My Writing Journey by Beth Brookhart

Beth Brookhart Author of The Four Queens of the Buttonbush Museum

When I sat down to write The Four Queens of the Buttonbush Museum, I knew I wasn’t exactly hitting the usual marks of “women’s fiction.” No cozy mysteries with quaint teacups and clever cats. No sweeping romances with ripped bodices and heaving bosoms. Just four women with particular agendas, a small-town museum, and a whole lot of mischief.

What I wanted to write was something trickier: a humorous novel. And let’s be honest—humor is a tough nut to crack. It’s very subjective. What one reader finds hilarious, another might find confusing or just ridiculous. But I wanted to write something that made women laugh and nod in recognition at the chaos and charm of everyday female friendships.

It also wasn’t a romance. Let me tell you—romance is hot. Literally. I confirmed this rather dramatically while attending the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books. There were lines wrapped around the block for steamy, steamier, and downright volcanic romance novels. Meanwhile, my book? More lipstick-on-your-teeth than lipstick-on-your-lover. So no, The Four Queens wasn’t going to be anyone’s next swoon-worthy beach read.

So what’s a debut author to do? Find the hook!

I chose the 1950s—not just because I adore the fashion and the cultural quirks—but because I wanted to drop four smart, strong women into a time when the world didn’t quite know what to do with them. That era demanded women be charming and quiet, supportive, and small. My own mother was a textbook example: college-educated, married right after graduation in 1958, and then quickly became “just a housewife.” (Grrrr!) She struggled later on in the work world to be taken seriously.

So the Queens of my novel find power in the one place 1950s women could speak up: volunteering. They’re not museum staff—they’re board members, community leaders, schedule-makers, and clipboard warriors. And whether you’ve planned a Rotary fundraiser, a Junior League soiree, a bake sale, coached a soccer team, or survived the PTA, you know exactly what that kind of volunteer power feels like. And how it can save an organization or run it off the rails.

The Four Queens of the Buttonbush Museum was inspired by my own seventeen years serving on the board of my local museum. It provided countless incidents to fuel my creativity between financial struggles, power struggles, quirky staff and museum members and a host of other oddball incidents that could only happen in a volunteer setting. I know firsthand how volunteers can be the heart, soul, and—occasional headache of any nonprofit. These Queens make some highly questionable decisions and they, at first, have fiercely different ideas of how to save their museum. But their hearts are in the right place. And they do it all with laughter, resilience, and a little lipstick smudged on their teeth.

More than anything, I wanted to write about female friendship. The kind that doesn’t always start smoothly but grows stronger with each shared crisis or success. Women, when they band together, are a force of nature. Even if it takes a few hijinks, misunderstandings, and metaphorical museum fires to get there.

I was over the moon when Sybelline Digital First took a chance on my quirky little novel—despite its noticeable lack of a shirtless hero. Before that? I’d queried agents like a woman possessed. And honestly, the process felt like it was designed by someone who had never actually tried to use it.

Case in point: when I want shoes, I go online, type in exactly what I need—size 8, black patent leather, ankle strap, two-inch heel—and voilà. Options appear instantly. I click, I order, I wear them two days later.

Now, imagine if shopping for shoes were more agents trying to find manuscripts. They’d be blindfolded, shoved into a cavernous closet, and told to find the perfect pair based on a handwritten note taped to a boot. That’s the publishing game.

Agents wade through hundreds of query letters, scanning for the mythical “perfect fit.” They assess tone, pitch, personality, and whether the author properly flattered their dog. Meanwhile, writers are agonizing for hours trying to personalize every letter.

“Dear Ms. Snifflefritz, I understand you enjoy skydiving over the Mediterranean and grow rutabagas in your spare time. I too have eaten vegetables and once saw the sea. Please read my book?”

Exhausting doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Wouldn’t it be smarter—dare I say, revolutionary—to build a searchable platform where agents could filter by exactly what they’re looking for? Genre. Tone. Setting. Themes. Time Period, etc. They could search for “humorous women’s fiction featuring female friendship, set in a 1950s museum.” Boom. Query match made in heaven.

Maybe one day a new band of “Queens” will rise up and build that system. Stranger things have happened.

Until then, I hope you’ll give The Four Queens of the Buttonbush Museum a shot. It’s a love letter to female friendship, flawed progress, and the kind of women who don’t ask for permission—they just show up, clipboards in hand, ready to shake things up (and probably bring snacks).

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Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing