Our Interview with B.J. Hill,  author of Victoria Falls

 

​​Without further ado; welcome BJ - !  Let's get started...

​

How long have you known that you wanted to be a writer? 

 

  I don’t know that there was ever one defining moment when I decided I wanted to be a writer. I’ve always been drawn to words.

 

  In high school, writing came naturally, and by college I was intentionally choosing jobs that involved it—journalism, curriculum development, editing—anything that let me create with language. I actually wrote my first (and only, until my first published novel) fiction story in second grade. I piggy-backed off another student’s idea to create an imaginary world where crayons were the characters. Even then, I loved how a blank page could become a world—but I didn’t believe I was imaginative enough to make something truly my own. So I stayed where writing felt safe: academic, structured, professional.

 

  Then, in my early thirties, something changed. I started reading women’s fiction and romance, and it felt like finding a missing piece of myself. The emotion, the depth, the sacred way those stories treated love and loss—it woke something in me. For the first time, I didn’t just want to write; I needed to. 

 

  My first novel was born from that need. I wrote it while I was processing personal trauma, and instead of journaling the details of what had happened to me, I poured my pain into a story about characters who were in even more pain than I was. It was cathartic. It was necessary. And somewhere in that process, the story became something entirely other. The characters stopped being reflections of my grief and became their own people—real, complex, alive. I didn’t create them; they revealed themselves to me.

 

  That was the beginning of my Natural Wonders series. Each character’s story feels like a gift that was given to me to pass along. Writing them has made me come alive in ways I never knew possible. It’s how I heal, how I connect, and how I give something meaningful back to the world. My books aren’t written as an escape; they’re written as a mirror—for anyone who’s ever felt unseen, unknown, or too broken to be understood. When you read a book by B.J. Hill, you are less alone. Less other. Less broken. Well—maybe not less broken, but you know that healing is within reach, and that it’s okay not to be there yet...

 

If you could list 2-3 books that changed your life or perspective: what would they be and why? 

 

  That’s a tall order—only two or three? But if I absolutely have to choose, these are the ones that left marks on my soul.

 

  1. Harry Potter (the entire series—yes, I’m counting it as one book) I know the author is not someone I’d hold up as a role model, but I’d be lying if I left Harry Potter off this list. I first read Sorcerer’s Stone in sixth grade, when I was the same age as Harry. Maybe it was timing, or maybe it was pure magic, but that was the first time I ever completely disappeared inside a book. It made me fall in love with reading in a way I’ve never fallen out of.  Life got busy after book four, and I drifted away from reading for fun, but when I picked the series back up in my twenties, it hit in a totally different way. What was once escapism became a mirror. I saw courage, found friendship, and realized that even in the darkest seasons, light and love still win. That series reawakened something in me. Since rereading Harry Potter, I can’t think of a time I wasn’t reading. It reminded me why books matter—how they root you, anchor you, and bring you back to yourself.

 

  2. The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence.  A close friend gave me this during seminary—which was ironic, because seminary was the most spiritually suffocating season of my life. My faith was buried under theological systems, academic expectations, and debates about the “right” way to know God.  And then this little book by a 17th-century monk cracked my world right open.  Brother Lawrence wasn’t eloquent or academic; he was simple. Quiet. Steady. His entire theology was the nearness of God in ordinary moments. He made holiness feel less like perfection and more like awareness. Reading him felt like exhaling after years of spiritual striving.  He reoriented my entire faith. He taught me to stop obsessing over doing things “for” God and instead to simply be with God. He softened my theology. He restored my peace. To this day, when life feels loud or faith feels complicated, I return to that book. It reminds me that God is not waiting to be found in some higher place—He’s already here, woven into the ordinary moments we rush past.

