Caroline Shea
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therealcshea.bsky.social
Caroline Shea
@therealcshea.bsky.social
740 followers 1.2K following 320 posts
She/her. Freelance writer and editor living in New York. Author of Lambflesh (Kelsay Books, 2019). Open to editorial clients now: https://caroline-fitzgerald-shea.squarespace.com/editorial-consultations
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therealcshea.bsky.social
agreed!! I am pretty mystified by a lot of other design or tech things but hand found canva pretty easy to use
November 14, 2025 at 12:00 AM
therealcshea.bsky.social
oh, thank you both!! i like making my little Canva graphics
November 13, 2025 at 9:39 PM
therealcshea.bsky.social
Thank you!!
November 13, 2025 at 7:07 PM
therealcshea.bsky.social
Luckily she is very small and cute so that’s ok.
The car had grown bored of gothic fantasy and curled up in my lap to purr aggressively. She had very yellow eyes and a white patch on her chest
November 13, 2025 at 5:05 PM
therealcshea.bsky.social
This is such a lovely resource! I posted here: bsky.app/profile/ther... with story links in the replies or on my website: caroline-fitzgerald-shea.squarespace.com/my-work
November 13, 2025 at 1:54 PM
Reposted by Caroline Shea
therealcshea.bsky.social
"Something Broken, Something New," in
@lunastation.bsky.social: lunastationquarterly.com/issues/062/
You know how this story is meant to end. They follow Dan home. The girl molts; the boy's eyes dull from brilliant red back to a dull ordinary blue. His heart eventually stutters, then stops. The chil- dren never liked this ending. Instead, they leave death behind. All it costs them is the world. Most days, they don't miss it.
November 11, 2025 at 2:24 PM
Reposted by Caroline Shea
therealcshea.bsky.social
"The Interrogation of Saint Winifred," in @thedeadlands.com: psychopomp.com/deadlands/is...
Who killed you? a man a man like any other do the dead care You aren’t dead. Not anymore. I still speak their tongue Do you forgive him? I lack that muscle Did it hurt? you always ask that do you think death a picnic of course it hurt Dying? yes but coming back was worse
November 11, 2025 at 2:23 PM
Reposted by Caroline Shea
therealcshea.bsky.social
"Argent," in @cold-signal.com: cold-signal.com/argent-carol...
“You can save them,” the witch-devil says. “If you want to.” The devil always gives her the choice. She hates him for that more than anything else—for making her choose, making her run headlong toward her fate, eyes open. She can’t say no. She can’t walk away or abdicate. That would be a different story, a story she has no idea how to tell. And no matter how many times she loses her brothers, she cannot bring herself to let them go for good. Whether they are turned to deer, or ravens, or swans, whether they are cooked, or killed by robbers, or murdered in their beds, their loss stings each time as if it were new. It means something, to have someone walk with you through the wood. To have someone’s hand in yours as the trees creep ever closer. Her brothers don’t remember their other lives with her, the years of tugging her braids, skipping stones and dodging blows, the thorny grammar of growing up together in a world where children grow up quickly or not at all. They don’t remember, but she does. "Fine," the girl says, "what do I do?"
November 11, 2025 at 2:22 PM
Reposted by Caroline Shea
therealcshea.bsky.social
"Greyhound," in
@stonecirclereview.bsky.social: stonecirclereview.com/greyhound/
Every three days, a beast like me / dies on the track.
November 11, 2025 at 2:20 PM