Mel Starkicker

@starkicker.bsky.social

319 Followers 434 Following

"I'm a song about the song that once said something new." Teacher. Drummer. Author. Cocker spaniel fan. ❤️ music. 🏳️‍🌈🥁🎸🐶 Writing under the name @melwaverly.bsky.social

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In her bedroom, Izzy paced. Ten minutes of it. She flipped open her phone. Then shut it. The sticky note in her hand felt like a brick. Izzy could use it to build something. Or she could destroy something. She had to pick. The brick must be used. She opened her phone again, dialed, and held her breath.

- And These Words Remain Unsaid, Chapter 20

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Still, Jacqueline knew it wasn’t just the outfit that mattered; it was the message. They were going out in public. Being in public demanded a different sort of vigilance. The kind that would keep the tabloids and fans from thinking too much about who she was with or why she was with them.
She groaned. I have years of practice with this, so why is this suddenly so hard?
Every time she ran through her mental checklist, she stiffened.
“It has to be appropriate—that means no blue jeans,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and pushing the jeans aside.
She had to look good in case someone happened to snap a photo. That rules this out, then, she thought, tossing away a shirt she loved but that wouldn’t survive public scrutiny.
Jacqueline needed to find something that struck the right equilibrium. Something she would allow the world to see—or at least a balance between the musician, the friend, and the closeted lesbian with a lifetime’s worth of rules about how she was supposed to appear. She needed a flow chart. Maybe a Venn diagram. With Coles Notes.
- Wishing You Knew, chapter 13

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Lucy caught the man’s flinch and saw an opportunity. “I have also canned hearts before,” she said, taking on a conspiratorial tone without lowering her voice to match. “Male hearts, to be specific.”
A tense stillness settled around the bench.
Cèilidh blinked, and Liv’s eyes widened. Both of them stared at Lucy, who sat there with the sweetest smile on her face. She could almost feel the man’s heartrate race as he tried to listen to the conversation to discern if he had heard incorrectly. So Lucy bobbed her head thoughtfully, waiting for the next question that she hoped Liv or Cèilidh would ask.
Cèilidh furrowed her brows. “You can…hearts?”
Liv leaned towards her, lowering her voice. “Wait, animal hearts, right?”
Lucy shrugged. “If the authorities were to ask, yes.
Animal hearts,” she said, laughing a little too wildly.
The other two flinched, and the man dropped his fishing magazine and hurried away in the direction of the closest exit.
“Well that worked,” Lucy said when he was finally gone.
- The First Lesbian Book Club, chapter 10

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Isabell flinched when the bathroom door flung open. Then she let out a small breath of relief as she saw Julie enter carrying a red zip-up hoodie and a hair dryer under her arm.
“Okay,” Julie said, setting her things on the counter. “Take off your shirt.”
Isabell blinked nervously. “Um, not that I don’t trust you, but convince me that that’s a good idea.”
- And These Words Remain Unsaid, Chapter 2

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Jacqueline moved across the room and knelt beside Oliver. She put both of her hands on his cheeks and turned his face to hers. “You, Oliver Sampson, are the most wonderful, caring man I’ve ever known. And I want you to know that if I wasn’t…this way, I would have married you in a heartbeat.”
She kissed him on the lips. A familiar kiss that was full of platonic love for a man she truly did care for.
“I’m going to make this up to you every way I can. Starting with our breakup,” she said, running her fingers through his soft black hair. “When the time comes, we’re going to have a very public breakup that makes you look like the amazing stud you are.”
He chuckled. “Really?”
“Absolutely. We’re talking smeared mascara, bad clothes, and public breakdowns. I might even scream in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard how sex with you was life-changing.”
They both laughed. “Thanks, Jackie. That’d be great.”
- wishing you knew, chapter 33

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Shannon shrugged, “Do I need another copy when I have the real thing?” She came up behind Jacqueline and wrapped her arms around her, pressing her cheek into Jacqueline’s shoulder and breathing in deeply. “I do have the real thing, right? That’s why you’re here.”
Jacqueline turned to face her, never leaving Shannon’s embrace. “For as long as you’ll have me, Shannon MacCartney. And then some.”
“Good.” She paused, the effects of their earlier kiss now wreaking havoc on every inch of her skin. She looked at Jacqueline with dark, lustful eyes and an unmistakable intent. “Now take off your clothes.”
Jacqueline stared. “What?”
“I want you, Jacqueline. Your heart, your mind, all of it. But right now, right this very minute, I want your body.”
“Shann—”
“Off!” she said, trying not to smile too much.
- Wishing You Knew, chapter 33

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1954. Toronto, Canada loves its pulp fiction—as long as the lesbians don’t live happily ever after.

