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Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

From my 30-day novel challenge #WIP Three Little Birds that you can follow along with (for free!) on #Substack (bio).

CW: mummies, keychains, museums as morality tales, recreational breaking and entering

#amwriting #writingcommunity #writesky #booksky #authorsky #honoramongthieves

“Did you keep him?”
Elena shook her head. “No. I didn’t. People know the first half of the story — that I broke in and stole the cat. They don’t know the other half.”
Layla waited, dancing the smaller Mr. Mittens across the table.
“I broke into the Grand Egyptian Museum a week later. They never could figure out what was stolen.”
“What was it?”
Elena smiled, “Nothing at all.”
“Nothing?”
She nodded, cutting off another length of wire. She spooled the wire back, and sat the spool on the fender.
“I took Mr. Mittens back home where he belonged.”
“How did you do it?”
“Sometimes, the best trick looks like a treasure. The more valuable the treasure - the fewer questions people ask. I mean, would you want to be the curator who found a four thousand year old cat and have to admit you had no idea where it came from?”

November 14, 2025 at 1:37 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

From my 30-day novel challenge #WIP Three Little Birds that you can follow along with (for free!) on #Substack (bio).

CW: greasy pizza, sticky fingers, friendship, offshoring production

#amwriting #writingcommunity #writesky #booksky #authorsky #sometimesdowells

He sifted through the contents. A stack of Polaroids of trees, buildings, and one stray dog. A hammer with a twist-off cap that hid a screwdriver. Pens from local banks and law offices. A business card for Henri Thibodeaux Consulting Pet Psychologist and Handyman-At-Large.
“Ok, so perhaps the real valuables are —”
“I swear to Christ, Michel, if you say ‘are the friends we made along the way’ —”
“Well, this is interesting,” he said, producing a tiny statue of a songbird. Enamel coating, bright red. He tapped it with a fingernail. Porcelain or bone, sitting on a metallic brass base carved in meticulous florals.
“It doesn’t say ‘Made in China,’ and that’s always a plus,” he mused.
“Handmade?” Bruce said.
“It seems so. I’ll take it to my appraiser in the morning. Maybe it’s worth at least its weight in pennies.”
“Let me see that,” Elena said, extending an arm. “Before you drown the poor thing in pizza grease.”
LeBlanc sighed, handing it over, “Yes, mother.”
He wiped his hands on his pants and brushed crumbs off his shirt. He peered down into his vest where crumbs had escaped.
Elena looked the bird over, “I thought you said the lockbox was worth some five figures.”
“Perhaps the real five-figure payday—”
“No,” Elena and Bruce said in unison.

November 12, 2025 at 3:48 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

From my 30-day novel challenge #WIP Three Little Birds that you can follow along with (for free!) on #Substack (bio).

CW: corporate life, bandwidth throttling, social commentary

#amwriting #writingcommunity #writesky #booksky #authorsky #sometimesdowells

“It’s funny, you know?” he continued. “It’s like I still expect him to pop right out of there and we can sneak away to a conference room. Work out some fantasy football math on the whiteboards? Do a little Bayesian analysis for our potential? You ever have someone like that?”
“Ah,” Elena said.
“Yeah, uh. Relatable.” Bruce nodded.
The man walked them into a large conference room that looked much like every other corporate meeting room. A long table ringed by central casting’s faux-leather chairs, each facing a padfolio. Multi-line phones at regular intervals. Thrift-store art LeBlanc would recoil at lining the walls. Steel, glass, and the cheapest blinds money could buy were all that separated it from the surrounding cubicle farm.
“This is where all the magic happens. The bullpen,” Chadley said, sweeping his arm like he was introducing them to the Grand Canyon.
When in Rome, you want to blend in with the Romans. That doesn’t just mean speaking the locals’ flavor of Latin. Everywhere has its jargon — the regional dialects of the working world.
It’s not you feeling tired today. It’s “being low on bandwidth.”

November 10, 2025 at 6:07 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

from my #WIP that you can follow along with (for free!) on #Substack, It Came...From the Video Store (bio)

CW: the midnight after, questionable screen names, The Voice™ (but not "The Voice," babe); ah, #romance

#amwriting #writingcommunity #writesky #booksky #authorsky #romance

tomorrow might be like with him in it.
He’d been gentle, in a way. Encouraging. Despite her better judgment (who has time for thinking in a situation like that?) her voice had slipped out.
That voice. The one that responded to names like megabigusdickus69420 on MyFriends. An alchemist’s voice, transmuting compliment to currency, moans to melodies, and the most innocuous things to filthy eroticism.
A kind of discordant concerto, movements in minor keys behind the implication of major scales.
She’d used her voice. That voice. The one that turned compliments into currency and moans into a melody. Not on purpose, not entirely. She’d gotten lost in the rhythm, and his voice joined her on refrains. Call and response, to the heady sensuous bass of grasping. The percussion of thrusts that go deeper into the heart than most could manage with her.
“You’re so fucking hot when you use your words like that.” “Fuck, you don’t know what that does to me. You’re so good at that.”  “God, Penny—say it again. Just like that.”
She had.

