Kayleigh Diaz
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Kayleigh Diaz
@kayleighdiaz.com
690 followers 700 following 3.9K posts
Mother, educator, bibliophile. Aspiring author with a penchant for acquiring entirely too many old books. 📚
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#WIPSnips | suggest vibes✨

Amos offering MC a little food for thought…

From my post-apocalyptic #WIP featuring a misfit trio of kids.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: “Ain't no humanity left in this world,” she muttered. “And yet here you are,” Amos said, gesturing at the food. “Sitting at our table. Breaking bread.” He bit a chunk out of the loaf and handed the rest of it to her. “What would you call that?” She scoffed. “Pity.” He stared at her for a moment. She kept her eyes down, and he shook his head. “All right then, Lennie, say it's pity. Think sharks have pity on their prey? How about a pack of starving dogs? Ever seen one turn on its master?” He leaned in. “Because I have. Starving animals care for two things only: the hunt and the kill.” “I seen people kill,” she whispered. “And I've seen starving fathers give the last of their food to their children. I've seen mothers squeeze the last drops of water from a cloth into their child’s mouth. I've seen strangers sacrifice themselves for people they hardly knew.” He sat back. “I bet you've seen some of that too.” She picked at the loaf with her fingernail, flaking off some of the burnt crust. “And maybe you're here because someone took pity on you.” He pointed to the closed cabin door. “She didn't have to take you in. She chose to. And maybe it was pity, maybe something else, but I'll tell you this. Pity is a distinctly human emotion.” He pushed a glass of water toward her and she lifted her eyes at last. “So, you being here? Hell. I'd say there's a bit of humanity left after all.”
January 30, 2026 at 9:00 AM
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#WIPSnips | storm vibes✨

Bit of post-apocalyptic “snow.”

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: A flurry of gray drifted over the pines, dusting the branches. She wished desperately that she could open her mouth to it, let the flakes catch on her tongue, but she knew better. That sort of innocence was best left to the withering pages of the children's books her mother sometimes used for kindling. Still. It was a quiet moment, the soot draping the woods in a cloak of silence. How could one feel so cut off, enclosed in all this wilderness? A speck of it caught on her wrist. She flicked it away. How would it feel to taste something pure? Sweet and cold, she imagined, and melting with promise. She licked her chapped lips, watching Micah set up camp under the swirl of rotten snow. Sweet like sugar, maybe. Sweet like ice cream.
January 27, 2026 at 8:44 AM
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Gawwwd take me back to the 90s. Can we do a hard reset, please? Kthx.
January 24, 2026 at 11:42 PM
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Have I though?
January 24, 2026 at 1:31 PM
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Giant winking ghost emoji
January 24, 2026 at 1:13 PM
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#WIPSnips | bone = skeletal

From the opening chapter of my post-apocalyptic #WIP, wherein the MC is looking for a cricket in a jar in the crawl space beneath her house and finds something…unexpected. 👀

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: Her mother was calling her name, but rather than answering, she worked her way deeper into the space, elbows and forearms slick with mud. The air was both rank and enticing, a mix of petrichor and whatever animals had chosen this spot as their last destination; a Hail Mary search for shelter in a world unraveling. She nudged a few skeletal remains out of her way, listening. And there it was. Click. How could a jar have rolled this far? The wind was fierce, but surely it couldn't have drifted through feet of mud. Lightning flashed, illuminating the space for the briefest moment, and something pale caught her eye. Just to the right, just out of reach. She paused. Another flash, longer, the tail of the strike branching out, spreading across the night sky, crackling its way through the atmosphere. Long enough that she saw the pale figure, crouched low, fingernails tapping against the jar. Long enough for her to see scars, etched like bolts across its face. Enough to see eyes wider than wide, watching her. Long enough for her to scream. She pushed back blindly on all fours, palms sliding in the mud. It was pitch-dark now and silent apart from her panicked breaths. Back, back, back—the wind nipped at the hem of her shirt, lifting it, so she knew she was close when the lightning lit up again, and she half expected to see that ghostly face inches from her own, staring her down, but the crawl space as far as she could see was empty. She reached the open air and stood, watching the dark space beneath the porch, but no one—or nothing—emerged.
January 24, 2026 at 10:16 AM
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New art comm! A bit of stargazing for these kiddos in the apocalypse. 🌠