Cèilidh Reid, a journalist by day and a lesbian pulp writer by night, is frustrated: the paperbacks she writes must, by law and custom, end in tragedy. Beverly Hendricks, an avid reader and occasional writer, is equally fed up with the absence of HEAs in books. Neither woman has found a happily-ever-after on the page—or in real life.
And since they cannot stand each other, they certainly won’t find it together.
When Cèilidh catches Beverly—armed with a utility knife, glue, and a stack of papers—tampering with her books at a local bookstore, it sparks an uneasy alliance and an audacious plan: rewrite the endings. Not just one of the
books, but all of them.
With help from a handful of not-quite-authors, Cèilidh
and Beverly embark on a spree of literary sabotage. What
follows is an adventure full of road trips, hijinks,
one truly terrible misuse of a thesaurus, and the very real
possibility of a happily-ever-after.

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It was improbable that the woman outside had been Julie.
Izzy hadn’t seen her since graduation—even then it was only when Julie walked across the stage. The woman from the coffee shop had the same quirky style, the same jawline, and the same walk that looked like something between a swagger and tripping over a carpet.
She shook her head.
It couldn’t be. It had to be a doppelganger. Toronto’s a big city. I’m sure someone here has the same walk. And face.
And smile.
What is Julie even doing here?
- and these words remain unsaid, chapter 12

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“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted. “Are you Jacqueline Lamont?”
Shannon caught the flash of annoyance in Jacqueline’s face. Then it vanished behind a polished mask so quickly it made Shannon’s chest tighten.
Shannon turned to him before Jacqueline could. “No, sorry—this is my cousin Cecilia from Montréal.”
Jacqueline blinked at her, then, like a chameleon, let her expression change again. She looked at the man who had interrupted them with a furrowed brow. “Je suis désolée. Je ne parle pas très bien anglais. Qu’as-tu dit?” she said in a flawless French accent.
“Oh. Excusez-moi,” he said with a thick accent. He turned to Shannon as the official translator. “She looks remarkably like the singer Jacqueline Lamont.”
“Oui, merci, maintenant veuillez partir. Je ne veux pas vous parler pour le moment,” Jacqueline added, biting back a laugh.
Shannon’s eyebrows rose. “She gets that a lot.”
- wishing you knew, chapter 13

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Her eyes drifted to the Marty original on the wall. The longer she stared at it, the more she wanted to destroy it---rip it off the wall and set the ghastly thing ablaze. She knew it was irrational to be so annoyed with a painting, but she couldn't reconcile the incongruity. How could someone have such poor taste in art and such good taste in women?
- wishing you knew, chapter 17

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1954. Toronto, Canada loves its pulp fiction—as long as the lesbians don’t live happily ever after.

Cèilidh Reid, a journalist by day and a lesbian pulp writer by night, is frustrated: the paperbacks she writes must, by law and custom, end in tragedy. Beverly Hendricks, an avid reader and occasional writer, is equally fed up with the absence of HEAs in books. Neither woman has found a happily-ever-after on the page—or in real life.
And since they cannot stand each other, they certainly won’t find it together (seriously).
When Cèilidh catches Beverly—armed with a utility knife, glue, and a stack of papers—tampering with her books at a local bookstore, it sparks an uneasy alliance and an audacious plan: rewrite the endings. Not just one of the
books, but all of them.
With help from a handful of not-quite-authors, Cèilidh
and Beverly embark on a spree of literary sabotage. What
follows is an adventure full of road trips, hijinks,
one truly terrible misuse of a thesaurus, and the very real
possibility of a happily-ever-after.

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Jacqueline Lamont likes control.
She controls her life, her career, and her emotions by one guiding principle: attachments are dangerous.
Fortunately, her career as a well-known folk singer makes that easy. Jacqueline lives out of tour buses and hotels, drifting from town to town and lover to lover, never staying long enough to belong anywhere. She’s happier that way—or so she tells herself.
Then a phone call rips her off the road, sending her back to a family she long believed had abandoned her and to a life she never meant to return to.
Back in Toronto, Jacqueline struggles to find her footing and maintain any semblance of control. Especially when she keeps running into a charming young nurse who looks oddly familiar and seems determined to insert herself into Jacqueline’s carefully contained life.
Shannon MacCartney is everything Jacqueline tries to avoid: rooted and compassionate. Worse yet, she has an unsettling ability to see past Jacqueline’s raised eyebrows, biting remarks, and relentless need for control.
Jacqueline’s tight grip on control is challenged, as the universe and an infuriatingly determined nurse show her that letting go might be the only way to get what she truly wants.
Now Jacqueline must decide what she truly wants—the freedom of leaving or the risk of staying.

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Julie Gatensby and Isabell Brewer have been friends since Julie saved Izzy from a mishap with some iced tea. When they start a band together, they finally start to feel like the cool kids they knew they were. After a concert at a local bar, their friendship is put to the test—and fails.
Several years later, Julie returns home in the hopes of regrouping after a disastrous breakup from her band, her job, and her boyfriend. She also hopes she can revive a friendship that had long since ended. Izzy, however, is less receptive to Julie’s overtures.
Years of hurt on both sides make relationships strained. Thankfully, everyone else around them seems to see what the women simply cannot: they are meant to be together. If only Izzy could admit her feelings. If only Julie could get over her self-hate. If only one of them would say what they really want. If only someone would turn off the home shopping channel. And if only everyone would stop telling drummer jokes!