 

  3. Ryan’s Bed by Tijan This book… wrecked me. And not in the dramatic “this book gave me a hangover” way. I mean truly, viscerally shook me. The last line hit me so hard that I couldn’t read anything else for weeks afterward. I immediately reread the book like four times. It was one of the most beautifully painful reading experiences of my life.And to be completely honest, Ryan’s Bed is the book that pushed me over the edge into writing romance. I’d already been toying with the idea, but realizing that a single line from a story could affect me that deeply—could sit with me, haunt me, move me for literal weeks—that did me in. That was the moment I realized, “I want to do that. I want to write stories that hit people in their bones.”We’ve talked about this. Every time I see Tijan I remind her that she destroyed me. She’s entirely unapologetic about it. Good for her.

 

What advice would you give to a new writer? What have you found to be the most challenging part of being a writer? Why?

 

  I have two pieces of advice for a new writer.

 

  First would be to write honestly, and trust yourself. Don’t write for an audience. Writing a story is difficult enough as it is, but when you toss in writing for an audience instead of writing from what comes naturally within yourself, you’re doing nothing to help yourself. Don’t make an uphill battle, uphill both ways. 

  Second would be to surround yourself with a group of authors and industry friends you trust who are strong where you are not, because just like most things in life, being an author takes a village. This ties into the second part of your question.  The most challenging part of being a writer, for myself, is time management. I have ADHD—and not the cute kind people like to joke around about. I have the “B.J. didn’t take her meds today and now she is a completely useless lump of flesh in the corner of the couch” kind. Talking about our weaknesses openly is terrifying, especially when so many people in life prove themselves untrustworthy. But having a tribe of industry friends I can be completely open and honest with about my fears, insecurities, and weaknesses is honestly the only reason I can call myself a published author. Without them, I would never meet a deadline, would never fully flesh out a story, and would forget to take my meds more often than I remember.If you don’t believe me, go read the acknowledgements section at the end of my latest book. It’s insanely long, and that’s because so many people contributed to my finishing that story.

 

Why did you specifically decide to write contemporary romance?

 

  Simply put, contemporary romance sits at the perfect intersection of fiction and real life. Would I love to one day write an epic fantasy? Maybe. But that’s not how my brain works—at least not right now. I love reading fantasy and romantasy, but I’ve never finished a book about magic, fae, or shifters and thought, “This is my realm.”  My passion lies in confronting the parts of ourselves we often overlook—the things we don’t know how, or maybe don’t want, to face. I write stories that hold a mirror up to real people and real emotions, not a portal to a fantasy world. My books aren’t about billionaires or the mafia or anything that feels like an escape. They’re about ordinary people navigating heartbreak, hope, desire, and healing—the kind of stories that could happen on a random Tuesday afternoon.  That’s what I love about contemporary romance—it meets you exactly where you are. It can be an escape, yes—but it can also be an awakening. It’s the genre that reminds us love doesn’t have to be perfect or dramatic to be transformative. It can be quiet, human, messy, and real.

 

What or who was the inspiration for your characters?

 

  This is always a tricky question because the truth is… my characters aren’t based on anyone. Not really. They’re not composites of people I know or stitched-together traits from friends and family. The stories are what mirror reality—situations I’ve lived through myself or experiences someone close to me has shared. The emotional landscape comes from real life. But the characters? They are wholly their own.  For me, everything begins with a story quietly weaving itself together in my mind. It’s like threads start connecting long before I consciously understand where they’re going. And then, out of nowhere, a character steps forward fully formed and introduces themselves.It’s not, “Let me build you.”It’s “Hi, I’m Alis/Tori/Skye. And I’ve felt this pain. Let me tell you about it.”That’s really how it feels: I am a 37-year-old woman with a whole cast of imaginary friends, and they reveal themselves to me one by one. I don’t shape them—they arrive already shaped. I don’t have to force their backstories or personalities; they show up with them. My job is simply to listen, pay attention, and write the truth they hand me.So while the themes and circumstances are drawn from real life, the characters are not reflections of anyone I know. They are their own people from the very moment they pop into my brain, and I consider it a privilege that they let me tell their stories.

 

Is there a specific trope that you will never use? Why?

