K.L. Brooks's Blog

IT’S HERE!

Well, it’s been here. 😁

But today is very special! Today is the last day to get a free e-book!

So, I’ll cut to the chase.

Do you like haunted houses? Do you like happy endings? Do you like chaos? Then look no further than our fine selection of six—yes, six!—haunted homes!

Join Haley and Sam in touring these six homes and maybe, just maybe, you’ll find your haunted ever after.

Click here to get your free e-book today!

And folks, don’t forget to post a review! Reviews are the best way for indie authors to be found.

📚 Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FR6G6NS8
📚 Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/241665947-haunted-house-flippers

Until next time,

👻KLB

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P.S. There will not be a Sunday Scaries on 10/26, instead you'll be getting a special Halloween edition on Halloween Night !👻

P.S.S. Oh! And I posted a stand alone article yesterday with all the resources I use to help me self publish! You won't want to miss it!

I’m not here to sell you anything (except my books 😜 Get Haunted House Flippers for FREE through October 12th! https://linktr.ee/author.k.l.brooks). I just want to share what I’ve learned about self-publishing—because the internet helped me, and now it’s my turn to pay it forward. These are the tools, resources, and steps I took to go from blank page to published.

I think it goes without saying, but just in case, the most important thing you can do is WRITE! Build a routine that has you looking forward to your time.

Tools That Helped Me Build a Routine

Reedsy Editor

Free online editor with distraction-free mode and built-in formatting

Pro: Clean interface.

Con: Can lag with longer manuscripts

Bonus! If you’re just getting started check out this

Pomofocus

Web-based Pomodoro timer to break writing into focused sprints.

Pro: Keeps me motivated

Con: Sometimes resets… which accidentally helped me write more? 😅

, your favorite coffee, and some creamer to sweeten up your life 😉

Resources

Write Your First Novel | Coursera — great for beginners!

My Favorite Editing Resources:

Save the Cat! Writes a Novel by Jessica Brody

Helped me structure my story in a way that finally clicked!

Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Dave King and Renni Brown

Hands-on exercises that made me better at editing myself.

Gentle Writing Advice: How to Be a Writer Without Destroying Yourself by Chuck Wendig

For when you need tips and emotional support.

Dialogue Formatting

Taught me the basics I didn’t know that I didn’t know.

Note: As I wrote this I realized how personal all these recommendations were. Every one of us is at a different stage in our craft so if these don’t work for you—tell me what did! I’d love to expound upon this list.

This is likely what you’ve all been waiting for, but don’t discount steps 1 & 2! Getting those under your belt before you dive into self-publishing is going to make the difference. If your product isn’t ready for market no amount of research, execution, or marketing will make it ready.

Alright, here we go!

Book Covers!

Fiverr

Affordable, fast, lost of variety.

Tip: Write your back cover blurb before you request designs.

Reedsy Marketplace

Higher end, vetted pros from traditional publishing

Book Formatting Software

Here’s a helpful article!

Atticus

One-time purchase, great if you’re not on Mac

Vellum

Mac-only, but beauiful output

Reedsy

Free and solid for beginners

Copyright & Trademark

Check out this podcast! 🎙️https://jenndepaula.com/podcast/90

Key Takeaway: Registration costs $65 and protects your work more than the default “automatic copyright.”

Distribution!

Here’s a blog post from Reedsy that really breaks it all down for ebooks: https://blog.reedsy.com/guide/ebook/ebook-distribution/

Amazon KDP and IngramSpark — I used both.

Amazon: 72-hour cutoff for changes before launch.

Ingram: Lets you order pre-launch proof copies without the “Proof Copy” label.

Requires 90-day exclusivity if you want to be on Kindle Unlimited. Auto-renews unless you turn it off manually.

Setting Up Your Author Accounts

This part took way longer than I expected.

Amazon KDP & IngramSpark - Banking/Tax info, book setup.

Goodreads - You’ll need to claim your author page after your book is live.

Amazon Author Central - Mine took 3-4 weeks to post a photo + bio.

ISBNS

In the U.S., ISBNs are bought through Bowker and are expensive ($125+ per ISBN).

Tip: I used the free ISBNs from Amazon and Ingram. Bookstores really just want a barcode.

Marketing and Advertising

Free(ish) Marketing

Substack – Great for newsletters + community.

Instagram & Pinterest – Choose platforms that energize you.

Check out this BookBub post on Pinterest

ARC Teams – I had mixed results; still learning here.

Google Sites – My author site is super simple and cost me $11/year for a domain.

Canva – Your best friend for consistent, easy visuals.

Linktree – One link to rule them all (books, socials, etc.).

Where the $$$ Comes in

My current book is a lead magnet. I’m playing the long game by building my reader base, so I didn’t do much paid advertising.

Book Promo Sites: BookBub

Amazon Ads

Facebook/Instagram Ads

You’ll have to decide what to pay for, what to DIY, and what to skip.

Set a budget.

Make a pro/con list.

Accept that not every decision will be perfect—but that’s okay!

You’re doing the work of an entire publishing team. Be kind to yourself.

You can’t do everything. You just have to do enough. Your book doesn’t have to be perfect—it just has to be finished and findable.

Happy publishing, genius! 🚀

PINCH ME.

But not really. I hate being pinched. 🤣

T-9 days until Haunted House Flippers is here!