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The main event was far more interesting than either of them expected. The sheer absurdity of their day—getting lost, ending up at an agricultural museum, and now watching cows sprint giddily into a field—broke whatever tension had lingered between them. Laughter came easily, and even if it was spent in a completely unforeseen way, they both enjoyed spending time together.
Neither could believe how captivated they could be watching a herd of cattle run merrily into a field and then frolic around in the warm spring air.
Izzy laughed when she saw the cows running. “I never would have thought such a boxy and strange animal would run and hop around in a field like it was playing.”
Julie had the biggest, goofiest grin on her face.
“I read once that cows have best friends,” Izzy said.
“Really?” Julie asked, looking at Izzy.
“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. She looked over discreetly at Julie. “I wonder how they pick their best friends.”
I wonder if cows ever fall for their best friends.
- and these words remain unsaid, chapter 22

a screengrab of a search page. The first part filled in is "I accidentally..." and there are several suggestions for continued search.
I accidentally became important at work
I accidentally married a mafia princess
I accidentally married a ceo
I accidentally swallowed a rubber band
I accidentally slept with my professor
I accidentally tamed the duke
I accidentally summoned a lemon
I accidentally ate moldy bread
I accidentally took nyquil and tylenol

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The smile she didn’t bother hiding crept in as she reread the ending. Cèilidh, she begrudgingly admitted, was a talented writer, and she helped Beverly get this ending just right.
Margaret, the talented and tough journalist, had seduced and lured Barb, the young and impressionable secretary, into a sordid and quite spicy affair that had Barb begging Margaret for more than just weekends off. When Trent, Barb’s boyfriend, catches her, Barb repents, begs forgiveness, and elopes with Trent.
At least that was the original ending.
In Beverly’s version, Barb and Margaret catch Trent cheating—thanks to a honey trap set up by the pair—and Barb freely chooses a life of love with Margaret.
After a minute, Beverly checked her work and, when satisfied, shelved the book.
She allowed herself a private vision of the sequel where Margaret and Barbara—Margaret would insist on calling her Barbara—as astronauts, the first lesbian explorers of deep space.
One storyline at a time, Beverly. You can write science fiction later.
- the first lesbian book club, chapter 3

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Shannon took a step forward and placed a reassuring hand on Jacqueline’s shoulder. “You are not alone.”
Jacqueline lifted her eyes.
She had snapped at the woman more than once today, and the guilt churned in her stomach. “I’m sorry I snapped at—”
Shannon didn’t let her finish. She pulled Jacqueline into a hug. “Don’t worry about it right now, Jackie,” Shannon whispered into a mess of blond hair that smelled faintly of apricots and freesia.
Jacqueline froze for half a second, then relaxed into the embrace. When Jacqueline shifted as if to pull away, Shannon began to release her hold. Until she felt Jacqueline hold on instead. So she wrapped her arms around her again, a little tighter, letting Jacqueline rest there.
- Wishing You Knew, chapter 12

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“How can you call yourself a Canadian?” Shannon teased, gliding effortlessly around a wobbling Jacqueline.
“My family never saw fit to teach me how to navigate ice on thin pieces of metal.” Jacqueline pouted, waving her arms like a perturbed Canadian goose.
Shannon moved like Charlie Chaplin on skates—gliding in sure-footed circles around her. Jacqueline, meanwhile, was more Paulette Goddard—spending most of her time crashing into things that had the misfortune of being in her way.
She had spent the better part of the week imagining how this night might unfold. Jacqueline had naively imagined them gliding quietly along the ice, talking, drinking hot cocoa, and ignoring the December air with the warmth of their laughter. She had conveniently ignored the fact that she could not, in even the most generous definition of the word, skate.
“Surely it can’t be that hard,” she had said.
All of her hopes were quickly shattered the second she stepped foot onto the ice and went bass-ackwards with a heavy, cold thump. The laughter from a group of nearby teenagers dealt the final blow to what remained of her dignity.
But Shannon wanted to go ice skating, and Jacqueline wanted to be with Shannon. So she endured the cold and the bruises on both her bottom and her ego.
- wishing you knew, chapter 16

A picture of a black and tan cocker spaniel sitting in the mountains looking off in the distance. The dog has on a purple harness and an orange collar.

