Tag: writing

Sneak Peek: Her Runaway Lady

BJ Sikes, author1 Comment

My latest release, Her Runaway Lady, a sapphic historical romance, releases on 1 May 2026.

Preorder it here: https://books2read.com/u/bWDKAY

Updated direct Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GX558VGX

Here’s a sneak peek of Chapter one, where we meet Solange, our protagonist.

Solange ran her cold fingers across the crown of the hat she was working on, its velvet soft under her fingertips. A draft rattled the millinery’s floor-to-ceiling windows and plucked at the hem of her skirts. She shivered. Madame Poulet kept her establishment colder than Solange would like. Surely she could afford a little more wood for the stove.

Solange had become head trimmer at Madame Poulet’s after five years of hard work and one day, she hoped to take over the millinery. Then she would properly heat the workroom.

Dreams were lovely but at present, she had yet another bonnet to make for the middle-class women in the third arrondissment. She stood up from her workbench and stretched. The stool rocked on its uneven legs. When she was in charge of the shop, she was going to fix that wobbly stool, but not today. She was too busy trimming hats to bother fixing furniture. The flame of the oil lamp flickered as she walked by it to the framers’ bench.

“Jeanne, have you finished the frame for Madame Thibault’s bonnet? She’s expecting it to be finished the day after tomorrow.”

The framer peeked up from her work. “Just about.”

Solange leaned over to the framers’ bench, cluttered with wire and pieces of buckram. The smell of the pungent glue the framers used tickled her nose. She peered down at the bonnet frame in Jeanne’s hands. “Hold on. It’s twisted right there. The wire isn’t smooth.”

Jeanne huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes. “I know but I’ve already stitched it down. It’ll take ages to redo. Can’t you hide it with some trim?”

Solange grimaced. She could cover the flawed frame with some cleverly applied trim but she disliked poor quality.

Madame called through the tapestry curtain dividing the workroom and the shop, “We don’t produce shoddy work in this establishment, Jeanne. Fix the frame.”

Jeanne and Solange exchanged rueful looks. Madame heard and saw everything.

Jeanne shoved the frame away and twisted her face into a grimace. “It’s going to take ages to fix this and I’m already behind.” Jeanne’s voice trembled.

Solange squeezed her shoulder and took the frame. “No, it won’t. You just have to unstitch the end and twist it smooth with the pliers. It’ll be fast. Here, let me show you.”

Jeanne passed the little pliers to Solange and helped brace the frame. Within a few minutes, the frame brim was smooth and the stitches replaced.

“That’s amazing! Merci. How did you learn to do that?” Jeanne’s brown eyes shone.

Solange grinned and tipped her chin up, filled with pride. “I’ve done every job in this shop. I was a framer before being promoted to trimmer. And before that, I was an errand girl like Amelie.”

“You know all the tricks. You’ll have to show me more.”

“Not today, my friend, I have far too much work of my own.”

Solange sauntered over to the commodious fabric cupboard that stretched along most of one wall, and rummaged through for the fine grey wool the customer had requested to cover the bonnet. It was to be an everyday hat, something to keep off the rain, so Solange couldn’t indulge herself creating elaborate embroidery or plumage. Still, it would be elegant. She would make sure of that. Nothing left her bench that wasn’t at least elegant. Solange carried the bonnet frame back to her workbench and sat down on the rickety stool.

She glanced over at Yvette, her fellow trimmer. The woman was close to her age and heavily pregnant. Today was her last day of work at Madame Poulet’s. Solange would miss the competent Yvette with her dry wit.

“Are you ready to give up work to stay home with the baby, Yvette?”

Yvette rubbed her back and stretched. “Oh yes, and it will be good to put my feet up for a bit before the baby arrives. My ankles are huge. And my fingers are sausages!” She showed her swollen hands to Solange.

“Poor you! How can you sew when you can’t bend your fingers?” Solange inwardly berated herself for not noticing Yvette’s puffy fingers earlier. 

Yvette shrugged. “It’s awkward.”

Solange pushed the wool for the bonnet frame over to Yvette. “Here, why don’t you cut the fabric for this and I’ll finish sewing on that trim. You can manage the scissors, right?”

Yvette took the fabric and smiled at Solange. “You’re sweet. I can manage cutting, I think.”

Solange nodded and picked up the hat Yvette had been working on. The little hat had tight spots to angle a needle into. It was no wonder Yvette had struggled. Solange bit her lip and held the hat up to the light for a better view. The light from the tall windows was meagre today, obscured by the rain sluicing down the glass. Daytime rain. It was so inconvenient.

“I miss the guaranteed sunny days before they turned off the Weather Machines, don’t you?”

Yvette’s gaze bounced from Solange then to the curtain dividing the room from the shop. “Hush, who knows who could hear you?”