 

  Honestly? No. There isn’t a single trope I’d rule out. I literally just messaged one of my best friends about a horror novel that came to me last year—something completely outside my brand—and I know I have to write it someday. It won’t be soon, and I’ll probably co-write it with a darker writer (my friend), but that experience alone reminded me that I will never say “never” to creativity.I’ve always believed that a person’s creativity is the most raw and vulnerable look into their soul. It should be complex, messy, beautiful, and unpredictable. Nothing is off the table. And frankly, nothing should ever be off the table.There’s absolutely nothing wrong with authors who write to specific tropes—those stories are beloved for a reason. I just don’t function that way. I don’t sit down and say, “Okay, for this story I’m writing these tropes.” I write the story that shows up, the characters who introduce themselves, and the emotional journey that demands to be told. After it’s written, my PA and I sit down and identify what tropes naturally appeared so we can use them in marketing materials.So no—there’s no trope I’d ban from my writing. If a story wants to arrive, I’m not going to shut the door on it.

 

It seems that the main characters in your books go through a lot.

 

  There seems to be a sort of personal redemption for each character. It might seem obvious: but why was this story element important for you to explore?  I know that so many people read to escape reality. And that’s great. I’ve done it plenty of times myself. But the books that stick—the ones that absolutely change my life and make me want to meet the author and say, “I could not have survived that season without your words”—those books are not escapes. They’re the ones that confront the harshest parts of my life and still somehow tell me, “You’re not alone in this.”  I recently met one of my favorite authors, Lauren Rowe, and I cried telling her how much her books meant to me. When I said, “I know your books and I know your characters,” I wasn’t sure if she believed me. But then she asked if I enjoyed a particular book—mind you, a book I read back in December 2019—and I looked her in the face and said, “Yes. That book helped me work through a very specific area of sexual shame in my life.”  And I meant it. I described the exact scene where Lydia (the FMC) did something most readers would consider completely normal in a romance novel… but it shocked me. I had never read anything like it. That one scene cracked open years of unnecessary shame I’d carried because of religious oppression and patriarchal manipulation. It gave me the language to bring it to my therapist. And I actually healed from it.  It literally changed my life.  And that is the heartbeat behind everything I write. I know—through lived, personal experience—that books change people. They name things we’ve been afraid to say out loud. They hold up a mirror and say, “See? You’re still worthy. You’re still lovable. You’re still human.”  My stories are filled with unapologetically unfiltered life and love because that’s the kind of storytelling that changed me. My characters go through hell because people go through hell. And redemption isn’t about magically fixing everything—it’s about finding hope in the ruins, choosing yourself again, and realizing you’re not alone in the process.  Life is fucking painful. We’re going to talk about it. We’re going to walk through it. We’re going to face the parts most people avoid. And—whether through fiction or reality—we’re going to get through it together.

 

In Victoria Falls- despite trying – Victoria finds her parents unrepentant in their attitude towards her life decisions. How do you feel that Victoria rose to the challenge?

 