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Shannon watched the fine muscles in Jacqueline’s arms and fingers work. The guitar was no longer a separate thing; it was a natural extension of Jacqueline.
With each arpeggio, the stiffness in Jacqueline’s body fell away. Her shoulders relaxed, her chest expanded, and her movements became more fluid than controlled. Jacqueline’s left foot tapped along as her delicate fingers picked at the strings of the guitar with a practised precision.
A wide grin tugged at Shannon’s lips. She felt almost guilty for witnessing this moment, but she couldn’t look away.
Then Jacqueline’s first vocal notes rang through the room—more unguarded and confident than Shannon could have expected.
Shannon’s breath caught in her lungs. Every muscle, every synapse, every tiny hair on her body snapped to attention, demanding she take notice, even as she herself tried to temporize the reaction.
- Wishing You Knew, Chapter 11

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“Who was she?” Jenn pressed, perceptive even through the haze of whisky and wine. “The one that, like, broke your heart and sent you fleeing to the furthest corners of this continent to heal.”
Julie laughed despite herself. “I think you’re greatly overestimating the situation.” She took a sip of her wine. “It was just someone I knew in high school.”
Jenn didn’t miss a beat. “Nuh-uh. I don’t think so.” Her gaze was fixed on Julie, but her tone was light. “Enlighten me.”
“Fine. The thirty-second elevator pitch version. We were in a band. We played a show. Got drunk after. Ended up in a park—”
“As one does in the beaver-filled hinterlands of Canada,” Jenn interjected.
“Yes, as one does.” Julie rolled her eyes. “I tried to kiss her, and before anything could happen, she ran off.”
Jenn raised her eyebrows. “That’s it?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s Canada. We don’t tend to notch our drama up to HBO levels.”
- And These Words Remain Unsaid, chapter 9

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There were so many answers Izzy longed for. She wished she was brave enough to ask. Brave enough to say what she wanted to.
“How did you know where I worked?” She changed the topic.
Julie blinked at the abrupt change in subject, then chuckled. “Your dad,” she said. “The hints he drops are far from subtle.”
Izzy nodded. “Of course.”
“Counter question,” Julie said. Izzy looked up, guarded. “How did you know I was unemployed?”
“My dad,” she said dryly. “As you said, he’s about as conspicuous as a neon sign. In a church. During a funeral.”
- And These Words Remain Unsaid, chapter 18

The photo is taken from the middle of a concert crowd facing the stage. In the background is the band name lit up (The Beaches) on the left is the guitarists (Kylie & Leandra) standing back to back, in the middle is the drummer (Eliza), and to the left the singer/bassist (Jordan). They are back lit and appear as silhouettes. There is a fuzzy greyish fog.

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In a moment of mental acuity, her mother smiled kindly at her.
"Oh Jacqueline," she said, "you're in love, sweetheart."
- wishing you knew, chapter 21

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Finally, she pushed her hands up over Shannon’s shoulders, dislodging the robe—now only an impediment to her discovery. It dropped from Shannon’s body and pooled on the floor.
“Oh, Shannon.”
Shannon grabbed Jacqueline ferociously, pulling them both backwards until they were pressed against the wall, kissing. Jacqueline’s mouth followed the curve of her throat, lingering where she felt Shannon soften and tremble.
“Jackie, I want to take off your pants.”
Jacqueline didn’t respond, her focus only on tasting Shannon’s skin. Instead, she pressed her hips forward, presenting the pants for removal.
She felt the precise movement of Shannon’s fingers finding her waistband.
The feeling of Shannon tugging at her belt drove her wild with anticipation. She felt her growing wetness—heat pooling, insistent and achingly between her legs.
- wishing you knew, chapter 24

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“What did you do?” Shannon asked.
Jacqueline shrugged. “I played for a field of cows.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” Jacqueline’s tone was warm and serious. “It was probably one of the most pleasant audiences I’ve ever had. I got paid to play for some cows who didn’t catcall me, didn’t try to grope me, and who actually seemed to enjoy the music.”
Shannon’s eyebrows drew together. “How could you tell?”
“That they didn’t catcall me?” She raised an eyebrow and quickly continued. “I guess they could have. I don’t speak moo.”
Shannon laughed. “No, silly. How could you tell that they liked the music?”
“Oh, that?” Jacqueline winked. “Because they all wandered over and stood there watching me.” She paused. “When I stopped playing, they—voiced their discontent, until I started playing again.”
“I thought you didn’t speak moo. Maybe they were all yelling ‘Play ‘Satisfaction’’ by the Rolling Stones,” Shannon said through a giggle.
- Wishing You Knew, Chapter 22

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It was well past the usual dinner hour, and the restaurant was nearly empty—only two other tables were occupied in the softly lit, intimate space. Jacqueline could hear faint strands of an opera playing from the kitchen and the slightly louder Italian banter between the waiter and the man behind the bar.
Jacqueline caught Shannon eyeing her pizza as she cut into it with unbridled enthusiasm and took a bite. “Would you like to try a bite?” she asked.
Shannon bit her lip. “Oh—no, it’s okay. I’ve just never had pizza before.”
“What?” Jacqueline blinked. “How is that even possible?”
Shannon shrugged, offering no other defence.
Without ceremony, Jacqueline cut a small slice and deposited it on Shannon’s bread plate. “It’s absolutely time for you to try.”
“Is your hobby introducing people to new food?” Shannon joked, taking a bite of pizza. A quiet, involuntary moan followed as the flavours hit her taste buds.
“I don’t really have hobbies, but I suppose I could take that up.” Jacqueline stopped her knife mid-cut and pursed her lips together. “Have you ever had sushi?”
Shannon’s eyes widened. “Oh goodness, no. Raw fish? I could never.”
Jacqueline laughed. “Goodness no?” she echoed. “What happened to the Shannon from the studio who was swearing enough to make a sailor blush?”
- wishing you knew, chapter 18

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Kate notified them she was recalculating the route, as the song on the CD changed and the unmistakable, four-measure guitar lick of “Today” by Smashing Pumpkins broke the silence.
“I love this song,” Izzy said. “Turn it up.” She began tapping her fingers on the steering wheel along to the drums. “It’s the perfect road trip song.”
Julie nodded. “Agreed. This and—”
“‘Radiation Vibe,’” they said together.
Julie’s ocean blue eyes met Izzy’s soft hazel. The moment lingered. Then Izzy tore her eyes away to focus on the road.
Stop looking at her, or you and her smouldering eyes are going to crash.
And These Words Remain Unsaid, chapter 22

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“I’ve never tried Chinese food before,” Shannon admitted quietly. “I might need some help.”
The corners of Jacqueline’s lips curled, and at last her eyes settled on Shannon. “I think I can help,” she said.
“We can start with these.” Shannon pointed to the wooden chopsticks. “What do I do with these?” she asked sheepishly.
That did the trick. The tension that had followed them to the table dissolved with Jacqueline’s laughter. “You eat with them.”
Shannon rolled her eyes. “Thanks. I figured that part out,” she said. “How do I eat with them?”
Jacqueline smiled broadly as she deftly picked up her chopsticks and demonstrated. Shannon’s fingers felt clumsy as she tried to mimic Jacqueline’s fluid motion, but her clumsy efforts helped both of them forget their nervousness.
- wishing you knew, chapter 13

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1954. Canada loves its pulp fiction—as long as the lesbians don’t live happily ever after.

Cèilidh, a journalist by day and a lesbian pulp writer by night, is frustrated: the paperbacks she writes must, by law and custom, end in tragedy. Beverly Hendricks, an avid reader and occasional writer, is equally fed up with the absence of HEAs in books. Neither woman has found a happily-ever-after on the page—or in real life.

And since they cannot stand each other, they certainly won’t find it together.

When Cèilidh catches Beverly—armed with a utility knife, glue, and a stack of papers—tampering with her books at a local bookstore, it sparks an uneasy alliance and an audacious plan: rewrite the endings. Not just one of the books, but all of them.

With help from a handful of not-quite-authors, Cèilidh and Beverly embark on a spree of literary sabotage. What follows is an adventure full of road trips, hijinks, one truly terrible misuse of a thesaurus, and the very real possibility of a happily-ever-after.

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When it came time to test out their new technique in a real-world situation, they agreed Beverly would do the tipping-in while Cèilidh ran interference.
Unfortunately, that meant dousing herself, not with her much beloved—and very subtle—Apres l'Ondee, but with the cheap and oppressively strong perfume she purchased for this exact purpose.
“Tabu, huh?” Cèilidh said, eyeing the bottle. “It should be taboo to wear this, Dana,” She shook her head and grimaced before spraying herself liberally with the perfume.
By the time she met Beverly outside the bookshop, four people had avoided sitting beside her on the bus, two had stared with wrinkled noses, and Beverly was doubled over laughing at her expense.
Yup, I picked the right fragrance.
“You smell like a boarding house of women all trying to outdo the other,” Beverly said, waving her hand in front of her face more for effect than relief.
“I sprayed myself twice.” Cèilidh shrugged. “Based on the reactions, I think once would have been enough.”
“I think you sprayed yourself twice too many, Scrabble.”
Cèilidh sighed.
“On the bright side,” Beverly said, barely containing her grin, “if we get caught and thrown in jail, no one will want to come near you.” She paused. “Come to think of it, I doubt anyone going to be coming near you any time soon.”
Cèilidh groaned. “Let’s just do this so I can go home and burn my clothes.”
The First Lesbian Book Club, Chapter 4

Julie chuckled as she remembered another joke. “What’s the difference between a drummer and a vacuum?” Julie asked.
Hailey raised an eyebrow.
“You only need to plug one of them in before it starts to suck.”
“You are merciless, Jules,” Hailey said. “I like it.”
The guitarist transitioned directly into the next song. Julie recognized it immediately. Years of listening to it on repeat with Izzy had etched it permanently into her limbic system.
“Hoo, boy. That drummer is unlikely to redeem himself with this song,” she said.
“Herself,” Hailey corrected her, taking a sip of her drink.
A crowd began to form around the stage to watch the meltdown of the Mixtape Makers. The guitarist could barely croak out the words. The bass player seemed, to Julie’s ears, to be completely lost. No one was in key; no one could find a rhythm. No one seemed to even be all that familiar with the song.
Except for the drummer.
- And these words remain unsaid, chapter 12

A black background image with text and an old-fashioned typewriter on the bottom right. The text reads

1954. Canada loves its pulp fiction—as long as the lesbians don’t live happily ever after.

Cèilidh, a journalist by day and a lesbian pulp writer by night, is frustrated: the paperbacks she writes must, by law and custom, end in tragedy. Beverly Hendricks, an avid reader and occasional writer, is equally fed up with the absence of HEAs in books. Neither woman has found a happily-ever-after on the page—or in real life.

