iiinova — where your digital self keeps evolving

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 03/03/2026

From WIP 3, aka: The First Lesbian Book Club That's one way to get rid of someone... Fish, murder (sort of), & it's at Union Station, which is nearish Lake Ontario #sapphicmoon #sapphic #sapphicauthors #sapphicwriters #writintprompt #lesfic #authorpromo 🌈✒️ #WriteSky #WritingCommunity

A black background image with an old-fashioned typewriter on the bottom right. There is white text overlaying the image. The text reads:

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

182

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 01/03/2026

#WIPSnips March 1: Face Shannon means business, Jackie. You better do what she says... #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ #lesfic #sapphic #QueerWriters

A black background image with an old-fashioned microphone at the bottom right. There is white text that overlays the image. The text reads:

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

0121

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 28/02/2026

I'm in! I adjusted my Big Gay Agenda & started writing Big Gay Books as my way of fighting book bans & censorship! In fact, WIP3 is about a group of pissed off lesbians fighting back against censorship! #SapphicBooks #LGBTQBooks #QueerLit #BookBans #FightCensorship #BookSky #AuthorSky #lesfic 🌈✒️

a black background photo with an old-fashioned typewriter at the bottom of the right. There is white text overlaying the image. It reads:

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.

0192

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 25/02/2026

My current WIP (3) is a comedy about pissed off, bookish lesbians in 1954 doing crime & having fun doing it. It has a diverse cast, 6 POV (one crit-reader has called me ambitious) "My wife thinks it's funny!" #WIPit #W #Q #A #R #Hu #WF #LGBT #Sapphic #Lesfic #QueerWriters 🌈✒️ #WritingCommunity

A black background image with an old-fashioned typewriter at the bottom right. There is text on the image. It reads:

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.

A black background image with an old fashioned typewriter at the bottom right. There is text overlayed the image, it reads:

The First Lesbian Book Club
low angst
comedy
friends to lovers
spice level medium
forced proximity
Queer women doing crime
diverse cast of charaters
multi POV (6!!!)
Road trips
Lots of books

A queer romance
Currently in progress
ca 44 000 words

There is a 10-point star at the bottom of the image. Inside the star it reads "certified h.e.a"

“So, this one time,” a woman with a thick Norwegian accent said, “my brother og I found a little dynamitt in an old bunker left by the tyskere”
There was another shout from behind the door. A man’s voice, low and growling, reverberated through the bar and into the storage room.
“Tyskere?” Cèilidh interrupted.
The Norwegian looked at her. “Ja, Germans. Dynamitt left by Nazi in Norway.”
“Oh.” Cèilidh 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 fun, so we took the båt out to a scarry and put it in the cracks.”
Beverly, Cèilidh, and a third woman merely blinked at the Norwegian as she went on. Beverly stifled a sneeze. Their perfumes collided in the confined space—too many old flowers warring for dominance—entangled with panic-induced sweat and the tang of drinks long forgotten. The pungency stung the backs of Beverly’s eyes, bringing with it the certainty of a headache gathering its forces.
Just wonderful.
The Norwegian continued, unaware or unbothered by the confusion. “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?”
Beverly stared at the Norwegian. “Bo-ah-t?”
“I think it means boat,” the fourth woman said quietly.
“Ja, båt. B-oa-t,” the Norwegian said, overpronouncing 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?” Beverly asked, amused and impatient.
“Boom!” The Norwegian laughed.
“What did you say your name was?” Cèilidh asked.
“I’m Liv,” the Norwegian said plainly.
Cèilidh nodded. “Well, Liv, have you gone mad?”

0145

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 25/02/2026

Wishing You Knew (WIP2) is a sloth burn, spicy, sapphic romance for people who love character-driven stories. For fans of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo (Jenkins Reid), Breaking Character (Winter) & The Senator's Wife (Lyon) #W #Q #A #R #Hu #WF #LGBT #Sapphic #Lesfic #WriteSky #QueerWriters 🌈✒️

A black background image with text overlaying an image of an old-fashioned microphone. The text reads:
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.