  Oh, I see what you’re doing with this one. Trying to get me in trouble. *lol*.  To make something absolutely clear: it wasn’t both parents. Her father was unrepentant. Her mother is more a victim of circumstance. She’s a woman who grew up in a heavily patriarchal religious culture, and when you’ve lived inside that mindset for sixty-plus years—surrounded only by people who reinforce it—changing your way of thinking is not simple. It isn’t quick. It isn’t painless. It’s dismantling your entire worldview.  Her father… well, he’s a different story. I still want to punch him in the throat, and if I extend him any grace at all, it’s microscopic—to the point of barely existing. But her mother? She’s held hostage by her upbringing, her fear, and the only framework she’s ever known… and even though I want better from her, I understand why she struggles to break free. Very different dynamics, even if the outcome looks the same on the surface.  Complete transparency? The chapter where Tori’s mother gives her that terrible marriage advice on the porch swing—that chapter nearly ended me. There are two chapters in this book that had me hyperventilating, crying while writing them, and that was the first. Not just because I have received that exact advice before, but because I have given it. Full stop.  There was a time in my life where I looked a dear friend in the face—a friend who came to me for safety and understanding when her soon-to-be husband was manipulative and abusive—and my indoctrinated conservative Christian brain told her that he would be better if she was better. I thank God every day that she did not take my advice. She left his ass, married someone else, and is now happy and thriving with a beautiful family.  I understand Tori’s mother. I wish she had been given a different life, a different framework, a different kind of freedom. But I’m also grateful for the other conversations she has with Tori throughout the book and the supportive, loving woman you begin to see as the story goes on.  As for Tori herself—quite honestly, I don’t think she would have ever walked away from that life if Chase hadn’t been so deeply broken. She rose to the challenge because she had been mentally and emotionally worn down for so long that the only way out was through. And speaking from personal experience (not from my husband), when a person or a system beats you down long enough, you reach this moment where you snap.  You know for years that something is off. You feel it in your bones. You try to adapt. You try to make yourself smaller. You try to be who the system tells you to be. And then something happens—an injustice so sharp and undeniable—that you can’t minimize it anymore. You can’t rationalize it. You can’t pretend it’s normal. The rose-tinted glasses don’t just come off; they shatter. And once they’re gone, you will never put them back on.  Tori reached that moment. And once she did, it truly didn’t matter what her parents thought. Their approval was no longer worth her sanity. Their expectations were no longer worth her soul.  You cannot gaslight someone who’s wearing a gas mask. And Tori had finally learned how to breathe clean air.  She was done. Utterly, completely, irrevocably done.

 

Modern day romance often can be light and a “easy read”. Your books are very  realistic, gritty and emotional. What specifically made you decide to explore your characters in this way? 

 

  Simply put: because my life has never been simple, neat, or easily categorized—and neither are the lives of the people I love. I wasn’t raised in a picture-perfect, two-parent, white-fence family. I grew up watching a single mother fight for everything she had. I grew up surrounded by complicated relationships, blended families, loss, trauma, reconciliation, faith, doubt, survival, resilience… real life.  And later, as a young adult, I walked straight into religious environments that demanded I make myself small, that told me who I was “supposed” to be, and that ultimately punished me—and my husband—for refusing to fit into their boxes. I’ve lived through spiritual oppression, family fractures, rebuilding trust, cultural expectations, and the brutal process of unlearning shame. I know what it’s like to be invisible in spaces where you’re supposed to belong.  All of that—the mess, the beauty, the contradictions, the clawing-your-way-out-of-something-hard—that’s the lens I see the world through. So when my characters show up, they show up carrying real wounds, real histories, real grit. I don’t create them to be gritty; that’s just who they are. I write the emotional realities I understand. I write the battles people actually fight. I write the resilience I’ve witnessed firsthand.Light, fun romance is wonderful—and absolutely has its place. But the stories that change me aren’t the easy ones. They are the ones that confront shame, break silence, and make me feel seen. I write the way I write because I want to offer that same honesty to readers who have lived through hard things and been told to stay quiet about them.My books are gritty because life is gritty. My characters are emotional because real people are emotional. And I explore them with that level of depth because I believe stories should make people feel less alone—especially in the places they’ve been taught to hide.

 

They say characters live “rent free in your head”...... so currently who is there for you?

 

  Right now? Skye and Jake. And they are absolutely feral in there. Well, Skye is. Jake has a stick shoved so far up his ass I want to clock him. (And no, it’s not the fun kind.)I’m trying to get this book finished before the end of December for its March release, and these two are driving me up a wall. I knew their story was going to be deeply traumatic—there are things I cannot discuss in this interview, but let’s just say the Easter eggs have already been dropped in previous books. I thought I was prepared.  I was not.  Just last night, an entirely new layer of complexity showed up in their relationship. Something I hadn’t planned for, hadn’t even considered, but the second it surfaced I knew it was necessary for the story to become what it’s meant to be.  These two fight. A lot. Which means they make up. A lot. 

They’re loud, stubborn, emotionally messy, and very much alive in my head right now—and I’m just trying to keep up long enough to get their story on the page.  What I can tell you is that Skye has given him the nickname “Missionary Jake.” His mother overhears her call him that one day… and she thinks it refers to his time serving in the Peace Corps.  It is not about his time serving in the Peace Corps.