And since they cannot stand each other, they certainly won’t find it together.

When Cèilidh catches Beverly—armed with a utility knife, glue, and a stack of papers—tampering with her books at a local bookstore, it sparks an uneasy alliance and an audacious plan: rewrite the endings. Not just one of the books, but all of them.

With help from a handful of not-quite-authors, Cèilidh and Beverly embark on a spree of literary sabotage. What follows is an adventure full of road trips, hijinks, one truly terrible misuse of a thesaurus, and the very real possibility of a happily-ever-after.

A book by Marine St. Jean titled Remember Monsters. It is a black and red cover with the bottom of two people's faces. One face leaning, exposing her neck where you can see a bite mark. The other face is leaning back a little and has vampire teeth exposed and blood on the mouth.

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Everything took longer than it should have. Her arms were clumsy and uncooperative, as if they belonged to someone else. What would normally take one fluid flick of her wrist, took concentrated effort.
A concentration that was also waning with the night.
She tried to pour coffee into the machine but spilled the ground beans all over the counter instead. She pressed both hands onto the edge of the counter, lowered her head, and fought back a scream that had been forming in her throat for days—maybe weeks. Probably years.
A knock on the front door followed by the click of the lock told Jacqueline her day was about to get immeasurably worse.
- wishing you knew, chapter 19

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Who’s here to hear me?
Setting her pen down, she crossed the room and sat at the kit. The stool was set ridiculously low. Who does Kyle think he is—Dave Grohl? she thought, adjusting the height. She grabbed the sticks resting on the floor tom and began to play: a few alternating paradiddles, a handful of six-stroke rolls, then transitioned into an improvised jazz groove.
The tension bled out of her with every stroke of her sticks and kick of her foot.
And These Words Remain Unsaid, chapter 20

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Rebecca Cathcart stood in the doorway—short, round-faced, and endlessly patient. Except when it came to Jacqueline.
“When did you get in, Jackie?”
“I’ve only just arrived.”
“Did your…did you find the key all right?” Rebecca asked, matching Jacqueline’s cool formality beat for beat.
The question warranted nothing more than a raised eyebrow in response.
“Your presence inside the house tells me nothing about how you got inside,” she enunciated each word with crisp precision.
The fingers on Jacqueline’s left hand began to move ever so slightly, involuntarily forming three chords on an invisible guitar neck. She stopped and tugged on her sleeves. “What do you take me for, a common criminal?”
“No,” Rebecca said dryly. “There’s nothing common about you, Jackie.”
- wishing you knew, chapter 3

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“Home shopping channel,” she said deadpan.
Izzy laughed and dropped onto the couch. “Why?”
“It was on,” Julie said with a shrug.
“It lifts up with such ease,” chirped the voice from the TV.
“That does look easy,” Julie said, her voice sluggish.
Izzy tilted her head. “Um, Jules?”
“It floats like a feather back to its original position—even the man in your life will love putting this seat down…”
Julie peeled her eyes off the television. “Yes?” she drawled.
“Why are you watching the home shopping channel?”
Julie held eye contact. Her eyes, normally alert and inquisitive, were weary. She shrugged. “Changing the channel takes effort…fuck effort!”
“And it glows in the dark! No more nightlights…”
Julie threw a hand up. “Exactly, Margaret. No more nightlights, just nightmares about glowing toilet seats.”
- and these words remain unsaid, chapter 26

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Izzy squared her shoulders and took a step forward. “Say that again, asshole.” Her voice was steady, confident, and quiet.
“Chill. You people can’t take a joke.” He waved his hand dismissively at them.
“You’re a joke.” She narrowed her eyes, fixing them firmly on the man. “You think that every woman who won’t touch you must be gay. Some of us aren’t enticed by a pencil-dicked homophobe like you.” Izzy hesitated for only a second before feeling a burst of confidence she couldn’t quite explain. “I suspect one disappointing night with you would make almost any woman gay. But hey, when your girlfriend gets tired of your many—shortcomings, tell her to give me a call,” she said with a cocky smirk.
- And These Words Remain Unsaid, chapter 23

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Thankfully, that was something that hadn’t dared to change over the years. Music and performing were the only things that ever made all the noise fade away. It was the one thing that brought her true, unadulterated joy. When the crowd connected—when she heard their voices singing along with hers—it was transcendent.
Music could fill the emptiness, if only for a moment.
And she chased that feeling from one end of the continent to the other. She was willing to put up with all-night drives, hotel rooms, and a gruelling schedule if it meant getting up on stage for even a minute.
Wishing You Knew, chapter 1