November 7, 2025 at 8:02 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

From my 30-day novel challenge #WIP Three Little Birds that you can follow along with (for free!) on #Substack (bio).

CW: Clocks, pot calling the kettle black, discharge (firearms), honor among thieves

#amwriting #writingcommunity #writesky #booksky #authorsky #sometimesdowells

“And the girl?”
“She’s in the van. I didn’t want to be…” the corner of his eyes framed LeBlanc, “Double crossed by some criminal.”
“You’re one to talk, Harlan.”
“And I do so love to talk, so long as the talking remains productive.”
She inclined her head at the birds.
“They’re yours. I just want the girl.”
Then I trust if I make a movement or two toward them, you won’t shoot me?”
She smirked. “I’m a girl of my word.”
Elena looked at the goon with gun leveled toward LeBlanc. Loose, casual grip. The kind of man who stopped losing sleep over corpses years ago. McBain wanted to get out alive. She could trust his self-preservation. The goon, she couldn’t trust.
The other one, shotgun under his chin, was slowly reaching for his belt. LeBlanc, trying to keep an eye on everyone in the room, didn’t notice.
“Tell your boys to put their dicks away and you can have your little birds.”
McBain paused, considering it. His grip loosened just enough to make her nervous. He smiled.
“Of course. Gentlemen —”
Their attention turned to McBain.
Tick, tick —
He turned to Elena. She grabbed the coat off the arm of the sofa and threw it at his arm. His gun went off, shattering the window.

November 7, 2025 at 7:59 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

super big thanks to @wipsnips.bsky.social for setting up a trackbear for all of us doing a novel writing month challenge.

this is where I ended up yesterday

i'm serializing every day, and you can read along with me over on #Substack (for free! bio link)

#amwriting #writesky #booksky #nanowrimo

November 6, 2025 at 6:56 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

from my novel writing month #WIP "Three Little Birds." you can follow along (for free!) on #Substack (bio)

CW: postmodernism, seagulls and fries (and fezzes), awful puns, displaced Goldman's bankers.

#writingcommunity #writesky #authorsky #booksky #caper #amwriting

“The fezzes represent the crowning achievements of capitalism. It’s very post-postmodern.”
“Très post-postmoderne,” LeBlanc added.
“And the backdrop,” Elena said, gesturing lazily in the general direction of the painting, “Is a statement that only the greatest of great men, real titans of industry, may weather the storms of life.”
“Do you think that the artist also means real captains of banking and finance products?” the man asked, eyes glinting under the gallery lights. “You know. The penultimate minds of capitalism?”
Her face nearly went blank. She hid it behind a thoughtful smile and wave of the hand instead. “Of course.”
“I’m not sure that means —” LeBlanc began, but Elena’s glare stopped him.
“Vérité. Très vérité.”
“My daughter loves that book!” the man brightened. “Coleen Hoover?”
“In any case —” Elena said, “This is truly a once in a lifetime opportunity for you to acquire a piece like this.”
“I feel so honored,” the man said, “I didn’t expect to come in here and meet the Miranda Truelove.”
LeBlanc nodded solemnly, but with a perfectly friendly smile and a pat to the man’s shoulder, “Yes, I happen to have connections all around the art world. My friend Miranda here —”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
“— just happened in this morning too. What a coincidence!”
“What a coincidence indeed,” Elena said. “It’s positively kismet.”
“Is that the artist’s name?”
“Ah — Yes indeed it is,” Elena said, “A miss Synchronicity Kismet. A real up-and-comer locally.

November 6, 2025 at 2:01 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

from my #WIP I'm serializing free on #Substack (bio) "It Came From the Video Store." (on short hiatus until I finish "Three Little Birds" for novel writing month).

