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@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 7, 2026, 6:03 PM

#WriterShareWednesday

My debut novel, Thief of Death releases later this month.

❤️MF Romantic Fantasy
🪦Graveyard Meetcute
🗡️Criminal Underworld
👻So many ghosts
😶‍🌫️Gods and Goddesses
❤️‍🔥Slow Burn
🤨Suspiscious x Trusting
❤️‍🩹Hurt/Comfort
😂Humorous sidekicks

#Wrencer #Booksky #WritingCommunity 📚

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 7, 2026, 12:39 PM

If you have been following my #Wrencer snips over the years, I have some exciting news! Book 1 in the series, Thief of Death, will be releasing later this month. 📚

Please enjoy my cover reveal!

#Writesky #WritingCommunity #Books #Booksky

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 7, 2026, 12:07 PM

I think character voice is a strength of mine, or at least, I've got Wren's down pat. Here is a snip from chapter 1 right after her first encounter with Spencer. Lots of sarcasm and asides and musings from our girl.

#LitHodgepodge #Wrencer #Writesky

Ivy rustled in a breeze that smelled of salt and damp earth, heart-shaped leaves tickling against Wren’s cheek. The tall stone walls muffled the city’s nighttime song save for the deep clang of a distant bell tolling two hours past midnight. Wren ran a thumb over the polished bone handle of her borrowed knife. Hopefully, the man who’d loaned it to her would be long gone before Skunner’s muscle showed up. Such a pretty face. It’d be a shame if Bricks pounded it in. The man had seemed made of moonlight and shadows, his porcelain skin glowing in the lamplight, stark against waves of inky black hair. With those sculpted arms and chiseled features, one could easily mistake him for an angel statue guarding the cemetery grounds. If Wren had to be rescued by some nutter digging up stiffs in the middle of the night, at least he was a handsome nutter. I wonder if he really is a priest. It wasn’t the sort of thing people often lied about. The gods tended to get a bit tetchy with people masquerading as one of their own. And even sweaty and covered in grave dirt, he had a bit of squeaky clean about him that lent credence to his claim. The look on his face when he thought she was offering him sexual favors had almost made it worth being buried in that hole. Like a fish whacked on the head with a boat paddle. The memory brought a smile to Wren’s face. It was oddly comforting to know that there were still people in the world with enough moral fiber to be offended on her behalf.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 6, 2026, 11:11 PM

Wren has plans, plural. Main plans, back up plans, contingency plans, plans for things that may never happen. And she still ends up winging it, because no plan survives contact with stupid people.

It's more that having a plan eases her anxiety.

#AwesomeCharacters #Wrencer #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 6, 2026, 1:49 PM

My main villain, Magnus Var Krugan, is sort of a "shadow" archetype of Spencer. Someone with similar abilities and a desire to protect, but subverted to evil ends. Spencer accepts death as part of the natural order, where Var Krugan tries to dominate it.

#LitHodgepodge #Wrencer #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 5, 2026, 3:57 PM

#Octember

I mean, I feel like Spencer's business is already pretty haunted? Half his job is to find restless spirits and help them cross over. The other half is to conduct funerals and look after graveyards. Every now and again, he smacks down a necromancer.

#Wrencer #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 5, 2026, 2:00 PM

Wren wants things cozy, but not TOO cozy.

#LitHodgepodge #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #Wrencer

“Let’s assume for a moment,” Spencer’s fingers traced her jaw, lifting her chin gently until Wren’s eyes met his, “That between the two of us, we can deal with the necromancer, and curses, and square your debts with the Blackboots. Then what?” Wren opened her mouth, a flippant remark poised on the tip of her tongue, and then closed it again just as quickly. It had been fear mostly, fear of what she couldn't have, keeping her from truly considering what a life with Spencer could be like. Now that he was the frightened one, staring down at Wren with haunted but hopeful eyes, it was suddenly easy to slide a knife into fear’s guts and bury it like an inconvenient witness under the floorboards of her heart. “It looks an awful lot like this,” she said softly, turning her head to kiss his palm. “Tea by the fire. Comfortable robes and dusty books. Occasional forays into ghost infested ruins.” And because Wren could be herself here, without at least a hint of sarcasm, she added “A minimum of one rooftop chase a month, just to keep things interesting.”
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 5, 2026, 12:06 PM

Spencer has gone through a hidden entrance in the Fain ruins and Wren was forced to stay behind.

