#BookQuoteWednesday-Word
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tenastetler.bsky.social
#BookQuoteWednesday-Word is "blue" in my #paranormal #romance Meringue Snowflake Magic - Will Wynter being in Raven’s Hollow put the town’s #holiday #festival & cookie contest at risk? #Mystery #fantasy #magic #wrpbks #Witches #Shifters Join the #adventure! buff.ly/3N7GXkG
December 10, 2025 at 10:00 AM
queex.bsky.social
For #BookQW, the word is 'run'. Here, we encounter one of the deadlier hazards of the Rust Graveyard.

#BookQuoteWednesday
A lull in the wind coincided with his foot knocking against a pile of debris. A small length of pipe rolled away from him, off the edge of the gantry, and sang a cacophony as it clattered between the supporting struts. The machine geist turned, zeroed in on him instantly, and flew directly for him. Garnas squeezed the trigger and felt the steam pressure build up in the chamber as the water met the heavy coal. The barrel spat angrily, but the rock shards fell harmlessly wide of the geist. It was rushing now, faster than a man could run, fast as nightmares, and taking on a more solid form. Garnas pulled another cartridge from his belt and slipped it into the gun, brought the weapon back up to his cheek, snatched at the trigger. He could hear every ping and whistle as the chamber came up to pressure.
November 26, 2025 at 12:44 PM
joielesin.bsky.social
It's Book Quote Wednesday and the word of the day is MISS.

Elizabeth's conversation with the ghost Paolo is an excerpt from my 1940s ghost story, THE PASSENGER.

#ghoststory #supernaturalfiction #historicalfantasy #booksky #bookqw #bookquotewednesday #twrpbks
October 29, 2025 at 9:00 PM
queex.bsky.social
Who'd like to read about a magical weapon for #BookQW? The word is 'miss'.

#BookQuoteWednesday
Shirin ran the whetstone along the edge of her axe. The scrape was so familiar she barely heard it. The sailors had given her some good-natured ribbing about it—“If you keep sharpening it there’ll be no blade left!”—until she’d told them it was a ritual. The rough men and women of the sea might have limited respect for non-sailors, but ritual was central to a lot of what they did. Seas were capricious. No-one wanted to tempt fate. In a way, it was a ritual, albeit one with a purpose. The axe was special, although nobody on the ship but her knew how special. It was hungry for metal. When it struck armour, it bit far deeper than its edge and weight alone could manage. The axe’s hunger was unceasing, drinking in motes of iron from any object around it. If it was kept in a metal crate, then after a month there would be precious little of the crate left, and the axe head would be a misshapen mass too heavy to wield. So Shirin attended to it three times a day: first the rasp, then the whetstone. Morning, noon, and evening. A ritual, indeed.
October 29, 2025 at 4:29 PM
joielesin.bsky.social
It's Book Quote Wednesday and the word of the day is STRONG.

Excerpt from my 1940s ghost story, THE PASSENGER.

www.jlesin.com/thepassenger

She’s a 1940s ghost whisperer.

#supernaturalfiction #ghoststory #historicalfantasy #paranormalfantasy #books #booksky #bookquotewednesday #bqw #twrpbks
October 8, 2025 at 9:50 PM
coffeequillsauthor.itch.io
Book Quote Wednesday! (or Thursday for us future timezone peeps)! "Hard" is the word.

In Scavenged Ghosts, there're plenty of hard choices, though friendship is easy.

Free to read in KU & available as an ebook on Amazon. books2read.com/scavengedgho...

#bookqw #BookQuoteWednesday #BQW 🪐📚💙
A small blast on his left side propelled him right, and a worry formed in his gut when he saw nothing large enough to hold, or hide, a body. “Which means that if Orion was here, after, I'm guessing, an explosion, ze would be floating in view. The fact that ze isn’t makes me think there used to be debris here, ze entered them, and they are still moving or were hit hard by something else to be flung farther out." - this quote is from Scavenged Ghosts by Coffee Quills
October 2, 2025 at 7:15 AM
tenastetler.bsky.social
#BookQuoteWednesday Word is "hard" in my #paranormal #romance An Angel's Wylder Assignment-The man grunted out a laugh. “The wind whips HARD in these parts".- #timetravel #historical #western #mystery #fantasy #ahagrp #BookBoost #Shifter #Magic #Wyoming #PNR buff.ly/O3NdVRQ
October 1, 2025 at 9:01 AM
queex.bsky.social
It's #BookQW and the word is LAST. Let's talk about scenery!