From October 8 to 12, you can download the ebook for free on Amazon. It’ll also be available on Print on Demand from Amazon and IngramSpark. If you do pick up a copy, I would absolutely appreciate a review. 😍

Keep an eye on my Notes—I’ll drop the links as soon as they’re live!

As always, I’m so grateful to have you here. If you do read Haunted House Flippers, drop a comment and tell me what you think—or which ghost you’d refuse to share a bathroom with. 😂

👻KLB

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Oh, almost forgot! If you want to check out one groove ghosts’ soundtrack stream, it on Spotify 🎶🎵

March 23, 1920

St. Louis, MO

“Good evening!” Henry’s voice booms from center stage. His top hat is tipped low, and the audience can only see his smiling lips. “Tonight, you’ll witness my newest feat! Prepare to be amazed, delighted, and intrigued.”

On cue, Lindsey, in a short green sequin dress, walks from behind the curtain with a straitjacket. She shakes the jacket for emphasis—the straps clank and jangle.

“My lovely assistant is going to confine me in this straitjacket and close me inside a water-filled barrel. Then it’s a race against the clock. Can I escape, or will my fate be sealed inside my watery barrel?” Henry removes his top hat and throws it off stage. The audience gasps, looking at him with wide eyes. Murmurs of “crazy”, “he’s going to get himself killed” reach the stage.

“They’re right. This is stupid,” Lindsey whispers as she tightens the first clasp.

“It’s not stupid, it’s groundbreaking. Don’t worry,” Henry replies.

Lindsey huffs. “Don’t worry? We didn’t even get a chance to practice.”

“It’ll be fine,” Henry assures her.

“Is that how it went with the spinning wheel of death? I hit your arm with a knife. It’s a miracle you didn’t bleed to death,” Lindsey hisses through her smile and moves from the back clasps to his arms.

“It was just a nick. Besides, what are you going to do? Your ankle isn’t–” Henry glances as Lindsey tightens the strap that runs between his legs.

“I’ll be better and back on the trapeze soon.” She cinches it a bit too tight, and Henry grumbles but doesn’t drop his smile.

“And now, the barrel!” Henry announces, and the stagehands, Earl and Emmett, bring out an old whiskey barrel filled with water. They aren’t careful, and the water sloshes all over the stage. Ever the showman, Henry doesn’t react, but Lindsey gives them the stink eye as she slips and slides.

“If you’re not out in three minutes, I’m pulling you out,” Lindsey says.

“You won’t need to,” Henry replies.

“Three minutes,” Lindsey repeats with a roll of her eyes as she watches Henry drop to his knees and put the lid on top of the barrel, sealing him in.

Lindsey sashays around the barrel before pulling out a pocket watch. She taps it for emphasis, but the audience isn’t watching her. They’ve fallen silent as the barrel jitters, shakes, and water trickles out around the lid.

Then the shouting starts outside the side show tent.

Shouting at the circus is never a good sign.

Lindsey rechecks the watch. Two minutes have elapsed, and whatever is happening outside of this tent is drawing the attention of their audience.

“The zebras are loose!” Katie runs into the tent.

The audience rushes out to watch the chaos unfold, with most spilling out into the midway, trying to be of use, but likely making matters worse.

“Katie,” Lindsey hisses, widening her eyes to show her frustration. She hops down from the stage to take a look at the madness outside the tent. One of the patrons tries to throw his arms around a rogue zebra, only to be knocked into the mud.

Katie grimaces. “I’m sorry. I need help, obviously, and you’re the first person I thought of. I’m still so new at this, and I’ve royally made a mess of things.”

“As flattering as that is, you shouldn’t have interrupted. Shit!” Lindsey runs back to the stage.

She rips the lid off the barrel and yanks Henry out, tipping the whole thing over and soaking herself and the stage. He still has one arm trapped in the jacket.

He’s still.

His chest isn’t moving.

His eyes are closed.

“Henry.” Lindsey shakes him, getting to her knees to lean over him. “Henry,” she repeats, tapping his cheek. “Open your eyes. Get up!” She slaps him, and his head turns to the side, and he coughs up the water.

Henry rolls to his side. “Ta-da–oh, where is everyone?”

“There’s an animal crisis,” Lindsey explains, sinking to her heels. “And, I quit. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve nearly died.”

Henry’s laugh is hoarse. “How many times do I have to tell you I can’t die?”

Lindsey rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. Even if that were true, you’re a horrible escape artist, and I still quit.”

“So, what are you going to do? Sew costumes? Rub Corky’s feet?” Henry teases as he removes his remaining arm from the jacket.

Lindsey hisses. “I don’t know or care, all I know is it’s better than wearing this silly dress. Come on, Katie. Let’s go wrangle some zebras.”

Katie looks back and forth between Lindsey and Henry. “Yeah, sure.”

“Are you in the market for a job, Katie?” Henry asks, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Um…” Katie looks uncertainly at Lindsey.

“Absolutely–”

“Because I seem to be in the market for one,” Henry interrupts Lindsey, rolling to his knees.

“Come on,” Lindsey encourages again.

Katie starts to follow her when Henry snatches her hand. “Oh, you’re a troubled one, I see. A dark cloud follows you. Well, you’re in luck. I know how to banish the shadows.” Henry reels Katie into him.

“You-You do?” Katie stutters.

Lindsey tries to pull her away. “Don’t fall for his bullshit, Katie. He’s no magic man.”

Henry looks to Lindsey with narrowed eyes. “Aren’t I though?”