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

Wren stood perfectly still, staring at the stones that had swallowed Spencer up. She didn’t throw herself at the wall and pound on it or grab the crowbar from her pack and try to lever it back open, even though her fingers itched to do just that. Fear swirled in her gut, offering up image after unsettling image. Spencer impaled in a pit of spikes, or crushed beneath a fallen stone, or simply laying on the ground, gasping for his next breath as the air slowly ran out. None of that is going to happen and even if it does, it was still worth it, she told the fear. It didn’t believe her, so she thought of last night and tried to smother the feeling with memories of Spencer’s hands on her skin, his kiss on her lips, the velvet rumble of his voice saying he loved her. Worth it, she told the fear again and it finally receded, begrudgingly. “You all right, then?” Molly asked conversationally, like they were talking about nothing more consequential than the weather or a broken bit of tack. “I’m fine,” Wren lied smoothly. “I’ll scout around a bit, though, just in case.” The thought of standing still and just waiting was too much to bear. Molly gave her an understanding nod and stepped aside, making room for Wren to pass.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 4, 2026, 10:42 PM

Wren (prior to current shenanigans) lived alone in an apartment over her antique store with a cat that occasionally wanders by for food. Spencer lives in the rectory, which technically belongs to the church. It's a small 2 story house with...

#AwesomeCharacters #Wrencer #WritingCommunity

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 4, 2026, 12:51 PM

Unsurprisingly, Wren finds herself in a bit of a predicament.

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy series about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#SundaySnips #Wrencer #WritingPrompts #Writesky

“That could have gone better,” Wren mumbled to herself. She wiggled her wrists, testing the leather cuffs that held her strapped against a broad length of wood. It was tipped over at an angle and left her not exactly standing but not lying down either. A strap across her neck kept her from bending at the waist to worry at the buckles with her teeth. It was probably meant to go across her chest, but it seemed Wren was shorter than the Magnus’s usual victims. The look on Var Krugan’s face when I stabbed his necromancer wife in the throat with her own steak knife, though… Wren smiled a little, savoring the memory. All the color had drained out of him, his eyes bulging in the sockets. A little vein had even throbbed in his temple. Worth it. For a moment, Wren had been convinced the Magnus was going to kill her outright, grand plans be damned. He’d teetered briefly on the edge of violence and then he’d wrestled that cold mask back into place. Annika had pulled the knife out of her neck and stabbed it dramatically into the table. Eerie how little blood there was. I got her right in the artery, should’ve been a great big fountain of it.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 3, 2026, 11:48 PM

It was not Spencer or Wren's idea, for sure. It is probably happening because of some church related social obligation they can't get out of. Wren is doing behind the scenes organizing, the Aunties are cooking, Spencer is socializing under duress while...

#AwesomeCharacters #Wrencer #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 3, 2026, 5:37 PM

No petals in book 2, so here is a snip from book 1.

Mother Borrallo visits Spencer with a warning.

From Thief of Death, a romantic fantasy about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

“I came alone for a reason.” The words came as a murmur, so hushed that he had to bend nearer to hear them. “I believe you may have stumbled into something more complicated than a cursed amulet, Brother.” “How so?” Spencer asked, his own voice an echo of Mother Borrallo’s whisper. Not willing, or perhaps not yet ready to answer, the priestess turned away and walked to the nearest pew. Mother Borrallo sank onto the polished wood, layers settling around her like the unfurling petals of some midnight flower. Her fingers strayed absently towards the looping silver symbol of the Gray Lady, where it sat draped around the elderly woman’s neck, half smothered by silk and lace. Spencer sat beside her, neither too close nor too far. Waiting. “I have learned to accept that I will encounter a certain amount of cruelty in the course of my duties.” Mother Borrallo's voice regained some of its usual steel. “In a city this size, not every death will be the peaceful easement from one state to the next that we might hope for. Even so, what I have witnessed in recent hours stands apart.” Dread coiled in Spencer’s guts. He didn’t care to imagine the sort of grisly death that could put a woman with Mother Borrallo’s long years of experience off her stride. “Last night, three bodies were delivered to our care. All were brought in well after midnight. Two victims had organs missing, and the third was fully exsanguinated.” Spencer’s mouth opened, a dozen different questions dancing on the tip of his tongue, but a sharp sweep of the priestess’s hand forestalled him. “No, my dear boy.” The veil swished softly as Mother Borrallo shook her head. “It was not some back-alley butcher looking to harvest parts. Vermin that they are, the flesh rippers work methodically and with precision. The components they seek are too valuable to damage. This was poorly done— sloppy, and wasteful.”
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 2, 2026, 10:13 PM

#Octember

Spencer is on top because he's the most charming and affable person. Wren is the arms so she can still stab/shank someone. Bruce is the legs because he is the strongest/largest and will make a good base.