CW: the Hello Kitty Couch song, pianos, awkward mornings

#writesky #writingcommunity #booksky #authorsky #romance #tentacletuesday

“I wouldn’t say I wrote it, so much. I just…started playing it and it came together. You know what that’s like too, though. Some things are written. Some things just…show up.”
Penny nodded, “That’s how the Hello Kitty couch song —”
“Please don’t subject me to that again today. This is only my first cup of coffee and I’m out of strychnine. But you’re one to talk about churchy. I’m not the one quoting Revelation in my lyrics for Leigh.”
Penny blushed and nearly dropped the book again.
“You…knew about that?”
He leaned back against the piano, rings tapping against the mug, “I don’t think anyone else would have. But you’ve shown me enough of your songs that I can recognize your voice. Leigh’s a great singer, but those songs Hexcadia performs — it’s not lost on me that’s your voice behind the voice.”
Julian’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer before he looked away, fingers trailing back across the piano keys like they’d missed him.
“So,” he said, voice casual but quieter than before, “how are your shows going? You never finished telling me about Tentacle Tue—”
“They’re fine. Great. Nothing really to talk about,” she laughed a little bit.
Penny found herself suddenly wishing she’d tried a little less hard today on her outfit. Maybe she should’ve gone with a nice, massive hoodie to hide herself in.

November 5, 2025 at 4:33 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

from my 30-day novel challenge #WIP "Three Little Birds" — that you can follow along with (for free!) on #Substack (bio)

CW: Norman Rockwell, museum security, potted plants, opening night galas

#amwriting #writingcommunity #writesky #booksky #authorsky #caper #heist

Not just cameras and huscle. They’ve got some new tech running infrareds just above shoulder height. Word is there’s some new facial recognition tech in here —”
Elena winced.
“— but it isn’t active yet. You don’t need to worry. But a whole Fort Knox of active measures are loaded in here.”
LeBlanc almost spit his champagne out, “For Francois Perrier? For Norman Rockwell? Matisse I could understand, but this —”
He gestured around broadly. Elena tilted slightly to avoid his stick. She patted him on the shoulder.
“There’s no accounting for taste. No reason to yuck someone’s yum.”
“The world was a finer place when we could yuck someone’s yum. Some people’s yums are just…”
He trailed off, downing the last of his latest champage and depositing the flute in a nearby planter.
“…ew.”
She adjusted the fall of her shawl again reflexively. She discreetly scanned the room again. Bruce seemed right. Even the human element of the place seemed a bit too engineered. The servers with nearly-matching walks in neat, orderly rotations. A few large men in suits with slight bulges to their suit jackets. Too many guests who didn’t seem to care what the exhibit was even for, only what it said about them to be in attendance.
The latter, at least, was to be expected.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this whole thing was a scam.”

November 5, 2025 at 4:29 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

oops new splashes and book cover

November 4, 2025 at 10:28 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

from my 30-day novel #WIP "Three Little Birds" that you can check out (free!) on #Substack (bio)

CW: French, French Fries, French Thief, Awful Puns, Subprime Lending Crisis of 2008, Shellfish

#amwriting #writingcommunity #writesky #booksky #authorsky #crime #dramaedy

You can tell a lot about someone by the art they pretend to understand. If you go into someone’s home and they have a large painting that looks like a bomb went off in a paint factory — they’re trying to tell you something. That they’re complex, unpredictable — dangerous. But, those people are like somebody who buys a gun and sits it in the middle of the coffee table like a steel centerpiece. The kind of man who proudly collects guns, but never oils them. A man who wants to be feared — but never quite worth fearing, and never reflects on why that is.
“Of course, it’s good for the city,” the man in the suit reflected, “These projects are deeply educational. You know. For the kids.”
“Ah, vérité, mon ami. Les enfants.”
“Oh no, not just infants,” the man said, “Kids of all ages.”
Then there’s the man who wants his art to look like it’s chosen by a committee — but a hip and trendy committee. Edgy enough to be tasteless, but tasteful enough to say “it’s ok. Buy my latest product.” The art of the bureaucratic midlife crisis. Pathological adherence to routine — predictably beginning his day at the highest rated coffee shop on Yelp this month.
“Yes,” LeBlanc said, “A man — though not one of taste, such as yourself monsieur — might look at this and say ‘Yes! it has seagulls.’”
“It sure does.”
“A man might think to himself, ‘If you’ve seen one seagull, surely you’ve seen them all, n’est-ce pas?”
“I think so too,” the man nodded thoughtfully.
You don’t need to be too clever for this kind of mark. You just need to show them something that feels fresher than the cubicle next door.
“But this, mon ami! This is not just seagulls — this is called —”
LeBlanc gave a suitably dramatic flourish at the painting, ending with his arm around the shoulder of the man in the windowpane suit.
“Le Perilous Voyage of Jonathan Donaldington McSeagull.”
“Oh my god,” the man whispered reverently, eyes wide behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. “Jonathan McSeagull. Of course.”