Solange sighed and slumped a little against her corset. “I know. Forbidden technology. Unnatural. But I really would like a little more sunlight to work by.”

Madame swished into the room. “Light another oil lamp if you need more light. And don’t speak so loudly if you’re going to say such things.” She strolled the room, inspecting her hat makers’ work, and commenting on flaws that would need repair. She hovered next to the trimmers and frowned. “Solange, I thought you were trimming Madame Thibault’s bonnet. Why is Yvette doing it?”

Solange held the tiny hat Yvette had been struggling with up to Madame for inspection. “We switched. This one’s too difficult for her pudgy little fingers now.”

Yvette and Solange grinned at each other.

Madame reached down and took hold of Yvette’s hand. “Mon dieu! Your fingers are like sausages.”

“That’s what I said, Madame.” Yvette’s tone was dry. “Sausages. They don’t look like fingers anymore.”

Madame stroked Yvette’s hand with her own gnarled one, then patted her shoulder. “That’s it. No more work for you. I can’t possibly make you work in this state. And don’t worry about your pay, you’ll get your full day’s pay. Now off you go.”

Yvette murmured her thanks and stood awkwardly, her belly enormous under her skirts. The others came to embrace her and offer words of encouragement. Finally she held her hands out to Solange, a smile wreathing her face. “Thank you so much for everything. You’ve been a delightful work mate. Someday it’ll be your turn to leave to have your own family.”

Solange smiled in response and shook her head. “Do you know how many sisters and brothers I have? I don’t need my own children. I’ll be swimming in nieces and nephews in a few years. Isabelle’s first is due soon.”

Yvette shook her head. “It’s not the same as having your own.”

“As you will soon find out. Let’s get you moving. We don’t want to keep you on your feet.” Solange cocked her head and smiled a half-smile. “I’ll miss you. Be well.”

Then Yvette was gone, in a flurry of called out farewells and waves. The workroom was too quiet without her. Solange took a sip of her vervaine tisane and made a face. It had gone cold, and the lemony taste bittered. Yvette’s parting words about Solange having children of her own had made her pause. She had never wanted babies, especially after seeing Maman struggle so many times. And children were expensive. Not to mention, a man would be required and Solange knew she wasn’t interested in men. So there would be no husband, no children for her. She would be unencumbered, free to pursue her dream of being a successful businesswoman. And lovely ladies were too much of a distraction, so no special friends either.

But how was she going to finish all these hats without Yvette? With a groan, she sank onto the wobbly stool and picked up Yvette’s unfinished hat.

C’s Five Point Process for Characters

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Someone recently asked about character development and I remembered this blog post by c-is-for-circinate. I’ve used the following questions from that post for all my protagonists and antagonists since writing my debut novel:

C’s Five-Point Process For Figuring Out Multidimensional, Plot-Relevant Characters

  1. What did this person want, before everything began?
    (This isn’t one thing.  This is a list.  Everybody wants lots of things.  Think about how much your character wants stuff.  Think about priorities.  They wanted to conquer the world.  They wanted a bowl of ice cream.  Which one did they want more?  What was more important?  Remember to include things your character doesn’t even consciously think about wanting.)
  2. How did they intend to get it?
    (‘They didn’t intend to get it at all’ is a completely valid answer for all kinds of things your character wanted.  ’They didn’t think they could’ or ‘they wanted this other thing more’ are all real.  ’They weren’t sure’ is a little bit incomplete—were they trying to figure out a plan?  Were they waiting to see what came along?  ’Trying to plan’ and ‘waiting’ are both choices and action plans.  Remember that even a character who does very little is choosing, constantly, to do that.)

    [EVENTS TRANSPIRED]
  3. Now what do they want?
    (How is this different from #1?  What shifted?  How do they feel about that?  Are they resentful?  Scared?  Excited?  Resigned?  Relieved?  What priorities have completely dropped off your character’s radar?  What new things have come up?  How much of that are they conscious of themselves?)
  4. How do they intend to get that?
    (They don’t need to make a full-on action plan right away.  Reflexes count here too.  Just like a goal can be unconscious, so can a reaction.  Is a plan from before going to be backburnered?  Is something previously filed as ‘unattainable’ suddenly attainable?)
  5. How do those actions affect the plot?
    (This one is super, super important for creating a character that feels relevant and has agency.  They don’t have to get what they’re after.  But your character is going to want something, and take action to want something, and those actions should have material consequences, not just for that character but for the story as a whole.  This is one problem that female characters often have—they make other characters’ difficulties harder or easier, but their actions do not actually change the outcome of events.)

It seems simple but it’s soooo powerful. You really get to the heart of the character arc. There will be a lot more character work to do after answering the questions but these five questions are a great start.