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“So, this one time,” a woman with a thick Norwegian accent said, “my brother og I, we found a little dynamitt in an old bunker left by the tyskere—”
“Tyskere?” Another woman interrupted.
The Norwegian looked at her. “Ja, Germans. Dynamitt left by Nazi Germans in Norway.”
“Oh.” The woman nodded, not entirely sure where the conversation was going and wishing desperately that this woman would keep her voice and enthusiasm down.
“That seemed like a lot of fun to play with, so we took the båt out to a scarry and put it in the cracks, ja?”
The three other women blinked at the Norwegian as she continued.
“My brother thought we should just light it on fire.”
“The scarry?”
“Nei da, the dynamitt,” The Norwegian corrected, shaking her head. “But I knew bedre. We used the battery from the båt, ja?”
The tall, stern looking woman stared at the Norwegian. “Bo-ah-t?”
“I think she means boat,” the fourth woman said quietly.
“Ja, båt, b-oat,” the Norwegian said over pronouncing the word in her best Canadian English accent. “I used the battery to connect to the dynamitt. Click, click”—her hands acted out connecting the positive and negative parts of the battery to something.
“And?” The taller, stern woman asked?
“Boom!” The Norwegian laughed.
-The first Lesbian Book Club, chapter 1

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Julie Gatensby and Isabell Brewer have been friends since Julie saved Izzy from a mishap with some iced tea. When they start a band together, they finally start to feel like the cool kids they knew they were. After a concert at a local bar, their friendship is put to the test—and fails.
Several years later, Julie returns home in the hopes of regrouping after a disastrous breakup from her band, her job, and her boyfriend. She also hopes she can revive a friendship that had long since ended. Izzy, however, is less receptive to Julie’s overtures.
Years of hurt on both sides make relationships strained. Thankfully, everyone else around them seems to see what the women simply cannot: they are meant to be together. If only Izzy could admit her feelings. If only Julie could get over her self-hate. If only one of them would say what they really want. If only someone would turn off the home shopping channel. And if only everyone would stop telling drummer jokes!

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Jacqueline turned her attention to the passing city and forced her thoughts elsewhere. The new library at the university wasn’t finished, but Jacqueline could already see that the brutalist building taking form, with its precast concrete and angular shapes, was going to be a very ugly addition to the cityscape.
If [redacted] that hideous library won’t be the only act of brutality in this city (she thought).
-wishing you knew, chapter 23

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“Sometimes I forget who you are. Then something reminds me, and I…well, I guess I’m still a little starstruck.”
Jacqueline raised her eyebrow. “Still?”
Shannon nodded. “I mean, I haven’t hidden the fact that I like your music.”
“I’m nothing special. It’s just my job—as unusual as it may be. It’s not like I’m Joni Mitchell.”
“No, you’re so much better than her,” Shannon blurted out without thinking.
Jacqueline threw her head back and let out a low, mirthful laugh. It surprised Shannon how much she liked the sound, even though she felt a mild panic at what she said being the cause.
“I’ll be sure to tell her that the next time I see her,” Jacqueline finally managed to say between gasps for air. She looked at her companion’s embarrassment and felt a pang of guilt for her reaction. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Shannon. It means a lot. Especially coming from you.”
- wishing you knew, chapter 13

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“We don’t have chemistry,” Cèilidh and Beverly said at the same time.
“Clearly not,” Clara drawled, rolling her eyes.
“So, back to getting ut,” Liv said in hushed tones. “Should we just make a Molotov, create a little forstyrrelse?”
Clara's eyes widened. “You want us to burn down this place?”
Liv shrugged. “It was only a suggestion,” she said. “Besides, I don't have dynamitt, but we do have lots of alkohol and a lighter.” She flicked the lighter she had been carrying. The light cast an eerie glow in the otherwise darkened storage room.
“Now, let’s not discount the value of a good distraction,” Beverly offered.
“I have a better idea,” Clara said, but no one was listening as they tried to talk over each other quietly.
“We can’t just burn down the bar,” Cèilidh said.
“Well, Cèilidh, what would you suggest?” Beverly tilted her head and stared. “We're stuck in a closet with the police looking for...” she hesitated. “Someone, but they'll happily arrest any lesbians they find for—what do they call it, ‘gross-indecency?’”
Clara cleared her throat. “Ladies, we could just take the door.”
“The police are out there,” Beverly said. “Or didn’t you notice?” Clara rolled her eyes. “The other door.” She pointed at the back entrance door.
-The first Lesbian Book Club, chapter 1

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“Well…” she hesitated. “Dad’s actually been teaching me a bit.”
“Teaching what?” Julie asked, her eyes widening.
Izzy air drummed a little as her response.
Julie’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck, dude? You can play the drums and didn’t tell me?”
“I wouldn’t say play,” Izzy protested. “I’m not that good. I just mess around sometimes.”
“But, like, you have drums, and you can hold a beat?”
Izzy thought about it. Then nodded. “I guess so.”
Julie bounded out of her seat. “Let’s start a band.”
“Wait, are you being serious right now?”
“Hell yeah, I’m being serious.”
“Julie, you said yourself that you don’t even know how to play the guitar!”
Julie grinned. “How hard could it really be, Iz? Like, have you seen the dudes that play guitar around here? If some half-baked stoner dude with greasy hair can figure it out, why can’t I?”
- And These Words Remain Unsaid, chapter 5