November 4, 2025 at 1:24 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

from my not-NaNo #WIP, "Three Little Birds" serializing on #Substack — and you can read it for free, babe (bio). currently at 10,500/50,000 words.

CW: French thief pretending to be British, Realtors, fetes vs. soirees, godawful puns

#amwriting #writingcommunity #writersky #booksky #authorsky

“Sir, if you’ve never experienced the breathtaking delight of Twin Pheasant Under Hollandaise Et Al —”
“A classic of French cuisine,” Elena purred.
“You simply haven’t lived. Lovie,” he said, throwing an arm around the Realtor and narrowly missing the man’s jaw with his stick, “We simply must invite our mister…”
He looked at the Realtor.
“Har—”
“—this nice, strapping young fellow here to our midwinter fête!”
“A…fête?”
“It’s more a soiree, darling.”
“He’s already been tremendous. A gentleman and a scholar, sir, and no mistaking it.”
“Does our new friend,” Elena said, gently touching the man’s chest and giving a slight, teasing tug at his necktie, “Think a burgundy or merlot would pair best with the pheasants?” “I, uh…”
“Yes, of course — if we’re going to ask you to attend this gala event, we’d like to show you a bit of the old English hospitality! What is it you keep in the fridge, you old cheese toastie?”
“I have a…a few Bud Lights left.”
They both looked at him for a moment. They looked at each other. They gave a posh little chortle together. Elena fluffed the man’s jacket, and patted it back down playfully. She brushed a speck of lint from the man’s shoulder.
“Hilarious chap. Just utterly clavicle-rattling. The absolute, audacious fiend, lovie. Isn’t he something?”
Elena felt the house’s spare keyring in the palm of her silk glove. Poor thing. She almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“Yes, darling. You know what they say: a fiend in need is a fiend indeed.”

November 3, 2025 at 10:48 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

from my novel writing month #wip, "Three Little Birds" you can read for free on #Substack (bio)

CW: powdered sugar pastries, crossword puzzles, potentially one of my real life outfits.

#amwriting #writesky #writingcommunity #booksky #authorsky

“Nice try, detectives,” Elena said, “But you have to get up earlier than that to outsmart me. Obviously, the soul of wit is —”
She wrote ‘brevity,’ in the spaces for four-across.
When you’re a thief, you learn every situation is a puzzle. And like most puzzles, it’s usually — if not always — better to solve them by thinking them through instead of kicking down the door.
It wasn’t the worst place she’d ever ended up in. 2215B Spain Street in the Marigny had passable midcentury furniture and excellent Abysmal stemware, however.
It did come with a nice terrace overlooking the rear garden plaza. She stretched out on a chaise, in a black twist bikini with matching straw sun hat. Her body was draped haphazardly in a kimono she’d fashioned out of a third-hand muumuu featuring little rubber ducks. Ray-Bans shielded her eyes from the tyranny of the morning sun.
Her coffee steamed next to her in a 1920s cut-crystal rocks glass she’d found in the cabinet.
“Ten letters for ‘feline housebreaker…’”she mused.
Cat burglar.
She idly nibbled on a beignet, powdered sugar sticking to her ruby-red lipstick. A gold-plated Montblanc fountain pen that seemed to be filled with a lovely Herbin teal ink she’d “borrowed” from a man’s bistro table that morning tapped a bone-China platter with what was left of a beignet pyramid.

November 3, 2025 at 4:01 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

from my (free to read) #WIP "It Came..From The Video Store" on #Substack (bio)

CW: golden retrievers, mac and cheese, morality plays, best friends

#writesky #writingcommunity #amwriting #writersky #booksky #authorsky

Emma gave her a hug. Penny laid her head on Emma’s shoulder. “You really need to stop doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
Emma just looked at her. “The thing where you fall face-first into someone who makes you feel seen for half a second, and then wake up wondering which parts were actually you.”
Penny closed her eyes. “He was…nice.”
“Fresh mac and cheese is nice, Penny.”
“He was…attentive.”
“Golden retrievers are attentive.”
“But then he — started talking about camgirls like we’re some kind of moral cautionary tale.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “You told him?”
“No. That’s the thing. I didn’t. But he still managed to make me feel like I needed to apologize for it.”
Emma swore under her breath. “Penny, you need to tell him. The sooner the better. And no, babe, you don’t need to apologize for shit. No more than I need to be sorry for entering credits and debits. It’s a job, Penny.”
“I know—”
“But does he know that?”