Thank you to @nushdeco.bsky.social for bringing this moment to life! 🥰❤️

#Art #DigitalArt #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
Digital art of a teenage boy and girl lying in the grass, stargazing. Dark forest color scheme. Top-down view w/ tree leaves and red berries in the foreground, flowers in the grass, fireflies in the air. The boy (shoulder-length brown hair, blue-eyed, light-skinned, wearing long sleeves and a dark vest, jeans) is smiling, looking at the girl, and pointing up. The girl (same complexion and hair color—medium length, braided—but with brown eyes, a subtle glow to them, wearing a dark green shirt & gray long-sleeved undershirt, patched jeans) is smiling slightly, gazing upward at the stars. Their hands are clasped.
January 23, 2026 at 3:13 PM
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#WIPSnips | tattoo

Welp, guess I prepared for the wrong word today 😅, so here's a strange tattoo on a strange boy. From an abandoned #YA #WIP.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: He loosens his body casually. Continues to hold her gaze. “I’m Aamon.” “Kassidy,” she says. Then she squints again at the hieroglyphics. Did she imagine it, or had they moved? She lifts her hand again. “What—” He skirts away from her, shifting so her hand grazes air. “Look, don’t touch,” he chides, but he tilts his head as he considers her; his expression hardens suddenly, and she swears, now, that the molten brown of his irises cracks, fiery red bleeding through. “Wait,” he says. “Did you… see something?” She shakes her head, snapping back like returning from an out-of-body experience. She’s lightheaded. She hasn’t had anything to eat, eager to get to her volunteer work at the shelter. Desperate to get out of the house. That explains it. She’s just hungry, blood sugar maybe a little low. She’s not hallucinating, and the stupid words hadn’t moved. Right? “Kassidy,” he says, voice low, and the tone is far too intimate. He leans into her space and repeats himself. “Did you see something, Kassidy?” “N-no,” she manages, and then she stands abruptly, edging past him. She brushes against his legs and makes her way to the front of the bus, glancing quickly over her shoulder, and then she’s hallucinating again because she swears his body ripples, like the flash of a silver-finned fish caught in the sunlight. She turns back to the driver. “Can you stop here, please?” He’s a hefty man in his fifties, body and clothes damp with Louisiana heat. “Don’t make unschedul’d stops.” “Please,” she says again, chancing a look back at the boy, and he’s standing now. Slowly. “Please,” she repeats, and he must hear the desperation in her voice because he does a double take, then checks the overlarge rearview. He mutters something and pulls over, braking hard.
January 22, 2026 at 12:54 PM
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Pam's baaaaack 😁😁👏👏👏♥️♥️♥️
Cowboy emoji celebrating
January 21, 2026 at 11:02 PM
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No new pictures.

Where are you at mentally?

(Me to my students...and some colleagues)
"let me ask chat gpt" Me: *Image of Mr. Rogers pointing at his head* "Did you ever grow anything in the garden of your mind?"
January 20, 2026 at 6:03 PM
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They're in like every snippet probably lol. The second example has em dashes AND semicolons 😅😅
She found an opening, pushing aside a couple thin branches to see better. They passed by in rows of two, hooded and cloaked in a patchwork of hides—slumped forward on their mounts, faces hidden—a collection of weapons strapped to their backs. Battered pipes, rusty blades, the odd rifle. He paused for a moment as the waves crashed against the shoreline. Then he turned back, laid a hand on her cheek, and a kaleidoscope of images shot through her mind—twisting, turning, combining—only to be reassorted, shuffled into something new. A swath of land, ribboned with streams; a cloudless, cerulean sky; tree branches dipped in frost, a blanket of clean snow resting atop the forest floor. A single, white buck in a clearing, its head turning toward her through a silent drift. And then people. Not solitary, hunted, bedraggled or starving. Faces aglow, flush with radiance, brimming with life—both old and young—but all of them, all of them surrounded by others. This is community, she thought as they whipped through her mind. So many, so many. This is family. These are friends. This is humanity. This is love.
January 19, 2026 at 8:33 PM
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#WIPSnips | gold