#Wrencer #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 2, 2026, 11:03 AM

Spencer and Wren work for Dracula. Spencer is trying to gentle parent the vampire into settling his unfinished business and moving on to the afterlife while he and Wren thwart Drac's plans behind his back, but make it LOOK like they are helping.

#Octember #Wrencer #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 2, 2026, 10:57 AM

#LitHodgepodge 2

Wren, Spencer and Reggie would be a lot of fun in an episode of Supernatural. Spencer and Dean would definitely clash over how to properly get rid of ghosts and Wren and Sam would nerd fight over obscure lore.

#WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
#Wrencer

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 1, 2026, 12:28 AM

#AwesomeCharacters

Spencer: A wealthy philanthropist donates a large sum to the church and creates a trust to help pay for upkeep in the cemetery for the next decade.

Wren: Everyone leaves me alone (except Spencer) and nothing bad or unexpected happens.

#Wrencer #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 30, 2026, 11:00 AM

Bruce and Wren's (platonic) love language is bickering and threats of violence.

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

Bruce seemed to stay put with hardly any effort, the muscles beneath his tunic barely bulging as he gripped the leather handholds beside them. Dimples dotted his cheeks, taunting Wren from beneath the brim of a battered traveling hat. It was hard to glare menacingly while being bounced around like a babe on a grandad’s knee, but Wren gave it her best effort. “Keep grinning at me like that and I’ll stab you again.” “What happened to not murdering men over maybes?” “No maybe about it.” The words rattled out of Wren through gritted teeth. “You’re definitely an ass.” Bruce barked a laugh that echoed loud and sharp across the fenwaters, startling a pair of marsh weavers into flight. Rude. He could have at least pretended to be intimidated. The road smoothed out beneath them and the coach returned to a steady rumble. No longer in danger of being pitched to the ground, Wren released her grip, leaning against the luggage with her arms folded over her chest. The straw hat she’d borrowed from Spencer dipped down as she eased back, sprinkling her arms with scattered pinpricks of sunlight. She watched the dusty road spool out behind them until it was swallowed by swaying grass and glinting water and tried to ignore the easy way Bruce lounged in her periphery. He does this sort of thing all the time. Wren reminded herself. Probably has calluses on his ass from guarding coaches all over the continent. And loathe as she was to admit it, swapping seats with Molly had been a good idea. The thought of Harlan wedged between the sergeant’s biceps and Spencer’s disapproving glare was almost worth a bruised backside.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 30, 2026, 12:49 AM

#AwesomeCharacters

Spencer is very patient. I describe him as "patient as the grave" somewhere in book 1. Wren can be patient in certain situations, but it's not her default. She's a planner. Her brain is always running scenarios, so when the time comes she is ready to DO the thing.

#Wrencer

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 29, 2026, 10:58 AM

Spencer finds that he can't help everyone.

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

“Find peace beyond the Veil or not, that choice is yours alone to make. But you have no right to the body you still wear or the stolen lifeblood that fuels it.” Spencer’s soothing tones from before hardened and chilled until each word boomed forth from his lips like hammer strikes against steel. He released his grip on the general’s arm and slapped his palm against the cold skin of the man’s brow. Pain and weariness fled, replaced by cold certainty. Energy swelled, sweeping up through the soles of Spencer’s feet, then swirling wildly through the well of power at his core before rushing out of his arms and into Steppan’s body. The general convulsed, thrashing frantically as lavender light coalesced beneath his skin, crackling and cold. His body began to shrivel and shrink, falling in on itself like a piece of plump fruit drained of all its juice. Frost curled up from his dwindling form, hissing and sputtering in the warm rain until all that was left of his physical body was a pile of dust. Raindrops pitted the small mound, carving rivulets into it and carrying it away in small clumps. Spencer could feel the angry smear of a spirit that hovered there, enraged but impotent. He had learned long ago that some souls simply could not embrace the peace that they had earned. He didn’t like it, but he accepted it. There was no saving someone who didn’t want to be saved.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 29, 2026, 12:08 AM

#AwesomeCharacters

Wren's perception of herself is flawed. She gives far more weight to the bad things she's done and very little credit for the good. She doesn't extend herself any grace for the circumstances she was in that forced her to choose the least bad option.

#Wrencer #WritingPrompts