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@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 9, 2026, 11:52 PM

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Wren is the very accurate with a knife. Molly, on the other hand, is a crack shot with a bow or a crossbow. Spencer is most accurate at diagnosing your personal traumas.

#AwesomeCharacters #Wrencer #WritingPrompt

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 9, 2026, 2:20 PM

#Octember

Wren would be pretty good at this! She is already quite skilled at breaking into homes and spying on people. She loves making lists! The part where you leave things instead of taking them might trip her up a bit, but I'm sure Spencer could keep her on mission.

#Wrencer #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 9, 2026, 12:32 PM

#LitHodgepodge

Hozier. His song "Like Real People Do" partially inspired Thief of Death and at least 75% of the book was written while listening to his music.

#WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #Wrencer

www.youtube.com/watch?v=qV3B...

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 8, 2026, 11:45 PM

#AwesomeCharacters

Spencer always wears a necklace that has the Gray Lady's holy symbol. It was a gift from his mother after graduating seminary. He often touches it in the story for reassurance. No one else really has significant jewelry. Perhaps I should add more?

#Wrencer #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 8, 2026, 9:42 PM

Wren's star sign is the dagger. 🗡️

People born under this sign are resourceful, clever, and slow to trust. The only thing more unbreakable than their loyalty is their desire for revenge once they've been crossed.

#Octember #Wrencer #WritingPrompts

A graphic showing a constellation in a field of stars that looks like a dagger.
@eliwoodsgheist.bsky.socialOct 8, 2026, 11:31 AM

LET'S GOOOOOO TEAM #Wrencer!!!!!

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 8, 2026, 11:23 AM

Wren would choose time travel to the past to stop her parents from getting sick and dying.

Spencer would probably choose knowing when he was going to die, just so he can be ready for the transition and help prepare people (Wren) to cope with his passing.

#LitHodgepodge #Wrencer #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialOct 7, 2026, 10:15 PM

Wren and Spencer are going for the local hole in the wall with amazing food. Spencer will be an honorary member of the family by the end of the night and will help them do dishes. Wren will make sure the local street gang never hits them up for protection money again.

#AwesomeCharacters #Wrencer

@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.”
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