Ehh, we're gonna squint real hard and go with amber from my domestic suspense #WIP (maybe it's a gold-rimmed glass… 😅)

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: The light in the den is on, a thick slice of it cracked beneath the door. She pushes it open to find Daniel seated at his desk, the glow of a lamp reflecting off the deep amber in his glass—three fingers’ worth, at least. There’s a half-empty bottle beside him. He looks up as she enters, his eyes loosely scanning her. He takes a long sip, then says, “Hey.” “Hey,” she says. Daniel is not, and has never been, a heavy drinker, so the amount of liquid in that glass is . . . concerning, to say the least. He seems to consider this too, as he takes a long look at it, forehead slightly creased, like he can’t figure out what it’s doing in his hand. He slugs back another two gulps anyway and smiles at her. “Come here,” he says, patting his thigh. She rolls her eyes, crosses her arms. “All right,” he says, nodding, still a hint of a smile ghosting his lips, and Adela recalls that flash of a smile when she’d first met him, how easily it had melted her, tunneled her vision into one long stretch: the two of them, together; sunny picnics on the beach, children in tow; quiet mornings with coffee and crosswords; dancing to an old record, lights low; watching the autumn rain fall, gray hair aging them; books in bed, crickets chirping; gnarled hands, clasped.
January 17, 2026 at 12:03 PM
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#WIPSnips | current

⛴️

From my post-apocalyptic #WIP featuring a misfit trio of kids.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: “Watch the current,” Amos muttered while Maeve maneuvered to the port side and killed the engine. The sun hit the meridian, and Lennie put a hand up to shield her eyes as the faces of those above disappeared in a rush of blinding light.
January 14, 2026 at 8:48 AM
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#WIPSnips | table

From the opening chapter of my post-apocalyptic #WIP.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: The lines in her mother's brow had hit a critical tipping point before supper was even on the table, so she'd left as quickly and quietly as she could. She’d learned to make herself small, shoulders in, slithering like liquid from the room, bare feet scarcely disturbing the dust. She went to sit on their front porch and listened for a while to the distant rumble of approaching thunder. Ignored the sobs emanating from inside. The breeze was dirty, chemical, carrying the chorus of a few crickets, but their chirps were slow and lazy. The last call of a dying breed.
January 9, 2026 at 8:50 AM
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Poetry is renewing, right? 😁

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #HQPress
Writing snippet: “Oh my God,” she whispered. She turned to Lennie and reached out, embracing her. “Oh my God!” “Keep your religion out of it,” Amos said, but even his lips betrayed a bend at the corners. “Quick,” Maeve said, heading to the cabin door. “Get your things, Lennie. Essentials only.” “What sort of essentials do I have?” she mumbled. Amos caught her eye, mouthed: “Poetry.” She grinned.
January 4, 2026 at 4:59 PM
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#WIPSnips | home

From my post-apocalyptic #WIP w/ a misfit trio of kids.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: “We can go back,” he said. “Back where?” “Home.” He frowned, searching her face. She scoffed and looked out over the valley, her eyes catching on a small trail carving its way through the trees. “Tell me something,” she said. “What is home to you, Micah? What do you have left waiting for you there?” She thought to the back porch, the empty field, the patch of freshly turned dirt. “Because I got nothing.”
January 4, 2026 at 9:58 AM
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#WIPSnips | calm

From my post-apocalyptic #WIP w/ a misfit trio of kids.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: The air was calm, still. Hardly a rustle to the leaves around them, like all of the world was holding its breath, and it caught in her lungs too, a pregnant pause that said: steady now, wait. Not yet. Wait.
January 3, 2026 at 5:13 PM
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Guess I'm a Hobbit for the new year. 😅🥔
Screenshot of Merriam-Webster post: Take a screenshot of this GIF, and whichever new word you land on is YOUR word for 2026. Let's. Go. potato
January 2, 2026 at 3:38 PM
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We're celebrating Christmas with my parents, and my mom got me this massive New International Dictionary from 1946 with painted edges.