A black background image with a photo of an old-fashioned microphone. There is text on the image. it reads:

Wishing You Knew
A queer romance.
Draft 2 is complete
ca 125,000 words

Jacqueline Lamont has built her life around control and distance, but when her mother falls ill and she's called home, a stubbornly compassionate nurse challenges her carefully constructed life and invites her to risk the connection she's never allowed herself.

Sloth burn
friend to lovers
ice queen
found family
medium spice
ice skating
shrimp

there is a 10-point star. Inside the star it reads "certified h.e.a"

A black background image with text overlaying an image of an old-fashioned microphone. The text reads:

Jacqueline knew the game. She had been playing it for years, and it always started the same way. First, a drink arrived at her table, and a rush of anticipation followed. Then a gesture. Occasionally, someone’s brave enough to approach her outright—though that was rare. That only happened if she was a semi-regular. New patrons made the locals nervous. It took time for people to suss her out, but they always did.
Tonight, it was a Pink Lady, delivered by a waitress over the din of conversation and a Motown song from the jukebox.
Step one.
Jacqueline’s fingers twisted the glass by its stem. She liked gin. Its taste was clean, sharp, and uncomplicated—exactly what Jacqueline liked in her drinks and her women.
She lifted an eyebrow at the waitress. Then her indifferent gaze followed the subtle tilt of the server’s head until it landed on the woman who’d sent the drink.
Next came the gesture—a single red rose. Jacqueline toyed with her silently. She lifted the rose, inhaled its scent, then set it back on the table. Her expression barely shifted, but it was enough.
Step two.
- wishing you knew, chapter 1, page 1

1104

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 25/02/2026

Obligatory: This book was inspired by writing this song, and is featured in chapter 32. Credits: guitar/bass/vocals/drums - me; random squeak that's almost impossible to hear - Sydney (the dog)

010

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 25/02/2026

Hey! Do you like to wait 100s of pages before you get to 🌶️? What about music, '90s nostalgia, and HSC? Are you in the mood for a sapphic second chances romance? Have I got a book for you! #WSPit #WIPSnips #W #Q #A #R #Hu #WF #LGBT #Sapphic #Lesfic #QueerWriters 🌈✒️ #WritingCommunity #amquerying

A black background image with drums stacked at the bottom right. There is text on the image. It reads:
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!

A black and white image of a stage with microphones, amps, and stage lights There is text on the image it reads:
And These Words Remain Unsaid
After their band and friendship fall apart, Julie and Izzy go their separate ways-- until a return home reveals their attraction never actually went away, and forces them to dreal with the hurt for one last chance at saying what they want.
Slow burn
(estranged) friends to lovers
Second chances
Music
90s nostalgia
Small town & big city
lying to themselves

A contemporary queer romance.
Draft 2 is complete
ca 124, 000 words

There is a 10-point star. Inside the star it reads Certified H.E.A

A black background image with white and chrome drums stacked at the bottom right. There is white text on the image. It reads:
Isabell didn’t wake up that morning planning to confront anyone.
She didn’t plan on much. Surviving the day was going to be hard enough.
Moving from Peterborough to Lindsay already felt like punishment. She had left her friends, her house, and the memories of her mother behind—all packed up in neat little boxes and traded for a smaller town, a smaller school, and a bigger silence. It was enough to scare anyone.
Still, Isabell tried to stay optimistic. Some people saw the glass as half full; some saw it as half empty. Isabell saw the glass as an opportunity.
As she biked across town on her way to school, she pictured the kind of life she might have one day: friends she could laugh with and maybe go to the movies or go to the Kawartha Dairy, the best in Canada, according to her dad. He’d promised to take her and her brother that first week, but she’d said no. She wanted to save that experience for her and her new friends.
That was her first mistake.
- And These Words Remain Unsaid, Chapter 1, Page 1