Lindsey shakes her head. “Katie–”

“I’ll do it,” Katie says, nodding.

“What? I thought you wanted to stay out of the spotlight…” Lindsey trails off.

Henry drops Katie’s hand, and it’s like Katie’s been released from a spell. “Well, I’m sure to be fired from animal keeping,” she says with a shrug.

“Yeah, and nothing can go wrong with the world's worst escape artist,” Lindsey grumbles. “Are you coming or not?” She asks, fleeing the tent to join the chaos outside.

“I’m coming.” Katie follows her out—but glances over her shoulder. Henry’s eyes are still on her.

Hey Stack-o-rinos!

I’m rounding the corner on Haunted House Flippers! I feel like I’ve edited my fingers off, ARCs went out last Sunday, and all the dominoes are lined up for go time.

I’ve loved every minute of this, and I’m glad I did a short story collection before doing a full-length novel. I’ve learned SO much, and I think I’ve prepared myself for future works.

Speaking of future works, I’m SO EXCITED to get back to my WIP! Poor Siren got left in the dust back in July when I pivoted to HHF, but I’m ready to fall back into my writing routine and just let the words flow. (Get it—Siren? Water? Flow? 🤣)

So while I haven’t entirely given up on querying, I’m not holding my breath. I’m preparing. (Which might as well be my middle name—I love a plan!)

Here’s what you have to look forward to from your friend KLB:

A free four-week winter serial here on Substack! (Jack Frost, anyone? ❄️🌬️)

Grief Sucks 🧛 Summer/Fall 2026

Siren 🧜‍♀️ Spring 2027

Night Terrors 🛌 Fall 2027

…and the cycle continues with the goal of publishing 1-2 works per year. Rigorous? For sure! Setting myself up for failure? Potentially 😅 Excited? ABSOLUTELY 🤩

As the kids say, let’s get this bread.

So what are your plans? What are you working toward? What do I need to keep my eyes on?

Tell me in the comments!

👻KLB

Leave a comment

For this Sunday Scaries, I’d like to highlight two absolutely wonderful writers here on Substack who participated in my flash fiction last issue!

Lucky Heather by

The sweet, resinous scent of the burning heather filled the air as the villagers gathered around the bonfire. This had been the best Rushcart Festival in years, they told themselves.

They drank and danced, trying to forget the darkness that had washed over the village only a few weeks before. That poor family, losing a young child like that.

Before heading home, villagers stopped off at the food van; the butcher’s sausages and burgers had been sublime this year. Tender and juicy with just the right amount of spice.

Others picked up some lucky heather, hoping it would bless their coming year. Some thought of the family and prayed that their daughter would be found.

The butcher stayed behind after everyone had gone to clean up.

Ironic the missing girl’s name was Heather. It hadn’t been so lucky for her.

Her screams had been almost melodic. He smiled. Such beautiful screams, and she had tasted divine, at least all the villagers had said so. Not that they knew. But they had enjoyed her so much he had barely had a taste.

Such a shame she’d never be found. Not a trace of evidence.

He walked over and knelt by the dying bonfire, his fingers trembling, as he picked through and collected the charred bones, placing them in a sack ready to be swallowed by the sea.

About the Author:

- Is a self-published author! She is currently on a mission to write 12 books in 12 months (Godspeed 🫡). You can find her recently released book Thirst Impressions, on Kindle Unlimited!

Roxanne’s SubstackMy book is published! (And it’s on Amazon Unlimited!I’m officially published…Read more3 months ago · 2 likes · 2 comments · Roxanne Louise

The Thirteenth Flame by

The fire sparks and crackles, blowing embers into the midnight sky like shooting stars. Thirteen naked forms drift in a haphazard circle, silhouettes of many shapes and ages – all moving to a pounding drum that fills the night with sacred power.

Tonight the coven has gathered for one shared purpose – a shared dream. They’ve worked toward this night for centuries. Every loss. Every struggle and sacrifice. All building to this fateful moment.

Mother Irina calls a halt; the drums fall silent as the dancers drift to stillness. Soon wavering flames are the only movement in the clearing.

Irina’s deep voice rings out, “My sisters. Thank you for your commitment. It is… finally… our time.”

A whisper of pleased agreement and anticipation flows through the group.

She turns to look at the youngest witch present and gestures her forward. A young woman – barely more than a child – steps from the group and approaches Irina. “I am ready, Mother,” she whispers.

The leader takes the child’s hand and squeezes it gently. “You are our hope, child. Our dream made manifest,” she pauses to gaze with love and gratitude. “Thank you.”

The girl smiles peacefully in response. In a smooth, almost practiced motion, she takes a chalice from the ground near her feet. She glances back at the circle of women once, then drinks from the goblet, her throat working convulsively to swallow all the contents.

A moment later, the fire pops loudly and rises higher. The girl takes a shuddering breath and staggers. Irina grasps her, holding her upright so she won’t fall.

Then the girl straightens. Her eyes, once a pale grey, now glow with yellow flame – twins to the fire in the clearing.

The young woman stands tall and speaks in a rich contralto, “Children. Tonight, we begin.”

About the author:

- Jennifer’s Substack Newsletter Snark Floats is from the mind of Gen Xer absolutely tired of pretending anything makes sense—and I’m here for it. 👏Be sure to check out her series The Devil and Edith Olson.