It's 2,987 pages and weighs 16 lbs. 😅♥️

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky
Photo of cover: Webster's New International Dictionary Second Edition Unabridged. Tan cover, gold-embossed title, faded maroon and teal swirls on paper edges. Photo of edition notice: Webster's New International Dictionary of the English Language Second Edition Unabridged Utilizing all the experience and resources of more than one hundred years of genuine Webster dictionaries A Merriam-Webster (Editor names) G. & C. Merriam Company, Publishers Springfield, Mass., U.S.A. 1946
December 29, 2025 at 12:19 AM
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#WIPSnips | thread

Micah Boy getting some stitches. 🪡🩸

From my post-apocalyptic #WIP w/ a misfit trio of kids.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: “That’s the worst of it,” the woman said, threading a needle. “You probably won’t even feel this.” She set to stitching him up. The man released his grip and rocked onto his heels, watching Micah closely, and Micah stared back, silent, chest heaving as the woman dipped the needle and pulled and dipped and pulled. The man smirked. “Well, you’ve got some mind looking at me like that, son,” he said, and then the smile slipped from his lips. “All those violent thoughts dancing in your eyes.”
December 28, 2025 at 9:32 AM
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#WIPSnips | doctor

I have nurse from my domestic suspense #WIP! MC discussing anxiety, parenthood, and her past life w/ a therapist.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: “The twins are two?” “Two and a half.” “And what did you say you did before?” She frowns, shuffling through some papers on her desk. “Pediatrics?” “I was a NICU nurse.” “Ah, yes.” She gives her a look that Adela is intimately familiar with. “That couldn’t have been easy.” “No, not always.” “And how do you feel that impacted your anxiety?” She sighs and turns her head away, taking note of the cream walls, muted beige and green floral artwork. Everything carefully selected to promote a sense of calm, but it does nothing to tamp down the riotous beating of her heart. Palpitations, she thinks absently. Anxiety-induced palpitations. “I was always able to separate my personal and work life.” She returns her gaze to Roland. “Anxiety didn’t factor into work. If anything, it was a strength.” Dr. Roland tilts her head. “How so?” “I don’t know, the limbic system.” That goddamn amygdala. “I like to think it afforded me a sense of urgency, like I knew when something was going to go wrong, when a patient was about to take a turn for the worse. My brain flagged it before the monitors did.” “Did you enjoy what you did?” “It gave me a sense of purpose.”
December 27, 2025 at 4:51 PM
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#WIPSnips | stone

Skippin rocks.

From my post-apocalyptic #WIP w/ a misfit trio of kids.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: The water was choppy, small peaks of waves that caught the sunlight, lapping at the sandy shoreline. Micah kicked around in the silt a bit until he found a wide, flat stone. “Here,” he said, putting it in Shrimp's hand and maneuvering behind him, holding his arm at a low angle. He swept their arms back and forward. “Hold it low like that, flat to the water. Out to the side, and then when you get here”—he stopped at the pinnacle of the throw—“let go.” He stepped back. Shrimp's brow was crinkled in concentration as he tried to mimic the motion. He swung out, released, and the rock hit a wave with a solid plop, sinking immediately. Shrimp frowned, then glared at Micah accusingly. Micah shrugged. “Water’s too rough,” Lennie called from farther back. “You need still water.” “Nah you don't,” Micah said. “Watch.” He found another, smaller stone and swung out wide. It hit the water and sank. Shrimp grinned, and Micah turned back to Lennie, a slight flush in his cheeks. She tried and failed to suppress a chuckle. “Can't be good at everything, I guess.”
December 23, 2025 at 11:29 AM
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#WIPSnips | silver

Repost because I like silver here lol.