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So Izzy scrambled. She said the first stupid thing that came to mind.
Now she was trudging through snowdrifts, muttering curses into the wind.
Fucking storm chips! (is in italics to show thought)
- and these words remain unsaid, chapter 19

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She started with turning their house into a home.
The first thing Shannon demanded was a space for all their books.
So an entire room was devoted to their little library. Small, wooden boxes mounted to the walls served as bookshelves, filled from top to bottom with books in every genre imaginable—from science fiction to murder mystery, biography to fantasy. Off to one side sat a shelf reserved for a respectable collection of lesbian romance novels, many bearing the HEA seal. H.E. Adams was a well-represented author among their collection.
-Wishing You Knew, epilogue

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Only then did she allow herself to relax. She leaned back, crossed her legs under the table, and tapped her foot almost imperceptibly along with the song playing from the jukebox. The foot tap was the compromise she made to avoid singing along to the chorus of “Sweet Caroline”—not that anyone would notice if she joined in with them.
- wishing you knew, chapter 5

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“At least I’m already icing my injuries,” she joked weakly.
Jacqueline offered a strained smile and resumed her shaky scooter pushes while Shannon matched her pace with small, controlled strides. Jacqueline thought it was almost enjoyable, if she forgot the crowds, the ice, and the growing bruise on her tailbone.
“If this keeps up, I might need you to check it for me,” Jacqueline said, then immediately rolled her eyes at herself.
“Your butt?” Shannon wrinkled her nose.
- wishing you knew, chapter 16

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Outside was a literal and figurative breath of fresh air. The October sun warmed her cheeks, though the air still carried the bite of the impending winter. The trees rattled in the wind and shed their leaves, which scattered across the playground in brilliant golds, reds, and oranges.
Isabell didn’t love winter, but growing up where she did, it was a fact of life that she needed to make peace with. At least winter didn’t pour iced tea on her.
For now, the weather was nice enough to enjoy reading outside.
She found a patch of sun against the school wall, sat, and let her back rest against the cool brick. With her knees drawn up and her book in her lap, she was ready to be transported to a different world.
And These Words Remain Unsaid, chapter 3

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When recess came, the hallways erupted. Bernoulli’s principle in action. High pressure seeks low pressure.
When, at the tender age of seven, she asked her mother how planes fly, Andrea Brewer had decided she needed a better answer than “engines and wings.” Her mother had compared the theory of flight to fleeing the classroom for the recess yard using the principle.
As she snaked her way through the crowd, Isabell still thought it was a suitable comparison.
Though no one pointed out how
communal, and mostly
unsupervised, spaces like the
playground could be equally high
pressure, she thought as the familiar
ache in her chest resurfaced.
And these words remain unsaid, chapter 3

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The heart wants what it wants.
The heart is a sadist.
Wishing you knew, chapter 21

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“Go wash up,” she said gently. “We’ll talk over dinner. I made a tarte aux framboises. My grand-mère used to make it when we visited.”
Shannon didn’t move.
Jacqueline’s expression was inscrutable, but there was something
soft and earnest in her eyes. She bit her lip and considered what
Jacqueline's presence in her kitchen meant.
Slowly Shannon’s brows drew together as her colour began to
drain from her face as understanding crept in. "No," she whispered.
Jacqueline closed her eyes.
Shannon’s grip tightened on Jacqueline’s hips. "Jackie—"
"It's okay, Shannon," she said, drawing her into a hug.
“What happened?” Shannon asked into Jacqueline’s blond hair.
Jacqueline released the hug. "Go get washed up and I’ll explain everything."
-Wishing You Knew, chapter 36

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I’m trying to tell you, but I turned away
And every chance is one I failed to take
And everything now is starting to show
My heart’s on my sleeve, or it’s on the floor
I’m trying feel confident and strong
But the words coming out they’re jumbled and wrong
I’m breathing so fast I can’t catch my breath
And it goes around and around in my head
And I can’t find the words, the words that need to be said
Secrets and smiles that get lost in the dark
Where I wanna feel that little spark
And I’ll be the one who tries to hold on
And you’ll be the one who drags me along
I needed to go, but I wanted to stay
Where all of these words I’ve been trying to say
They hang in the air and get left unsaid
And it goes around and around in my head
And these words remain unsaid
And when the words finally come
And I’m tired of feeling numb
Your words are all I want
Your voice is all I need
Running
Around and around in my head
And these words remain unsaid.
- and these words remain unsaid, chapter 30

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Shannon’s senses went into overdrive as soon as they stepped inside. From the street, the restaurant appeared unassuming, but inside it was a vibrant space filled with colour and noise. The deep reds and golds warmed up the room, while the steady clatter of plates and the
layered murmur of conversation made
everything feel hectic and alive. The smells
emanating from all of the unfamiliar dishes
were intoxicating and unlike anything she had encountered before. A new world, brought on
by culinary exploration, was presented in
neat little steam baskets.
-Wishing You Knew, chapter 13