 

Is there any type of MMC/ FMC that is your favorite? Why?

 

  I want to say they’re all my favorites—because they are. But also… they aren’t. That makes sense, right?Honestly, the more complicated the character, the better. And if we’re talking favorite MMC in this series right now? It’s the lead for book four—Flinders Chase.Yes, you’re assuming correctly: My favorite MMC in this entire series is Chase Martin.That Chase Martin. The man who tore down his wife for more than a decade with cruel words and a broken soul until she finally snapped, left him, and rebuilt her life on her own terms. (Yay, Tori! She’s a badass and we love her.)I know readers hate him right now. They’re supposed to hate him. Honestly, the hardest part of writing Victoria Falls wasn’t the religious trauma—it was writing Tori’s emotional trauma at the hands of Chase. It took everything in me not to give her even a drop of omniscience, not to soften what he did or what she felt.My PA and I spent more hours on the phone processing how painful it was to write him than any other part of the book. I had to be brutally honest about his selfishness, his manipulation, his brokenness. I had to let Tori feel every ounce of it without rescuing her or smoothing the edges.Which is why I cannot wait for everyone to read his book. Yes—he’s my favorite. Hands down.FMCs? Lord help me. I don’t even know where to begin. Again—the more complicated, the better. Can I just tell you why I love each of the FMCs in this series? Is that okay?Alis—I adore her because she’s analytical and convinced she’s not romantic, yet she’s a poet without realizing it. She’s the least self-aware character I’ve ever written, and it’s adorable. She’s the true embodiment of “she’s beautiful and doesn’t even know it,” except it’s her mind that’s beautiful.Tori—I love her because I’ve felt so much of what she has felt. And because she sees herself as average, beige, forgettable… when she’s actually fire. Compassionate and sharp, broken and powerful. She’s at a “fuck it” point in her life, but she’s not out to burn the world down—she’s out to reclaim herself.Skye—Fiercely protective, unfiltered, fully herself. People think they understand her, but they absolutely do not. She’s ten layers deeper than anyone expects. I cannot wait for readers to finally see her whole story.Cynthia—You haven’t met her yet. She’s Chase’s FMC in book four, and I love her so much. I won’t give anything away, but just know: she’s not taking any of his shit.Stephanie—You think you know her because of Leo, but you don’t. Her book is numberfive. Readers hate her right now, just like they hate Chase, but I promise: even if you never love her, she is worth understanding. She deserves that.Savannah—Oh, Savannah. Book six is hers. You met her in Northern Lights, but only for a second. You’ll see more of her in book three, and let’s just say… she’s wild. In the best way.

 

At the end of this series, what impression do you want to leave with your readers?

 

  At the end of this series, I want readers to walk away with the sense that healing is possible—even from the things you never thought you’d come back from.These books aren’t about perfect people finding perfect love. They’re about people who are messy, complicated, wounded, stubborn, hopeful, terrified, brave, and human. People who have been shaped by trauma, family expectations, grief, shame, faith, loss, and the quiet ways we learn to survive. People who don’t always make the right choices, but who keep showing up anyway.If there’s one thread that ties all six books together, it’s this: You are allowed to grow. You are allowed to change. You are allowed to outgrow the story you were handed.I want readers to feel seen in the places they’ve spent years hiding. I want them to feel understood in their pain and validated in their longing. I want them to see love that is real—the kind that doesn’t erase your past but teaches you how to live with it in a way that doesn’t suffocate you anymore.These characters aren’t defined by what happened to them. They’re defined by who they choose to become. And that’s the impression I hope stays with readers long after the final page:That growth is possible. That love doesn’t require perfection. That redemption isn’t a fantasy—it’s a choice. And that your story, no matter how chaotic or painful or unfinished it feels, is still worth living.If a reader finishes this series and feels even a little more hopeful about their own life—if they feel less alone, less ashamed, more understood—then I’ve done what I set out to do.