1249

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 24/02/2026

From WIP 1 I, too, wonder these things when I watch cows running in fields. 🐄🐄🐄 #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ #lesfic #sapphic #QueerWriters

a black background image with white and chrome drums stacked on the bottom right. There is white text on the image. It reads:
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

1211

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 23/02/2026

Y'all, I have questions about the world is googling if these are the suggestions for "I accidentally..." I was just looking for what happens if you glue your hand to a book (totally normal research), but now I'm curious what happens if I accidentally summon a lemon 🍋 #amresearching #amwriting #wip

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

110

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 23/02/2026

From WIP 3. I say go for it, Beverly, write your pulp lesbian space romance! 🌈 🚀👩‍🚀👩‍🚀❤️‍🔥 #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ #lesfic #sapphic #QueerWriters

a black background image with a typewriter on the bottom right. White text on the image reads:
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

1213

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 22/02/2026

WIP 2. A big part of Jackie's development is letting people in. For Jackie, sex is easy; intimacy is hard. Shannon constantly pushes Jackie's boundaries, showing her a kindness & physical intimacy that Jackie doesn't know she needs or wants... #QueerPrompts 🌈✒️ #WritingPrompts #Lesfic

a black background image with an old-fashioned microphone on the bottom right. White text on the image reads:

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

150

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 22/02/2026

From WIP 2. Don't worry, Jacqueline, we've all looked like perturbed Canadian geese when we start skating. ⛸️🍁 #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ #lesfic #sapphic #QueerWriters

a black background image with an old-fashioned microphone on the bottom right. There is white text on the image. it reads:
“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

0221

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 20/02/2026

Meet Sydney. Named after Syd Murphy from @annmcman.bsky.social @bywaterbooks.bsky.social "Jericho" because my wife & I read that just before we got her & we 🩷 Syd & Maddie. She's a great writing companion, when not distracting me. #QueerPrompts #sapphic #queerwriters 🌈✒️ #cockerspaniel

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.

A black and tan cocker spaniel trying to sneak her way onto my lap while I'm trying to write. Her legs are up on my lap, her face looking at me with literal and figurative puppy dog eyes. Her body is pushing my left arm away from the computer in an attempt to get me to stop writing. It was partially successful (not pictured)

160

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 20/02/2026

"Delicate" From WIP 2. Those gosh darn musicians are just too much for Shannon #lesficfri #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ #lesfic #sapphic #QueerWriters

A black background image with an old-fashioned microphone in the bottom right corner. There is white text that reads:
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

2135

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 20/02/2026

From WIP 1. It's definitely what I do when I find myself in the beaver-filled hinterlands of Canada #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ #lesfic #sapphic #QueerWriters

A black image with white and chrome stacked drums on the bottom right. There is white text. It reads:

“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

0243

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 19/02/2026

From WIP 1. Charlie Brewer is many things. Subtle is not one of them. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ #lesfic #sapphic #QueerWriters

a black background picture with white and chrome drums stacked on the bottom right. Text on the image reads:
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

1183

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 14/02/2026

I couldn't decide and I'm going to be gone next week, so there's two today, because yay love! First one "sweetheart" second one vibes. Both from WIP 2. ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤🩷 #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ #lesfic #sapphic #QueerWriters

A black background image with an old-fashioned microphone on the bottom right. White text is on the left side. It reads:

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

A black background image. On the bottom right is an old-fashioned microphone. On the left is white text that reads:

“Ma douce et belle Jacqueline. Je ne peux m’imaginer ma vie sans toi, mon amie, mon cœur. Je t’aimerai toujours.”
-wishing you knew, chapter 38

1203

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 13/02/2026

#lesficfri : Tremble There were 9 different trembles in WIP 2. But here Shannon's trembling is 100% caused by Jacqueline. 👀🌶️ #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ #lesfic #sapphic #QueerWriters

A black background image with an old-fashioned microphone on the bottom right. There is white text on the image. It reads:

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

073

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 11/02/2026

From WIP 1 Yes, Izzy, keep your eyes on the road and listen to Fountains of Wayne! #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #lesfic 🌈✒️

A black background photo with white and chrome drums at the bottom right. There is white text on the photo. It reads:

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

1273

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 10/02/2026

From one of my favourite scenes in WIP 2. 🥢🍜 🦐🦐🦐 ❤️ Shannon #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #lesfic 🌈✒️

a black background image with an old-fashioned microphone on the bottom right. There is white text, it reads:

“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

2242

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 09/02/2026

From WIP 3. Cèilidh was the distraction... There's been a lot of research about smells and perfume for this book. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPromtps 🌈✒️ #lesfic

a black background image with a typewriter on the bottom right hand side White text is on the image and it reads:
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

1264

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 07/02/2026

From WIP 1. Drummer jokes, band meltdowns, and second chance meet-cutes, oh my! #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ #lesfic

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

0192

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 07/02/2026

I'll throw the blurb for 3 up so you can read it. But to answer your question, glue smells and they need to come up with a way to hide the smell. So they get creative. I've also noticed that in the first chapter at least, I've relied quite a bit more on smell than I have previously

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.

110

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 07/02/2026

The new @marinestjean.bsky.social finally came in the mail and I'm stoked to finally get a chance to read more than snippets! #BookSky #Lesfic #reading #WritingCommunity 🌈✒️ #sapphicbooks #queerbooks

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.

281

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 05/02/2026

From WIP 2: Did the temperature just drop in here? 🧊🥶❄️ #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #lesfic 🌈✒️

a black background image with white text on the left/centre and an old-fashioned microphone on the bottom right. The text reads:

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

0304

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 03/02/2026

This is the epitome of confidence, both words and vibes. Brava, Izzy! #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #lesfic 🌈✒️

a black background image with white and chrome drums, stacked, at the bottom right. White text is on the left and it reads:
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

0252

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 01/02/2026

From WIP 3. Written, not edited, yesterday. You definitely need to watch out for Norwegians with a båt 🧨🧨🛶 #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #lesfic 🌈✒️

A black background image with an old typerwriter at the bottom right. There is white text. The text reads:
“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

0233

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 01/02/2026

Hi. I'm Mel and I have 3 WIP on the go. WIP # 1 is finished, gone through a round of editing, and is on its 2nd WIP # 2 is finished and is with some beta readers WIP # 3 is in the planning/ very beginning writing stage. #QueerPrompts #WritingCommunity #Writingprompt #Writesky #lesfic ✒️🌈 #booksky

A black background image with text on the left and centre, and a stack of white and chrome drums on the bottom right. The text reads:
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!

A black background image with an old-fashioned microphone with text over it. The text reads:

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, never staying long enough to belong anywhere. Music is her constant. Everything else is temporary. She’s happier that way—or so she tells herself. After all, in 1969, Jacqueline cannot hope for much more without risking the career she has fought so hard to build.
Until a phone call rips her from 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 sharp edges. While everyone else sees a cold, difficult woman, Shannon sees what lies beneath the 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.

2161

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 31/01/2026

From WIP 2 which is set in Toronto iykyk the building in question 🦚 #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #lesfic 🌈✒️

A black background image with an old-fashioned microphone at the bottom right and text on the centre/left. The text reads:

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

0223

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 30/01/2026

The first thing I've been able to post from WIP 3, which was started, officially, this morning. They should have just listened to Clara to begin with! #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ #lesfic

A black background image with white text and a typewriter on the bottom right. The text reads:
“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

3234

Mel Starkicker @starkicker.bsky.social · 26/01/2026

From WIP 2. Library goals 📖📚 Also, not me setting up WIP 3 in WIP 2... 👀 #WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #lesfic 🌈✒️

A black background image with an old fashioned microphone on the bottom right. On the left is white text from a work in progress. it reads:
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

0203