November 3, 2025 at 3:54 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

words to live by
#amwriting #writesky #art #booksky

November 3, 2025 at 4:15 AM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

From my novel writing month #WIP, Three Little Birds.
You can read more about it on #Substack (bio).

CW: Art, the French, billionaire tax evasion, crossword puzzles, contemplated thievery

#amwriting #booksky #authorsky #thriller #dramedy #crimefiction #actionadventure #writesky #writingcommunity

November 2, 2025 at 4:08 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

from my #WIP not-#nanowrimo challenge, "Three Little Birds" (bio to learn more).

CW: villainy, antiheroes, homages to carmen sandiego and arsene lupin, Norman Rockwell paintings, Burn Notice, Leverage inspo.

#amwriting #writesky #booksky #authorsky #crime #honoramongthieves #adventure #dramedy

The man’s gaze flitted back to the older woman he was speaking with. The kind of old woman that smells of White Diamonds and a collection of dead husbands.
“I’ll have to come and see you sometime,” the woman said. “My Henry has been looking for something nice for the living room. Maybe a nice Currier and Ives. Oh! Or a Rockwell.”
Elena caught him barely conceal a flinch and grimace, and took a sip from her glass to keep from laughing.
“Yes, um, oui, madame,” he said, accent spread on thick, “I always welcome a lovely lady to call on me anytime.”
He took the woman’s hand and gave it a rakish kiss.
She laughed and they parted ways. Elena tapped her cheek with the champagne flute. Maybe he’d forget she’s here. Maybe she could disappear if she clicked her heels together.
“Perrier,” the man said, the thick, rustic French accent softened into something between Parisian and globetrotter.
“Mmhmm,” Elena said.
“Godawful bastard,” he said, “Seems to be a night for godawful bastards though, doesn’t it?”
“Of course you’d be here, LeBlanc.”
“And where else would I be? I must keep my fingers on the very pulse of the New Orleans art world. And yet —”
“Don’t.”
He continued.
“—I seem to have encountered the most ravishing of exhibits —”
She didn’t take her eyes off the painting.
“If you finish that sentence with ‘is standing in front of my very eyes, a-woah-hoh-hoh, c’est si bon, you’re going to be very thankful for security being on-site.”
“You wound me, cherie. You plunge a knife into my poor little heart.”
“God, don’t tempt me.”
“This is a night of celebration. It’s a night of art —”
“And you,” Elena said, “Were planning on stealing some of it.”

November 2, 2025 at 4:13 AM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

i'll be participating in one of the #nanowrimo (RIP) variants this year — Reedsy's Novel Sprint. You can come check me out over there, or you can catch me serializing it (with my commentary, as always) over on #Substack (bio).

More on this as I go along.

#amwriting #writesky #booksky #authorsky

November 1, 2025 at 9:43 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

from "It Came from the Video Store," my #WIP novel serializing on #Substack (bio)
.
CW: Musical chapter epigraphs, silences, lyricism.
.
#tentacletuesday #amwriting #writesky #authorsky #booksky #retrofuturism #southern #scifi #spooky #romance

Untitled.
(not sure what to do with this)
sometimes, i don’t know what to do with the music stops — i forget that rests exist, and dream in 3/4 time. sometimes i see the night dance
The streetlights were still on, though some of them made like lightning bugs, flickering in a losing war against the forces of sleep.
Streetlamps are nocturnal creatures. Never in conflict with the darkness and the shadows — no. They’re old friends with common ancestors, sharing a table within their particular ecosystem. To laugh, drink, and dance the night away, oblivious to the desires of people.
Their dance is sung in equilibrium. Leading and following wandering hearts out and through the stars above.
Such as the two people in their own dance of silence, beneath their blurry, laughing eyes, below — down on Mayhaw Street.
The air was goosebump-cool on Penny’s arms. She’d given Leigh her Smörgënstërn sweatshirt back at the store — thinking to herself that it couldn’t possibly be cold this early in the fall. She walked a pace ahead, then half-step behind, her mind working overtime without benefit of hazard pay.
Julian didn’t say anything. He kept a steady pace, just out of reach. Hands in his pockets, his oxblood oxfords crunching occasionally on leaves and gravel as they walked among the rows of streetlights lost, intoxicated, in their dance with the edges of the night.

November 1, 2025 at 4:35 PM

Kass Carcosa

@jointhekult.bsky.social

just remember, you've never seen me and the Louvre thief in the same place, at the same time.

you don't even know where in the world I am.

#halloween