Snark Floats🪵 Getting Started with Snark FloatsWelcome, brave wanderer…Read morea month ago · 5 likes · Jenifer Jorgenson

Let’s give it up for these two creators 🎉. Please be sure to follow along on their writing and publication journeys. These two are good ‘uns!

What do you think? Should I do more flash fiction? Would you participate? What scary stories do you tell around the bonfire?

I’m sure ready for some chilly nights around the fire with some hair-raising tales 👻

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Hello my wonderful Substackians!

Who is ready for cool weather, Halloween decor, and over indulging in PSL’s (or your drink of choice—mine’s a London Fog!)?

I AM SO READY! 😜

To be honest, my brain is always set to autumn.

I’m sure you couldn’t tell at all. 😅

There’s not too much to report on Grief Sucks (still silence/rejection—that sucks 🤣), but I have a few updates on Haunted House Flippers!1

I finished my read through on 8/20. I would highly recommend formatting and reading through on a device other than your computer. It’s so helpful to change up appearance to help catch those pesky straggler spelling/grammar mistakes!

ARC closed on 8/21, and I had 12 delightful folks sign up!

Starting my third round of edits on 8/21 😮‍💨

ARCs are going out of 9/7

And preorder is going up on Amazon on 9/9 for the physical copy2 🎉🎉🎉

I still can’t believe I’m doing the dang thing. So, again, THANK YOU! to all the wonderful folks who have inspired me, supported me, and encouraged me. I’m having the BEST time!

Now, for this weeks edition of Sunday Scaries, I’m doing something a little different. Because I have so much to do with HHF, I’m going to be doing flash fiction! And y’all are invited to participate.

Below I’ve posted and image (who doesn’t love an end of summer bonfire?)

This image is the inspiration to write a 200-300 word short story.

If you want to join in, put your story in the comments or DM it to me! My favorites will get a shout out on my next issue (9/14/2025).

Share it with your subscribers & followers if you think they’d like to join in on the fun!

Let’s get spooky! (Or romantic, or silly, or all three at the same time; there are no rules!)

👻KLB

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TW: Serial Killers, Sarcasm, and Suspense

"Let's tell ghost stories. I have the perfect one!" Liz shouts for everyone to shut up and sit down around the fire so she can terrify them. “Did you know that these woods were home to The Slasher? It was here that he took his final victims’ lives.

It was 1973. The three victims were childhood friends, and it was their senior year, so they wanted to celebrate graduating and getting into college. But what they didn’t know was that The Slasher’s cross-country killing spree was going to land him right here. In this state park. They sat around a fire, just like us–”

“Well, not quite like ‘us’. There were only three of them, and there are a dozen of you,” someone interrupts Liz. All eyes turn to find a person wearing a white mask and holding a long knife—The Slasher.

“Scott, I think that’s what his name was. Yeah, Scott. He was a real bastard. I don’t think I’d ever seen someone run so fast!” The Slasher laughs, and the group jumps.

“I recognize this clearing…” The Slasher trails off. “Oh, that’s right, Scott got too far ahead of me, doubled back, and then rammed me with a tree right off the cliff.” He tapped his head with his knife like he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten.

"My kill count was one hundred and thirty-seven. It would have been one hundred and thirty-eight if not for Scott. How's he doing, by the way?" He pointed his knife at Liz.

She whispers, "He's got cancer."

"He should have let me given him a quick death! It would have been much better than cancer." There’s a smile in his voice. “Maybe I’ll pay him a visit when I’m done with you.”

If you’re new here Grief Sucks is my full length manuscript that’s currently going through query and Haunted House Flippers is my short story collection that I’m self-publishing on October 7th!

The e-book of Haunted House Flippers will be free for it’s first week! (Oct 7 - Oct 13)

HEYO Substack fam!

If you’ve been keeping up with my notes, you know I’m well on my way with edits for Haunted House Flippers AND dropped the cover reveal last Wednesday! 🎉

Peak delusion and hard work can really make miracles happen. ✨

I also have to scream and pinch myself a little.

If you told me I’d join Substack while waiting for my full-length manuscript to go through query and find the motivation to write a short story collection AND publish it. I would have told you, “Yeah, right!” 😅

So, I have to throw some thanks to this wonderful community of writers! Y’all are the reason the down in the dumpies have stayed away, and that I’ve found this new path that is so exciting!

THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!

That said, what has Substack inspired you to do? Tell me in the comments ⬇️. Y’all already know, I’m a yapper. 😜

👻KLB

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“Infernal hotline. This is Demon Daisy. Who do I have the displeasure of speaking with?” My saccharine sweet voice rings through the call floor like a bell.

“Daisy! Baby! It’s Mark. Come back, please. I’ll sell my soul. Whatever you want!” I stop filing my nails at the sound of Mark’s grating pleas.

“Ew, Mark. How’d you even get this number? The answer is no. Plus, it was just a fling.” And because the best service is the worst service, I end the call.

“A girl can’t have one hot succubus summer without snagging a clinger,” I mutter, going back to filing my nails to a wicked point.

“I think it’s cute,” Kat says, popping the sucker out of her mouth and waving it at me.

I roll my eyes. “Ew, you only think it’s cute because you haven’t experienced it yet.”

Kat shrugs, opening her mouth to say more, but my phone rings.

I raise a finger, telling her to hold that thought—more like forget that thought—as I take my next call. I put on my award-winning customer service voice.

“Uh, yeah, this is AJ. I need to get even with my ex.” A soft voice says. The phone crackles with static since taking calls from the upper world requires some inventive telecommunications practices—and a blood sacrifice.

