes her hand and chuckles softly, at first out of vague politeness or perhaps embarrassment for this mad woman. Then Helen, laughing so hard, farts loudly. Chris guffaws at the sound and then laughs out loud, harder and harder, until they are both doubled over, unable to catch their breath. There they are holding hands, lying on their sides now, and laughing like madmen on the West Hill, right on the spot where his daughter died a week ago.
November 14, 2025 at 11:06 AM
curiousreaderspod.bsky.social
🎧 📚 NEXT EPISODE Join us next Friday for a deep dive into Lily King's new novel HEART THE LOVER - a story of first love and lost opportunities that is as uplifting as it is tragic. Plus, we talk about books by Claire-Louise Bennett, Holly Brickley, Sigrid Nunez & many more #BookSky #LitFic #Romance
November 14, 2025 at 5:04 PM
brandyo71.bsky.social
#wipsnips
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#writersofbluesky
#writesky
#booksky
#authorsofbluesky
#amediting
#litfic
Now that she has all these mature traits she coveted, Helen wishes she could stop the clock or slow it a bit. It’s not that she wishes to be younger; just that she failed to anticipate the speed at which the process progressed. She feels almost out of her body with this new clarity of death. A close sibling to the appreciation of life. Never one to shirk the idea of it, and something she encountered head on, especially given the sudden loss of her husband. But this feels different. This vision of herself in the mirror with the absolutely certainty she will die. Maybe not for a long while. Maybe tomorrow. She thinks to the Buddhist practice of contemplating death, maransati, a word she pulls from forty-year-old file in her brain, a word she wrote on a notecard at university, studying for a Sanskrit test. Her taking a Sanskrit class drove her father absolutely mental. Sanskrit! he would say, I want Sanskrit written on my tombstone because I will never believe it. At twenty, she found the thought of fixating on one’s own passing to be macabre. Envisioning of the decay of flesh, the disintegration of the matter that made one physical, real, material. This seems like yesterday to her. And yet. The grey hairs sprout one at a time so slowly that one hardly notices. The breasts that once defied gravity succumb to it centimetre by centimetre. She cups both her breasts and lifts them. They float like this in the water. She releases them again and even in a bra, she feels the pull of them downward. And she never ever goes anywhere without a good pair of tweezers anymore. The hairs sprouting from her grandmother’s chin, especially a long black one from a faint mole right in the centre, would make her wonder at how someone could let themselves go so much as to not notice a wiry hair like that poking out from one’s face? She has more understanding now as she has to put on her reading glasses and stand close to a bright window to identify and extract the ones she feels with her ha…
November 15, 2025 at 1:34 PM
brandyo71.bsky.social
#wipsnips
#writingcommunity
#writersofbluesky
#writesky
#booksky
#amediting
#litfic
Rowan has gone to the basket of toys from Rosie. He pulls out Legos of all shapes and sizes and colours and sets to building. Helen likes this. Charlie never followed the instructions on the fancy Lego sets his grandmother bought him for Christmas and birthdays, which infuriated her when she had come to visit from the States. He would open the bags with that particular crinkly Lego-bag sound, dump them all together on the floor and create something entirely new. Her mother would look at Helen and say, I spent all that money when I could have just bought him the cheap bag of random ones. Helen would just respond, yes probably. And like clockwork, every year she experienced the howling agony of stepping on one of those plastic bricks with her bare feet. Once dressed, Helen sits down on the floor with Rowan and silently watches him build. Every once in a while, she will choose and offer up a certain block which he will either take without noticing it came from her or reject with a dismissive quick headshake. After about an hour, he stops and stands up, walking around the structure, examining it. To Helen, it looks like stacks of white and black and brown blocks, concentrated in certain smaller mounds. There is a red line on top of one of the round rises. Bingley, lying on the floor near them, lifts an eye and close it just as quickly. Rowan looks at Helen. What do you think? ard. It doesn’t lie flat like I wanted it to. Bingley. Of course. Now she has something to work with. Oh, I think you did a great job capturing his colours with the white and black and brown. And the red is obviously his collar. Well done! Rowan beams at her and picks up the Lego dog. He sets it gently on the coffee table and turns it towards where the dog sleeps. Now Bingley can see himself, he tells Helen. And Helen knows that this will have a place in her home always.
November 13, 2025 at 9:17 AM