#BookQuoteWednesday
The view from the top was amazing. The fat, brown snake of the river stood out against the rolling layers of green that ran all the way to the horizon. Garnas counted the other factories as they followed the river’s path further inland. Factory Two, Factory Three. Factory Four had collapsed entirely. The rain made it hard to make out, but the distant shadow that looked like a hill was actually Factory Seven, the largest one found, easily ten times the size of Factory One. Somewhere upriver there must be the last factory, Garnas thought, far further than anyone had dared to venture, and upstream of there it could only be assumed the water ran clear and pure.
September 24, 2025 at 12:05 PM
tenastetler.bsky.social
#BookQuoteWednesday Word is "last" in my #paranormal #romance An Angel's Wylder Assignment-A Scottish Warrior Angel, Shapeshifters, and Demons in the Wylder west of 1878. #timetravel #historical #western #mystery #fantasy #ahagrp #BookBoost #Shifter #Magic #Wyoming #PNR buff.ly/O3NdVRQ
September 24, 2025 at 9:01 AM
hywela-lyn.bsky.social
#BookQuoteWednesday already, time flies!
This week's Book QW word is #Pour.
Something (or is it someone) is telling Glyn to just 'ask her'. What do you think the question is? It might not be what you're thinking!
Amazon UK www.amazon.co.uk/Matchmakers-...
Amazon US www.amazon.com/Matchmakers-...
September 10, 2025 at 3:56 PM
kitwhitfield.bsky.social
#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: POUR

Apprentice fairy-smith John is trying to reason with some uprooted bramble bushes. They have strong views about having been disturbed; unfortunately they're taking it out on the wrong people.
After a long moment, he spoke to the original bush. ‘I help you live, you forgive?’ he said. ‘Jabbity one-footed nailinboot neighbourbad,’ it said. ‘I think you’re thirsty,’ John persisted. ‘I’ll water you. Then we’ll be friends.’ Both the bushes cocked their crinkling bark at the thought. ‘Thirstying waterme tuckin water give,’ said the original. It was trying to make a mouth in its bark, but the lips of it were badly chapped. ‘Forgive and be friends,’ John said, ‘and I’ll try to do more for you. But I’ll get you water.’ Maybe the thing wouldn’t forgive him just for a wetting; after all, it had been wronged too, dug up, broken, transplanted, then woken up after a promise to leave it alone. But either way, he couldn’t let it parch. It was the wrong thing to do. ‘Rain give neighbour give rain,’ said the second bush, so John got a bucket – a wooden one, filled with rainwater, no iron on it anywhere – and, slipping carefully inside the cage, poured half the contents on the bush that didn’t dislike him. It quivered, its roots lapping at the ground. ‘Mememe,’ said the first, so John, hesitant, went and tipped the rest on it. The bush sucked and gasped at the earth. Then, apparently a little refreshed, it turned and gave John such a slap with its thorned branch that it knocked him right into the corner of the cage.
September 10, 2025 at 9:10 AM
brooklynannauthor.com
#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: FLESH

Here's a snippet of the wedding night scene in my upcoming romantasy that pays homage to Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane, To Wed a Warrior. Book releases November 14th! www.brooklynannauthor.com/book/to-wed-...
Excerpt from To Wed a Warrior by Brooklyn Ann, (releases November 14th) Kestrel watched him warily, wondering what in the fates he was going to do next. She’d recovered enough to ask, then was stunned back into silence at the sight of his bare chest. Just like his face, his whole torso and belly were covered in thin scars of various lengths and angles. Someone had cut him multiple times. And not all of the wounds had healed properly. The thicker, ridged ones were a sign that they’d become infected. However, the muscles beneath the scarred flesh were large and beautiful, like the statues of legendary warriors that adorned the castle gardens. And the skin itself was as gold-toned as his face and hairless as the Tolonquan tribesmen’s. Kestrel’s fingers clenched in a fist, resisting the urge to run her hand down his rippled abdomen. “Yes, I know. I’m hideous,” the Wolf grumbled, retrieving his dagger. “No, you’re—” Kestrel broke off as she watched him bring the dagger to his forearm and sliced his flesh. “What are you doing?” “Blood is expected from these occasions.” He then leaned over and pressed the bleeding wound to the snowy sheets. He then reached for her, and she instinctively scooted backward. “Please, don’t cut me.” “I won’t.” Instead, he grabbed the hem of her nightgown and lifted the skirt to her knees. “Open your legs a little.” Reminding herself that he now had the right to ask anything of her, Kestrel slowly parted her legs. She braced herself for his touch, then blinked once more in confusion. He reached up her open skirt, and moved his arm back and forth, avoiding actually touching her. Still the sense of his hand so close to her thighs and her most sensitive area electrified her nerve endings and flooded her lower body with heat. A tearing sound snapped her out of her trance. He’d ripped the delicate satin of her skirt.
September 3, 2025 at 8:38 AM
kitwhitfield.bsky.social
#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: FLESH