“Oh, hexing an ex is my favorite!” I grab my binder of hexes from the top drawer and start listing off AJ’s options. “We have spiders in their beds, crabs—you know, pubic lice—accidentally sending their boss a genital photograph, or if you’re interested in an upsell, I can be the bogeywoman under their bed.”

“You sound too nice to be a bogeywoman,” AJ replies, sounding skeptical.

I laugh. “Well, for five minutes off your soul, I can demonstrate.”

AJ stutters. “On me? Demonstrate on me?”

“How else will you know you’re getting your soul's worth!” I answer. “What did he do anyway? Cheat, lie, steal—”

“They, uh, they killed my cat.”

I gasp, clutching my pearls. “You’re kidding?”

“They said it was an accident, but I don’t believe them. They always hated Nacho,” AJ explains. I can hear them sniffling.

I frown. “I’m sorry. Are you certain? Orange cats can be quite accident–”

“He was Black,” AJ interrupts.

I gasp again. “Even worse! I’ll tell you what—we need to call in the big guns.”

“What do the big guns cost?” AJ gulps. “I only have one soul.”

“Oh, don’t worry. This one is on the house. Sometimes demons are angels, and I know an angel that loves vengeance.” I smile, because while AJ’s off the hook, the ex isn’t.

I wrap up the call, and Kat is out of her chair, bouncing with excitement. “You’re going to use the gold phone?”

I get up from my desk and stretch before answering, “I’m going to use the gold phone.”

“Let me make the call. I’ve never gotten to use the gold phone before,” Kat whines.

“You don’t want to talk to Gabe, trust me,” I say, picking up the receiver.

“What do you want?” A dull voice says before I can even speak.

“Hello, Gabe. I’m good. Thanks for asking. I have a case that might interest you—”

“Get to the point, Daisy.” Gabe sighs.

“Two words—”

“You already—” Gabe begins.

“Righteous. Vengeance,” I savor the words.

Gabe’s been silent for so long, I almost think he hung up. “Righteous vengeance?” He repeats.

“Mhmm,” I confirm, knowing I have him hooked.

“Ah, hell—excuse me—fuck, yeah! Tell me about the case. When can we leave?” Gabe is a whole new angel when vengeance enters the conversation.

I twist the phone cord around my finger. “You’re not even going to take a girl to dinner first?”

Gabe’s caught off guard and sputters, “What? No—we can’t—”

“Relax, Romeo. I know. But it would have been fun to relive the good old days.” I smooch, and I can practically hear Gabe’s cheeks flushing. Instead of embarrassing him further, I give him a rundown of the situation.

“Do you think the cat wants in on this?” I ask.

“I can ask. Cats can be vindictive,” Gabe answers. I can hear him chewing on the tip of his pen cap. He was always so studious.

“I love cats.” I sigh wistfully. “I wish we had animals here.”

“You have dragons. That’s way cooler!” Gabe almost sounds jealous.

“Yeah, but have you ever tried cuddling with a dragon?” I point out, not thinking about cuddling a dragon at all, but cuddling Gabe.

Gabe laughs. “Alright, well, besides the cat, are we doing our usual? You go low, I go high?”

“Always,” I say before hanging up.

Kat’s sucker drops out of her mouth and onto the ugly office floor. “You and Gabriel? Together?”

I shrug. “It was a long time ago.”

In a cloud of ash, I manifest under the bed of AJ’s ex. It smells like moldy cheese. “Ew. Next time AJ calls, we’re talking about their choice of partners.”

On cue, the cat yowls.

The ex starts from their sleep, jostling the bed.

I smile and start singing Dream a Little Dream of Me. Gabe joins in from somewhere else in the room. I always loved his singing voice—I guess that’s the perk of being angelic.

I crawl out from under the bed, noticing AJ’s ex is white-knuckling the covers. I make a point to graze their hands as I climb out. They scream when our skin connects. Then they scream even louder when they see me.

I love the sound of terror in the middle of the night. And that’s why I put on my best skin. It’s bright red, with oozing open sores, but my smile is all my own—I filed it to points myself.

I feel a brush of wings graze my arm as Gabriel manifests. He’s looking quite angelic with his solemn features, dove gray wings, and biblical robe. I have to swallow my laugh. I hadn’t seen robes on an angel in at least a millennium.

We finish our song, and I think I spy AJ’s ex wetting the bed. Yeah, we’re definitely having a talk next time AJ calls.

“Oh, dear. We heard from a little… cat that you are a nasty one—killing animals? Taking innocent life demands payment, and I know a place you’ll fit right in,” I say, jumping onto the bed. The cat in question jumps on my shoulder, a growl building in its throat.

“No! Get that cat away from me! It deserved to die!” AJ’s ex screams, but Nacho talks closer. “Help me!” They beg Gabe.

“I’m afraid there’s no help in this.” Gabe shakes his head sadly. Nacho stalks closer, and there’s nowhere for AJ’s ex to escape. They’re confronted with their misdeed. Face to furry face.

Nacho launches himself at his murderer, claws out, and heads right for the eyes. How cats managed to con their way into heaven, I’ll never know because these creatures really are vindictive.

To the backdrop of screams, splashes of blood, and yowls, I climb off the bed and let Nacho go to work while making small talk with Gabe. “Do you want to get a drink before we head back to our respective worlds?” I ask.

