Tess Kincaid, novelist and poet

An open notebook of thick, cream-colored paper lies on a smoked-glass desk, its pages filled with tight, elegant handwriting and a few aggressively crossed-out lines, leaving faint impressions in the paper. Beside it, a slim black laptop with a minimalist design glows faintly, its screen reflected in the glass surface. A single black ceramic mug, nearly empty, leaves a ring on a leather coaster. Cool, diffused evening light from a nearby window mixes with the subtle glow of a modern brass desk lamp, creating soft highlights and deep, sophisticated shadows. Photographic realism, overhead three-quarter angle, shallow depth of field, conveying disciplined craft, late-night revision, and razor-sharp focus.

About Tess

Novelist, poet, and observer of human mischief, tracing tenderness through the darkest, funniest corners.

About

Tess Kincaid writes novels and poems where elegance courts unease, dialogue cuts sharp as glass, and dark humor slips between the lines to expose what people hide, cherish, and sometimes destroy.

Full bio
A vintage, matte-black typewriter with round, ivory keys sits alone on a dark walnut writing desk, one half-typed page clamped in the carriage, the words “Chapter One” crisply visible. Around it, the desk is mostly bare except for a heavy crystal inkwell and a closed, leather-bound notebook with a satin ribbon peeking out. Late-afternoon window light falls in at a sharp angle, creating long, moody shadows and a soft gleam on the typewriter’s metal edges. The background fades into a tasteful blur of book spines in deep jewel tones. Photographic realism, eye-level composition, shallow depth of field, evoking sophisticated quiet, tension, and creative anticipation.
A close-up of a dark mahogany bookshelf filled with neatly arranged hardcovers and slim poetry volumes, their spines in a restrained palette of black, cream, and burgundy, with a few metallic foils catching the light. Wedged between two books, a single manuscript lies slightly askew: crisp white pages bound with black binder clips, the title page subtly visible, hinting at a literary, darkly comic work. A small, matte-black skull paperweight rests on the shelf edge, adding a touch of wry humor. Warm, directional light from an unseen lamp rakes across the spines, creating rich contrast and soft bokeh in the deeper shelves. Photographic realism, eye-level, inviting, intellectual, slightly sinister.

A Life Told in Sentences

I grew up hoarding library books and overheard arguments, learning that what people do not say is often the real story; now I write toward those silences, chasing the moment a single line changes everything.

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Contact

For rights inquiries, collaborations, events, or book club visits, please reach out through the form or listed channels.

tess@kincaidwriting.com

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A stack of three weathered hardback novels in muted charcoal, oxblood, and deep navy, each with embossed gold titles, rests on a polished black marble tabletop. An elegant fountain pen with a dark burgundy barrel lies across the top book, its gold nib catching a sliver of cool, overcast window light. Beside the stack, a crystal tumbler half-filled with amber liquid casts fractured reflections on the stone surface. The background is softly blurred shelves of books and a single dim table lamp, creating a cinematic, photographic realism. Shot at a slight three-quarter angle, rule-of-thirds composition, the mood is refined, intelligent, with a hint of noir and dark humor.