The fairy-smiths of Gyrford tried to persuade a bothersome fairy to take more interest in birds than humans. Their elder, being a ruthless man, began by killing a crow, and made his sister-in-law Mabbie - who can speak to birds - act as its spokesman.
You’ve heard tell that crows hold funerals, of course. They gather around a dead kinsman – yes, kinscrow, I suppose. At any rate, Mabbie had never had patience with such tales. She said that the crows thought of their future, not their past, and what they did when they gathered was not mourn, but consider. They wish to know what killed the dead one, so they can avoid such a fate themselves. It’s not a funeral they hold, she said, but an inquest.    But Mabbie sat and wept in song, and above her there flew, of a sudden, a great black creature with the wings of a raven and the face of a man, all crumpled up and glowing red as a firethorn berry, with a nose of flesh that snapped open and shut like a beak.    Ab asked in the voice of a crow, which Mabbie understood quite well, what had done this wicked deed? And when they heard the question, the crows all took it up, crying, What? What? What?
September 3, 2025 at 8:12 AM
queex.bsky.social
It's #BookQuoteWednesday and the word is 'turn'. Garnas has not found his sea legs.

#BookQW #BQW
Garnas looked up when Shirin approached. He was as pale as ever. He hadn’t been able to keep a single morsel of food down and the bags under his eyes suggested he was just as deprived of sleep. He looked in a worse way than Eilert. “I think I’m managing somewhat better,” he declared, in defiance of the evidence of her eyes. “Maybe the sailors have something to help?” she asked. He shook his head. “They said not. Apparently I just need to acclimatise?” He tried to sound confident, but it came across as more of a question. She put a pitying hand on his shoulder, then pulled it back when he turned back to the sea and retched again.
August 20, 2025 at 11:41 AM
kitwhitfield.bsky.social
#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: TURN.

Nobody crosses Ephraim Brady, and conscientious fairy-smith Matthew didn't mean to. He was starting to suspect Ephraim abused his wife, and tried to be kind to her. Unfortunately this started rumours, and Ephraim heard them.
‘Oh dear,’ Matthew said. ‘Good day, Mister Brady. Mister Brady, I must tell you that if you have heard talk of me and your wife, there is nothing in it.’ Ephraim continued to stare. After a long moment, he said, ‘Yes. I thought I should speak to you of it. It is a hindrance to business, turning aside hints. Folks are a little slower to trade with a cuckold.’ The last word came out with a quiet venom, and Matthew floundered. There were some who thought that a woman couldn’t conceive without taking pleasure in her man, and while Matthew wasn’t one of them, privately suspecting it to be a tale devised by clever women whose husbands weren’t paying them the attentions they should, hints to that effect probably weren’t absent from the gossip – certainly not about a man who made no effort to be pleasant to anyone else. Matthew did not wish to speculate about Ephraim’s personal life, but it must be an added bitterness to the man to hear his wife’s name linked to a man who had demonstrably fathered four children. ‘I – I do beg your pardon,’ he said, feeling quite helpless. ‘I – I am a married man, Mister Brady.
August 20, 2025 at 7:17 AM
kitwhitfield.bsky.social
#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: TINGLE