Gabe winces. “Wow, this cat is mad. Did he just bite their nose off?” A piece of said nose comes flying toward Gabe, and he sidesteps it.

“Ahem, a drink?” I repeat, peeling off my demon skin and pulling out my handbag. I grimace, wiping ooze off it.

Gabe rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know… last time…”

“Last time was fun! Plus, I can tell the choir of angels is stressing you out. One quick drink,” I wink.

There’s one more gurgled moan before I see AJ’s ex’s soul leave his body. I snatch it before Gabe can and tuck it into my handbag.

He glares at me. “What about righteous vengeance?”

“Nacho completely got his vengeance. Didn’t you?” I coo, and Nacho jumps into my arms. I glance over to see a bloodied pulp. “Wow, quick work,” I comment, stroking his unmarred fur. “Plus, getting a drink would give me a little time to snuggle Nacho. You know how much I like cats.”

Gabe throws his arm over my shoulder. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“Of course I am. Why else do you think they put a world in between us?” I tease.

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Query Update: I’m no longer getting rejections. Oh no, the silence is much, much worse.

I CANNOT stand silence.

It’s itchy.

It makes me fidget.

And yet, I have to embrace the void. 🕳️ The black hole that is silence. Or…is that the sound of my brain screaming?

I think this is the part where most folks call it. And I get it. I feel wrung out, tired of the rejection emails, and I feel like me and my very best friends—Demi and Lucy from Grief Sucks—are stuck in a state of purgatory. No, this might actually be the fifth level of Hell. 🔥

For those new here, Grief Sucks is my full-length manuscript currently out on query. Haunted House Flippers is my latest (and impulsive) project Haunted House Flippers is a short story collection that ties together house flipping and hauntings for a chaotic and fun read! You can check out the inspiration story in Issue 2. 👻

I’m waiting on responses for about a dozen agents (I think I queried around 50) , and I’ve decided this is it. I’m going to let them run their course. And if it doesn’t work out, I’m betting on myself.

I’m going to self-publish.

And Haunted House Flippers has given me the confidence I need to take this leap!

(Yes, I might also be delusional, but that’s how it starts. 🤣)

I’ve enjoyed working with my cover artist, building my plans, and getting into the writing of the five other shorts.

All that to say…HAUNTED HOUSE FLIPPERS is coming October 7, 2025! It will be free during launch week.💃

AND I’m going to do an ARC (Advanced Reader Copy)!

If you’re interested in reading and reviewing early, sign up here!

👻KLB

How could I give y’all only the first half of Grief Sucks Chapter 1?! 🤦‍♀️

The humor you’ve come to know—maybe even expect?—from me doesn’t even make its spectacular appearance until the end of the chapter. So, I’m dropping an updated sneak peak of Grief Sucks!

If you previously read this post and don’t need a refresher, the second half starts after the GIF of Bela Lugosi.

Drop me a comment, y’all know I’m a yapper. How’s the void treating you? Is your void silent or too loud? 😱

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Grief Sucks isn’t my first manuscript. I don’t even know what number it is because I’ve started and given up SO MANY TIMES. But I do know that it’s my second completed manuscript.

My first? 😬

It was a gothic love triangle set in a circus about a woman with no memories trying to find her place in the world. I was partly inspired by Water for Elephants. (I can't tell you the other part or else it'll give my ending away!)

It has promise!

But my execution? It was a dumpster fire wrapped in a trainwreck. 🚒

A few months ago I read Save the Cat! Writes a Novel by Jessica Brody. Then it clicked.

I was missing my characters’ CLEAR wants and needs.

In other words, how can you drive a car with no destination? You can’t and everyone dies or the car runs out of gas.

Beyond that, I picked the wrong protagonist. While I love my sweet main character who didn’t do anything wrong. She’s boring. She’s flat. We can only offer so much attention to someone who has no personality because I literally erased ALL her memories.

But I do think I know who my main character should be. She got a few passing mentions and is likely dead in my current iteration, but she’s the whole reason my main character lost her memories.

She has a story to tell. 🤔

While I want to believe my manuscript is salvageable. While I can see it play out cinematically in my head. I don’t know. It’s really tragic, and I like to write on the lighter side with jokes, laughs, real pain, but happy endings. Maybe that will change one day, and I’ll want to traumatize my readers…but until then I embody this quote:

“The noblest art is that of making others happy.” - P.T. Barnum

How did your first manuscript go? Was it also a dumpster fire wrapped in a trainwreck? Tell me in the comments!

👻KLB

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In fair Kentucky (that’s a lie; it’s humid as hell there), we lay our scene.

ALIENS. 👽

Or better known as the Kelly-Hopkinsville encounter. And if you’re unfamiliar with the story, let me do what every teacher told me not to do and cite Wikipedia:

On the evening of August 21, 1955, five adults and seven children arrived at the Hopkinsville police station claiming that small alien creatures from a spaceship had been attacking their farmhouse and that they had been holding them off with gunfire "for nearly four hours". Two of the adults, Elmer Sutton and Billy Ray Taylor, claimed they had been shooting at a few short, dark figures who repeatedly popped up at the doorway or peered into windows.

Some speculate it was owls, drugs, or even a hoax, but it’s a bit hard to ignore some other unusual regional happenings.

