H.A.Carlson
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hacarlson.bsky.social
H.A.Carlson
@hacarlson.bsky.social
16 followers 20 following 26 posts
Author of the upcoming debut dark fantasy Grimholt Hollow.

Polishing: Grimholt Hollow
Crafting: Ashes of Eldehedge

BETA read Grimholt Hollow? Chat me up!
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hacarlson.bsky.social
The #WIPSnips word of the day is clay.
#GrimholtHollow
#WriteSky#WritingCommunity
They found a spot near the edge of the fire’s reach, where the heat licked warm against their faces and the dark pressed in at their backs. The music was rowdier now, the dancers looser with drink. Laughter pealed across the green. Asta took a long pull from the clay cup in her hand. The warmth spread down her throat, but it didn’t settle the clamor inside. “I’m leaving, Lena,” she said, the words breaking out quieter than she meant. “I… I’ve made up my mind.”
December 17, 2025 at 1:21 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
#WIPSnips for today is the word moist. Now I am struggling to believe I didn't use this word in the entirety of my manuscript. But here we are with an alternate.
#WriteSky#WritingCommunity
#GrimholtHollow
By midmorning, the road swallowed them whole. The high city walls fell behind, replaced by the thick bristle of fen-thorn trees and stunted marsh pines. The world grew wet, and the road turned to sludge beneath their boots and hooves. Asta rode in the back, watching the beasts, the jarred sprites flickering weakly in their murky glass prisons.
December 16, 2025 at 3:11 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
My #WIPSnips for today. The word is blanket.
#GrimholtHollow #WriteSky #WritingCommunity
Asta woke like she’d been dropped from a great height. For a long moment, she lay still, tangled in a wool blanket that smelled of old cedar and smoke. Light streamed in through the loft’s single high window, dust motes drifting lazily in the beam. Her whole body ached, a stiff, deep ache in her legs, shoulders, and the small of her back. She flexed her fingers and winced at the soreness.
December 15, 2025 at 11:24 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Snippet for today is line. This still gives me the last unicorn vibes, Asta visiting the traveling menagerie hopeful for a glance at a unicorn.
#WIPSnips #Writesky #WritingCommunity
A barker with a voice like gravel barked names of beasts and boasted of their power. No unicorn this year, though. Her heart sank. Not that she believed in childhood wishes anymore. Still. The idea of something pure, something beautiful… it stung more than it should. Once, she’d drawn a unicorn in the dust by the hearth, careful lines in white chalk. She’d believed then in beautiful things.
December 14, 2025 at 5:40 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
I've fallen a ways off track for the last couple weeks. Here is today's #WIPSnips control.
Asta questioning the greater world choices.
#Wriyesky #Writingcommunity
Folks in Hearthmere called it curse-born or devil-gifted. Lena’s grandmother swore magic leaked from broken graves, and Hilde Crostly once claimed her sister’s bad foot was from stepping on a faerie circle. Yet here was magic. Caged. Chained. Tickets were sold to view it. Not a gift. A thing taken. Controlled. Asta swallowed hard. If people didn’t have magic in them… where did witches get it? How did a hedge-mage conjure flame or bind a wind if not from inside themselves?
December 13, 2025 at 10:04 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Art is supposed to be stress relieving. I think I'm more stressed than when I started.
A very dark digital painting in its work in progress state of a black unicorn fountain with castle walls behind and even further back and sky sunset.
December 4, 2025 at 12:33 AM
hacarlson.bsky.social
#WIPSnips word of the day is belong. Asta is telling her brother she's leaving.
Been slacking, too much to catch up on where power goes out for too long.
#powerrestored#snowcountry
#writesky#writingcommunity
“Somewhere,” Asta hedged. “Out past the borders of Lowen Vale. Beyond Widow’s Crag, maybe. I’m not meant to stay here, Joren. I never was.” He huffed a bitter breath, taking a swig from his cup. “You think you’ll find something better out there? Folk like us don’t belong in those kinds of stories, Asta. We’re hearthfolk. Mud and crop rows, like Lena says.” “I’m not,” she said, more sharply than she meant to. “I’ve tried to be. I’ve tried to want the same things as you, but it’s like wearing someone else’s skin. It doesn’t fit.”
December 1, 2025 at 10:01 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Happy Thanksgiving. I was planning on snuggling up and writing while turkey was roasting away. I think turkey cooking is postponed until power is restored. I'll have to take it easy with battery power in the laptop.
Snow covered deck and trees.
November 27, 2025 at 1:58 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
I got my smelly smells and my atmospheric music playing. Let's get some work done
Candle warmer with candle baking underneath its light. Various craft supplies fill the background and a picture frame amongst the chaos that reads birb of the week with a chicken in the middle.
November 22, 2025 at 11:55 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Here is today's peek into Grimholt Hollow with #WIPSnips word of the day direction.
#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #HildeCrostlyextravagantbloomers.
She didn’t know what awaited her beyond Hearthmere. Didn’t know if Torngate was the answer or a step in the right direction. Asta did know that if she stayed, she’d dry up like dust in the fields, watching seasons change from the same patch of earth. Become bitter like Hilde Crostly and her extravagant bloomers.