Young fairy-smith John is out with his father Matthew. No one was supposed to need cold iron today, but John is a little eerie-minded. He's starting to suspect the morning isn't as normal as everyone thought.
John tried to feel it in the air, this white texture: with the mist still not quite burned off by the risen sun, it should have been cool and damp to the skin. But the air was crisp, a clean, wood-smoke cool, all quiet earth and bonfires and not a scent of rain anywhere. Matthew was clearly enjoying the weather: he took off his cap and shook his hair back, a habit of his on dry days that John rather envied, for being possessed of his mother’s curls, it didn’t shake out very much; he felt that straighter hair might act more like a cat’s whiskers and bring new tingles of texture to his waiting scalp. But the mist peeled back around their boots, creeping away from their iron hobnails, and there was something about today that was not quite itself, and John couldn’t stop paying attention. He would have liked to say something, but the trouble was that John was widely regarded as a little touched. His mother had had a run-in with the People around the time he was conceived, and while she was mostly all right (as long as you didn’t mind her sewing thread turning into bristling brambles), John had a way of becoming what his family called ‘starey’ ... If he mentioned it to Dada now, Dada would just ask a lot of questions, and Cousin Anthony would look politely uncomfortable, and in all the talking he wouldn’t be able to pay attention to the mist. So John held his tongue, determined not to talk about it until he had to. He liked to stare, but he didn’t at all like to be stared at.
August 13, 2025 at 7:11 AM
darlenedeluca.bsky.social
It's Book Quote Wednesday! Today's word is "shiver." A snippet from SUNSET LEDGE. Can Jack really be charming?! #bookquotewednesday #wrpbks #bookstagram #laterinliferomance #readingromance
August 7, 2025 at 12:11 AM
stephengallagher.co.uk
Wouldn’t usually do this but apparently today’s word for #BookQuoteWednesday is RAIN
Paperback cover of Rain by Stephen Gallagher
July 30, 2025 at 10:42 AM
kitwhitfield.bsky.social
#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: RAIN

Something in the mist has been stealing children. Being a fairy-smith, John has to investigate - but he's just a child himself, and the thing in the mist likes children.

Buy here: tinyurl.com/nvvetupj
Somewhere, there was the thought that none of this was right, that something dangerous was happening to him – but it wasn’t a thought in his head; it was floating above him, coming loose. Detached, now growing distant, was the feeling that everything was wrong, that he was being bound, encased like a web-caught fly. But he was so light, so cradled, so warm, so safe. Well, of course you are, darling, said Mama. There she was, just visible through the mist. What else should you be? Mama? John asked. The words didn’t come from his mouth. Johnny, love, said Mama. Her brown curls were unloosed; a few fine strands of grey tumbled through them, bleeding white into the mist. There you are. There’s my fine man. Mama, why isn’t it raining? John tried to ask. His clothes were wet; he shouldn’t have felt so cosy. Why should it be? said Mama. You must be tired, lambkin. Come, sit with me for a while. She smiled. Her teeth, pearl-pale, were melting a little at the ends, tipping themselves into sharp, wavering points.
July 30, 2025 at 9:15 AM
esaxey.bsky.social
#BookQuoteWednesday and the word is UTTER
Our narrator is repressing her feelings!
(And she's correct, he's a complete weasel.)

Enjoy more unspoken/unspeakable things in Unquiet,
a Gothic Victorian tale with folk horror day-trips.
titanbooks.com/71432-unquiet/
forbiddenplanet.com/368433-unqui...
Book cover of a misty gloomy flowery novel, with a quote: ‘You’re such a selfish man,’ I said, lightly, carelessly. ‘And such a liar.’ I could say it in a teasing way when I couldn’t have spoken it sincerely. It was possible to utter any sentiment, if I kept it at arm’s length.
July 23, 2025 at 10:28 PM
kitwhitfield.bsky.social
#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: UTTER