SNEAK PEAK: The Cultist’s Wife

BJ Sikes, author1 Comment

I published The Cultist’s Wife on the 1st May 2024 (YES, FINALLY) so for my dearest subscribers, I am giving you a sneak peak. This is the first scene of the book. Enjoy!

Near Bath, England, 1908

Fragrant smoke swirled around Clara, its spicy, musky scent relaxing her. She breathed deeply, released from her corset’s constraints. She was free for at least an hour or two this morning before her obligations descended again. Clara’s heavy silk robe caressed her body and she shivered with pleasure. She settled more comfortably onto the large cushion on the floor of her darkened sitting room and focused on the single candle flame in front of her.

A childish voice shrieked outside her sitting room. Clara sighed and glanced at the door.

Can’t Nanny manage the children for an hour? I just need some time to myself.

The noise faded and her sitting room grew quiet. She took a long steadying breath, trying to regain her inner peace. Her reading into Esoterica and Spiritualism had hinted at possibilities of life beyond the constraints and expectations of society. Her marriage, her home, even having children had all been others’ choices. She needed guidance on how to become her own person, to find her own happiness. Her knees ached as she knelt on the cushion, and she shifted. Her feet were numb and tingling. She wiggled her toes and exhaled.

How do the gurus sit like this for hours?

Gathering her focus again, she determined to sit still until her spirit guide manifested and gave her the advice she sought. She had never actually seen her spirit guide or spoken to him, but her references assured her of his presence. She just needed to focus long enough. It had been so much easier to see the spirit world when she was a child. Clara leaned forward and sprinkled more incense on the brazier. A cloud billowed up and she watched as patterns formed in the musky, intoxicating smoke. Coughing a little, Clara squinted in the darkness.

Was that a face in the smoke? Could he be manifesting to her finally?

Clara struggled to sit still. Her body tensed with excitement and her breathing came fast and shallow. The image coalesced further, and the face began to look familiar. She squinted in the gloom.

That face…it’s so familiar. Who is it? Oh no…it can’t be…

Disappointment fell heavy upon her. The face in the smoke resembled her long-absent husband Theophilus. But why would her spirit guide look like him? Clara scowled at the likeness of her husband’s face. This apparition couldn’t be her spirit guide. She had somehow conjured up a vision of Theophilus. Her heart thumped hard. Why should he appear to her now when he had been in the Bahamas for five years? Was he dead and his ghost was haunting her? As if in answer to her questioning, the mouth opened in a silent scream and the eyes grew wide in terror. Clara gasped and cringed back from the brazier. Cold crept across her skin. She shivered and reached for her shawl, draping it around her shoulders without shifting her stare from the phantasm. It continued to scream without making a sound, its gaping mouth opening and closing. She pulled the shawl closer, her hands clenching the fabric.

The ghosts I saw as a child never looked like that. I don’t think he’s dead. Perhaps he’s in danger.

The smoke drifted higher, and the phantasm dissipated. Tears filled her eyes. Clara rose off her pillow, wincing at the tingling in her feet. Theophilus’s portrait above the mantel, illuminated by the single candle, glared down at her. Life with that cold, brutal man had been joyless. She glowered back at the image, wishing she had the courage to take the painting down.

I wanted insight into becoming happy. Does the road to my happiness lie with helping Theophilus?

She shook her head, remembering all the times when he had laughed at her spiritual explorations. He would find it ludicrous if she told him about having a vision of him being in trouble. But she had been seeking guidance from her spirit guide. Would she have to go to the Bahamas to help Theophilus? She paced across the little sitting room to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes. The misty green countryside stretched away into the distance.

I don’t want to leave England to be with Theophilus. He’ll take over my life like he did when he was here.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she gulped, trying to suppress them. They poured hot down her cheeks. Clara pressed her trembling hands against her face, but the tears kept coming. Her sobs shook her body and she moaned, trying to catch her breath.

Stop it, stop it. Control yourself, Clara.

She shoved a fist into her mouth to stifle the undignified sounds and sank to her knees, head resting on the windowsill. She fought the urge to shriek her fury.

I can’t go. I hate him. I hate him.

Clara sucked in a harsh breath, shuddering. The anger dissipated as quickly as it had overtaken her, leaving Clara weak and empty, her face wet. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her tears away. She’d need to repair her ravaged face before tea. She looked back at the brazier. The manifestation had been so vivid. Was it a true seeing or guilt over her hatred of her husband? She couldn’t give up her quest for happiness to go to Theophilus because of this vision. Could she?

On a remote island in the Bahamas, Clara is drawn into her husband’s cloistered cult. As her children explore, they reveal the cult’s corruption but no one will listen. Will Clara realize the danger they’re all in?

Get your copy online:
https://books2read.com/CultistsWife