November 21, 2025 at 10:59 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Been trapped in the real world. Here is my snip for today from Grimholt Hollow.Asta is learning what it means to care for a magical creature sanctuary #WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #Writesky
Sorren had to have been cursed with never-sleep. Asta had gotten up and down from the loft before the stars she could see through the window started to wink out. She had expected to catch him still abed or at least stretched out by the hearth. But no. Sorren was already up and, from the looks of it, had been for at least an hour. He stood in the kitchen, hunched over a rough wooden table, meticulously mixing batches of what looked like special feed. His brow furrowed in deep focus, hair unbound and falling in loose waves past his shoulders. The only food laid aside for himself was the same slab of hard-tack and a wedge of stubborn-looking cheese from the day before.
November 20, 2025 at 10:14 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Forced break from writing. That didn't stop the ideas from flowing and my poor husband from experiencing everything happening in my head at the exact moment it appeared. I didn't even give him room for feedback.
Picture of Mackinac bridge tower with American flag hanging from it.
November 11, 2025 at 10:59 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Strange to think I only used the word local two times in my entire manuscript. Here is the one I chose to use. I'm afraid the second usage Snippet would give away juicy details.
#WIPsnips #WriteSky #fortheplot
The caravan master shouted instructions, shifting the wagons to the east yards where the creature-handlers quartered. The closest to the Fenwilds gate, farthest from the civilized part of Torngate. Mavren had sent Asta to fetch water from the city fountains; each quarter boasted fresh water piped through the city. She overheard one of the caravan workers that the local inns even had water piped in and heated to bathe. Pouring from spigots mounted on the ceilings. Asta couldn’t wait to experience that marvel.
November 10, 2025 at 5:15 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Stainglass bookmark anyone? Working through some ideas making themed bookmarks.
Stainglass motif bookmark with black unicorn under a moon.
November 10, 2025 at 5:07 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Here is my Snippet of today. From Grimholt Hollow. Asta has arrived at Torngate experiencing a proper city.
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity
When she reached the public fountain, Asta faltered, startled by what rose before her. It was carved from the same dark stone as the city walls, polished smooth and slick with water that streamed over its form. Her mouth fell open as she took in the figure: a unicorn, its thick neck arched, mane flaring in a sunburst array. Its teeth were bared in a war steed's scream, hooves suspended mid-strike, horn curved and rippled like a serrated blade. The statue stood at the fountain's center, water lapping at its hocks while a bubbling stream spilled from the horn's tip. The old folk-tale drawings had it wrong. This was what unicorns truly looked like-not the delicate deer-goats pictured in the farmstead books of her childhood. Her hand twitched toward her satchel, aching to sketch the monument, but only the weight of bucket handles pressed against her palms. Capturing its wonder would have to wait.
November 9, 2025 at 4:10 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Sometimes regular paper and pencil is the best way to get the idea out for a sketch. A rough sketch of a dreadwing. #fortheplot #roughsketch #vibes
Graphite sketch on paper of a raven gryphon known as a dreadwing in Grimholt hollow. It was a thing of black iron, the bars thick as a man’s arm, bound in chains etched with warding sigils. Behind them crouched a beast of impossible shape, a creature with the sleek, predatory body of an enormous cat, but a Raven’s head cascading with feathers black as nightfall and eyes like the sky in twilight. Its beak was broad, carved from obsidian, and its wings shimmered with an oily sheen. A mane of perfect feathers ringed its neck like a shawl. It looked like a Gryphon from the book of folktales she used to look at. Mostly to seek out the white, delicate drawings of unicorns. The sign on its cage read: Dreadwing. Last of the Carrion Lords.
November 8, 2025 at 1:39 AM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Here is my Snippet for #WIPsnips word of the day #movement.
#darkfantasy
Asta’s stomach tightened. Maybe it had gotten strong enough in the night, slipped out, and vanished back into the fens. Maybe it hadn’t wanted to be kept. She let out a soft, weary sigh and leaned against the doorframe, rubbing a hand over her face. “Fair winds to you, little String,” she murmured to no one. The sounds of movement from the barns caught her ear, heavy wood creaking, the low clatter of a latch. She pushed off the frame and jogged toward it. Sorren was carrying a sack of feed over one shoulder, the dusk crow perched on the other, muttering some fresh obscenity Asta couldn’t quite catch. She quickened her steps to catch up and reached the barn door just as he pushed it open.
November 7, 2025 at 9:55 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Progress on artwork for Grimholt Hollow. The plan is to create a bestiary to accompany the novel. The MFC sketches and I wanted to also create her sketches as bonus content. #fortheplot #sketches #roughdraft
Rough sketch of a unicorn fountain in city square
November 7, 2025 at 12:44 AM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Got the titea mug out, ready to get some ideas out of my head. #fortheplot #writing #sketching #itsamessinhere
October 30, 2025 at 1:37 PM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Does anyone else feel like this when writing? I'm trying to fix/expand a magic system and still make it fit the story I've already crafted. #fortheplot #magicsystem
a man in a blue shirt and tie is pointing at a bulletin board with a lot of papers on it .
ALT: a man in a blue shirt and tie is pointing at a bulletin board with a lot of papers on it .
media.tenor.com
October 9, 2025 at 12:54 AM
hacarlson.bsky.social
Apart from the other things I should be working on. Ooo shiney!
October 7, 2025 at 1:08 AM