The fairy-smiths of Gyrford have been called in to inspect a property for fey disturbances. As the landlord will be paying for their time, and is an absolute bastard of a man, they're stretching it out a bit.
'Grandpa!’ John exclaimed, as Jedediah assumed a careful stoop. They’d reached the kitchen garden now, and he was issuing a soft tap to each neat, pale sphere in the ground. ‘You are not about to test every cabbage!’ The People could indeed infest any plant they took a fancy to, of course, but such domestic fare was not usually to their taste, particularly not on soil regularly weeded with an iron trowel. Really, there was hardly a place in the county less likely to have the People making merry in it. ‘I said I’d inspect,’ said Jedediah, straight-faced, ‘and inspect is what I’m here to do.’ ‘Grandpa, those are cabbages! Cabbages, Grandpa!’ ‘You’re having a jack-of-all-trades morning,’ said Jedediah, not giving an inch. ‘Priest on the road, now gardener. I suppose when we go to the house you’ll be a builder too. Heaven preserve me.’ ‘Grandpa, that is not — I am —’ This was so unfair that John was actually tongue-tied. How many stern remarks had he got for wasting his time or talking nonsense? How many funny looks, now he thought of it? And here was Grandpa crouched in the dirt, fey-testing an iron-tilled vegetable bed. It was an outrage. ‘Better give up the priesthood, if you can’t sermonise, boy,’ said Jedediah. He wasn’t really trying to be unkind; it was just that explaining that he intended to bill Brady by the hour, and that hours could be stretched, was not something he felt inclined to do – at least, not before the bill had been presented. Nonetheless, he had a sneaking sense that he was cutting a poor figure – it’s a bad teacher who withholds knowledge – and it was making him a little sharp. ‘It would take more than a priest to put up with you!’ John exclaimed. ‘It would take a saint!’ And he stalked off to the house in utter fury at the injustice of adults.
July 23, 2025 at 10:56 AM
darlenedeluca.bsky.social
It's Book Quote Wednesday! Today's word is "shine." Kate's ready to shine in the boardroom! #bookquotes #bookquotewednesday #romancebooks #womensfiction #singledad #parentinglife
July 16, 2025 at 4:24 PM
hywela-lyn.bsky.social
Today is #BookQuoteWednesday, and the word is SHINE

The Matchmaker's Mare
EBOOK or OR PAPERBACK AVAILABLE ON AMAZON UK and AMAZON U.S.

Amazon UK www.amazon.co.uk/Matchmakers-...

Amazon US www.amazon.com/Matchmakers-...
July 16, 2025 at 1:14 PM
kitwhitfield.bsky.social
#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: SHINE

Fairy-smith Clem was unlucky: the fey spirit Ab decided to shower him with blessings. After it 'blessed' three of his children into disaster, Clem arranged for Ab to miss the birth of his next.

His great-grandson, who hasn't travelled much, tells the tale.
Clem said to Ab that he had a great curiosity to try a fruit grown in the Ethiop fields, and perhaps Ab would fetch him one, and enjoy the sunshine and take his time. Ab took this as a great courtesy, and off it hied, and by the time it was back, Beatrice was born, with an iron chain put round her neck the moment she drew breath, and Ab did not trifle with her... Yes, Ab did bring a fruit. A loamy, it called it, something like that. It was yellow as a daffodil and smelled as fresh, and it looked very fine, but inside it tasted sharp like vinegar. I suppose Ab had not thought to pick a ripe one, or else it had odd ideas of how to make it to a mortal man’s taste – it was in slices inside like a cut cake, so my guess is it tampered with the fruit on the journey. Yes, it could be they like different things among the Ethiops, but I can’t think they’d like to eat a whole sour fruit as big as a pear. I’ve heard it’s a grand country, and I don’t see how it could be if all its folks carried on like that.
July 16, 2025 at 8:30 AM
kitwhitfield.bsky.social
#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: ORDER

Fairy-smiths have to look after 'touched' folks, and Tobias Ware is touched. So much so that their apprentice John, who's a little peculiar himself, hasn't been allowed to meet Toby - until today.
What was it about him? John listened, trying to feel it out, to feel the thing that was definitely present in Tobias, something he recognised without knowing why, for he’d never felt it in another man or woman. He was distantly aware, as his eyes sharpened, that he was probably getting that stare everyone was always telling him about, but this was too interesting, too vital, to worry about it now... There was something around Toby, a – what was it? A fluster, a tumbling disorder. The boy was fast and strong, there was no question about it, but it was as if the normal pull of the earth didn’t operate on him. Something was blowing him about, gusting him this way and that faster than a common man could follow. ‘Good afternoon, Toby,’ he said, and the boy whipped round... Tobias gave a small sound, a little burr in the back of his throat, and then lifted his hand. He didn’t quite look at anyone, his head was down in a submissive, anxious bob, but he waved, and then he smiled too. His teeth were a bit crooked, but the smile lit him up, sweetness filling every line of his body, everything about him suddenly bright. John stared, curiosity filling him to the brim. Tobias Ware’s face was – well, it was entirely ordinary; there was nothing strange about it at all. He held his mouth a little open, his tongue flicking as if to taste the air, but his features weren’t canine or fey. They were narrow, pleasant, the typical Ware look. Tobias looked a little drunken, perhaps, or a little tired, but he mostly just looked like his brothers.
July 9, 2025 at 7:08 AM