Edgar Cayce was born and was a practicing clairvoyant in Hopkinsville. 🔮He had several predictions that came true. ✨

Adams, TN is only 40 miles away from the Kelly/Hopkinsville area. Adams, TN is the site of the Bell Witch Haunting 👻. (Check out American Haunting if you haven’t seen it. It’s one of my favorite movies, but probably not your best source of accurate history 😜).

So, do weird things come in threes? Or is this a part of the country that isn’t quite… ‘normal’? Heck, who wants to be normal anyway!

What weird stuff has happened in your part of the world? Are there really vampires in New Orleans?🦇Does Big Foot teleport through the entire US?

What have you seen? Tell me in the comments!

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Well, hello, void dodgers or scaries? Maybe I should do a poll. How would you like me to refer to you?

Regardless, I’m glad you’re here!

On this week’s query update, I’m still getting rejected. 🤣 My fastest reject was within one hour of submission.

However, their feedback was probably the most personalized, so I’m not even mad about it. Really, I’m not mad at all. Rejection is just a reality of querying.

I’m on the fence about tradpub lately. Did I write off self-publishing too soon? There’s something to be said about having full creative control—and I’m a control freak.

I’m going to let my queries run their course as I contemplate what I want. The impatient (and spooky) part of me, would BE OVER THE MOON to publish my work in time for Halloween. I love a seasonal read. 🎃👻🦇

What do you think? Tell me in the comments.

👻KLB

Thanks for reading Sunday Scaries with K. L. Brooks! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

On this episode of Haunted House Flippers, husband-and-wife duo Sam (the contractor) and Haley (the realtor and clairvoyant) take on a frightfully hideous 1970s Ranch with an original goldenrod kitchen that wants to take a bite out of them.

“I don’t know about this, Sam,” Haley says, watching as the front door opens by itself. It’s a surprisingly warm welcome when every other haunted house has tried to keep them out.

“Don’t worry! It seems like a friendly ghost. It opened the door for us!” Sam bounds through the open doorway like a happy golden retriever. Haley tries to stop him, but her hands just miss his shirt. She groans, but follows.

For the low price of $295,000, this fixer-upper has everything you could want!

A charred conversation pit with woodburning fireplace, a bedroom with mirrors on the ceiling–oh, la, la!–and a delightfully dated goldenrod kitchen with original aluminum cabinets.

They don’t make ‘em like this anymore!

Haley stops in the kitchen. It’s blindingly bright. The floor is yellow vinyl, there’s yellow carpet on the ceiling, and even the appliances are yellow.

She sighs. “I hate how much people loved carpet.”

She hears a scuffling coming from the yellow oven.

“Please tell me it’s not a rat,” she whines, taking a step closer.

It’s not a rat.

She slowly lowers the oven door. There’s a note. Haley glances around, looking for signs of the ‘friendly’ ghost out of fear she’s about to be Hansel and Gretel’d into the oven. She sees nothing, but feels eyes on her. With trembling fingers, she snatches the note out.

“What do you have there?” Sam asks, coming up behind Haley and startling her.

She clutches the note to her chest as her heart painfully hammers against her ribs. She gives Sam a dirty look before opening the note.

I’m Dean. I’m looking for a homeowner with an appreciation of my style and music. In my previous life, I was a guitarist for (REDACTED). Preferably, a single woman who can see me.

“Wow. Sounds like he’s looking for a girlfriend more than a homeowner,” Sam comments, reading over Haley’s shoulder. “At least he’s making it easy for us, and it’s cool he’s a rockstar. I didn’t know anyone from REDACTED lived locally.”

“Me either…” Haley trails off, reading the note a second time. “Is this a trick?”

“Nah, I told you he was friendly. Come on, there’s something I want to show you,” Sam throws his arm over Haley’s shoulder before turning to leave the kitchen. Haley sighs, terrified of the next atrocity Sam has to show her.

That’s when she sees him. Dean.

He’s young. Likely, early thirties, with feathered blonde hair, green eyes, and a dimple in his chin.

More importantly, Dean sees Haley seeing him. And the spark that lights his eyes can only mean trouble.

The fridge, filled with the dust of long-decayed food, flies open and Sam lurches toward it.

Haley grabs his forearm, but Dean’s ethereal force pulls harder trying to suck Sam into the fridge.

“I take it back! It’s not a nice ghost!” Sam screams, holding onto Haley with all his strength.

“You always think they’re nice, Sam!” Haley shouts at him in frustration. “Nice is irrelevant when you’ve been alone for decades, and now he sees his opportunity to make me a single woman who can see him.”

Sam lurches halfway inside the fridge, dust coating his clothes. “Why does this keep happening! Please don’t let the door close on me!” He cries.

Haley glances at Dean. “Please let him go. We’ll find you someone, but not me,” she pleads.

Dean scowls, but releases Sam.

Sam and Haley fall to the floor, sweating and panting with their arms wrapped around each other.

“Are you going to be mad if I've already put an offer in?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m going to be mad. Get off me.”

Haley and Sam’s offer was accepted, and they have their work cut out for them.

While Haley and Same argue about preserving Dean’s style, Dean is busy hiding tools, turning off the electricity, and scaring Haley at every corner.

But with renovations done—two months behind schedule and $50,000 over budget—it was finally time to put the 1970s Ranch on the market.

“We’re not getting anywhere.” Haley pinches the bridge of her nose as another potential buyer runs out of the house. “You need to quit appearing on the bed with a rose between your teeth. You’re coming on too strong.”

The rose vanishes and Dean throws his hands up in exasperation.