Also important for the ending. 😁

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: “Mama believed in all that. The Second Coming. Said it was all prophesied, that all we had to do was wait, and we'd ascend into Heaven, right along with the rest of ‘em. The good ones.” “You believe that crock?” “No,” she said, poking at the dying embers. The logs settled and crackled, sending little sparks lifting into the sky. “If I ever did, I knew waiting alongside her that she weren't no chosen one.” She sighed. “Which means I ain't either.” Micah nestled up against the tree, cradling the back of his head as he gazed at the night sky. The moonlight caught in his eyes, casting a silver-white glow to them. “‘And there will be signs in sun and moon and stars,’” he said softly, “‘and on the earth distress of nations in perplexity because of the roaring of the sea and the waves.’” Lennie stared at him as the logs popped. “That might be the most words I ever heard you say. Big ones too.” He shrugged. “My pa made us quote scripture.” “So what do you believe?” He glanced at her, then back at the stars. “I believe your ma was right on one thing.” “What's that?” He closed his eyes and settled into the dirt. “That you're one of the good ones, Lennie.”
December 21, 2025 at 11:22 AM
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😅 Diego
Diego blows his breath out slowly. “Okay, so, what now?” “Now,” Daniel says, taking a seat heavily, glancing back at Davis’s office. The blinds are shuttered. “We work quieter.” Diego closes his eyes for a beat. “How did I know you were going to say that.” “There’s something off about this, and you know it.” “I didn’t say otherwise.” He shakes his head slowly. “All right, man, but if you get me suspended, you’re going to have to explain it to Lea.” “You’re still seeing her?” “‘Course I am.” “But not the other one.” “Evangeline? Nah, man. She’s old news.” Daniel snorts. “Player, player…” “Hey, we’re not exclusive.”
December 19, 2025 at 8:33 PM
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#WIPSnips | high

Another one from my domestic suspense #WIP, and then I'll go back to my happy post-apocalyptic story 😅

MC sitting at a bay window, watching the world pass by.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: It’s a balmy, sunny day, laced with wisps of cloud. Distantly, she can hear peacocks cawing. It had once made her feel a sense of wonder—a slice of exotic novelty woven against the backdrop of her busy morning—but now it reminds her more of the call of the loon from her childhood, lonely and piercing. The espresso burns her tongue as she lifts her eyes to the clouds. “What are you looking at?” She jumps, and the steaming coffee slips down her chin, staining her white cotton robe. “Fuck,” she says, turning to Daniel. “You scared me.” He raises his brows. “I’m sorry.” “It’s fine.” She wipes at the coffee with one hand, like she can erase the stain, and sets her cup down. “I’m not looking at anything.” He hums. “You had a pensive look.” He lifts a mug to his lips and sips. “Like a painting.” She doesn’t feel like a painting—makeup-less, her curls more frizz than coil—but on second thought, she imagines herself frozen in time, plastered against canvas, strokes of acrylic slashing down her body, pinning her flat. He points out the window. “There, hon.” “Hmm?” She follows the track of his finger. “A pack of wild moms.” A group of five or six high-ponytailed, black-legging-clad women race by with their jogger strollers, the bright blond hair of babies and toddlers blowing in the wind, chubby cheeks whipped pink. “Maybe you could join them,” he says. She rolls her eyes. “I don’t need [redacted for title-related reasons]. I need [also redacted].” He chuckles, then does a double take when he sees her eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Wait, you’re not serious.” “Why not?” She chews on her lower lip, considering it. “They have Meetups for Mommy and Me. I’ll just make one for the Mommies. Without the Me’s.” There will be wine, charcuterie boards, double-dose SSRIs…
December 19, 2025 at 9:49 AM