Sam walks into the bedroom, a flyer in hand. “There’s a 70s night at the bar tonight. Why don’t you come with us?” He asks Dean, staring vacantly at the space next to Haley. She has to turn his head toward the bed. “Ah, he did the rose thing again?” Sam asks Haley.

Dean, desperate to find a love connection with the buyer, accepts Sam’s offer. Together, the trio–decked out in psychedelic print, enters the bar.

“I lost him,” Haley says, blowing her faux-fringe bangs out of her eyes.

“What? We just walked through the door.” Sam cranes his neck looking for the specter he can’t see.

“Let’s get a drink. I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually.” Haley wraps her arm around her husband’s waist as they move through the crowded bar.

Haley’s taking a sip of her groovy gimlet when Dean pops into existence. She chokes on her drink and glares at him, but Dean can’t slow down enough to register her anger. He’s pointing frantically at a woman in rollerblades on the dance floor.

And she’s looking right at Dean, doing the come-hither gesture.

Dean teleports in front of her, and she doesn’t flinch.

She can see ghosts.

“She’s the one,” Haley gasps, pointing for Sam’s benefit.

After several groovy gimlets and hours talking a broke millennial into the largest purchase of her life, Haley secured the deal, but requested we burn the footage so the viewers wouldn’t lose respect for her. She had to resort to begging, pleading, and crying.

April–the woman in rollerblades–disclosed that she was going to buy the house regardless, but she was trying to see how far Haley would be willing to go to make a deal.

The following morning, a hungover Haley and happy Sam hand over the keys to the now “far out” 1970s Ranch, with the intact goldenrod kitchen–sans ceiling carpet.

“I know you’re going to love this place,” Haley says, sliding her oversized sunglasses up her nose.

April nods. “It’s perfect.” Dean pulls her close, and she giggles. “It’s not every day you get a chance to own a piece of history and a rockstar.” She nuzzles Dean’s ear, and he flushes like he still has blood pumping through his veins.

“Keep an eye on that one,” Sam says, waving an arm vaguely in Dean’s vicinity. “He wouldn’t agree to an electric fireplace. He likes to touch the fire, but sometimes his…essence?...can make the flames leap.” Sam warns.

“Got it,” April says, giving Dean a look. He grins.

“Alright, well then, enjoy!” Sam says with a wave while helping his wife to the car.

“We did it,” Haley grumbles, falling into the passenger seat.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Sam says, oblivious to Haley’s outrage.

“No more haunted houses, Sam.”

“Uh oh…” Sam trails off, finally looking at Haley. “I already put an offer in–”

“Please stop talking.” Haley rubs the middle of her forehead.

1 Year Later

April and Dean are still together in their dream home. Dean has only set one pillow on fire–by accident. And they have recently adopted a black cat named Shadow, who likes to scare Dean around every corner.

I hope you enjoyed this episode of Haunted House Flippers! I wouldn’t be surprised if Sam and Haley made another appearance in the future. Let me know what you think they should flip next. 🏚️

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This week, I got my first query rejection.

Spoiler: The agent did not stand at the foot of my bed to give me this rejection.

And rejection is a pretty harsh word for it. It was a polite: ‘not for me’. I respect that. Because my work won’t be for everyone.

Before I began querying, I had my package evaluated (QUERY PACKAGE, YOU PERVERT). It came with an hour-long video session, which was ABSOLUTELY worth it. The person was an industry veteran who was able to tell/remind me (and I’m paraphrasing here):

It’s a business.

They’re often looking for commercial marketability.

They may like your work but already have a similar project.

They may like your work but don’t know how to sell it.

No agent is looking to intentionally disqualify your manuscript.

There are a lot of variables outside your control.

It’s hard to come to terms with how little control I have when handing something I spent every day with for the past 9-months. (Are we still saying, book baby?) But I did. This was their last sparkling piece of advice:

Get it over with.

I’m happy with what I submitted. It’s not perfect, but I did the best I was capable of right now. Every book is a lesson learned, and my next will be better because I pressed through all the challenges and discomfort this one presented.

👻KLB

You can find a sneak peak of chapter 1 here!

I’ll kick off this first edition with my personal scary story. 👻

Shortly after I got married, my partner deployed for about a year. We knew it was coming. It wasn’t a huge deal, but we’d been married for two weeks when they left.

LITTLE DID I KNOW. My partner had always…seen a spirit. At least a half dozen times or more in their life, they’d seen this man. The way they describe it is non-threatening, watchful man. WELL—my partner wanted this man to watch over me while they were deployed.

That kicks off a three-night saga of me having nightmares of a figure standing at the END OF MY BED.

I don’t recall any facial features, but I remember a taller build and a looming presence.

I woke up sweating, crying, and totally disoriented, but I was at my parent’s house, so I would talk to my mom about what was happening. We chalked it up to exhaustion, stress, life changes, etc.—all reasonable explanations.

On the third day, I woke up mid-walk.

I’ve never sleptwalked before and haven’t since.

I was walking to stand at the end of the bed and stare at where I’d just been lying.

I was the person standing at the end of my bed. I WAS SCARING MYSELF.

Now, if this spirit of a man had anything to do with it, I guess we’ll never know. It stopped after the third night. The next day my partner mentioned they’d sent the spirit to watch over me, and I politely told it: I’m good. Thanks.

Have a scary story you want to share? Drop it in the comments! I always love to hear about other’s paranormal encounters.

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