Averil Dean's Blog, page 14

Voodoo

I’ve been quiet this weekend, burying myself in Lana Del Rey playlists and reading how-to guides that advise me to outline, or not outline, or begin with a situation or a setting or a vivid character before anything else. I’ve been scouring the neo-noir and the B-list thrillers, trying to find a new jumping-off point. I’ve taken a bike ride and a long walk, smacking at the grass with a stick in case my story might be down among the prickers.

The problem is I’ve got it in my head that this book...

Ta-da!!

Today I’m pretending the fireworks are all for me.

Peach

There are a lot of things I don’t talk about on this blog. My children, for one. My sex life, my job. Diet, health, exercise. I don’t talk about how I went vegan or when or why, because a) this is a writing blog and b) vegetarians tend to sound like uptight lunatics when the topic arises. My kids showed me this video the other day of some vegan on a rant, accusing everyone else of murder and claiming the moral high ground for himself as a non-murdering environmentalist. He looked ridiculous,...

Grind

Well, the book concept is a non-starter. Too many strikes against it, too much that doesn’t work and can’t be fixed. But I had a great conversation with my agent, who gave me some new ideas about what might work and how I can better incorporate the things I love about the setting and characters into a novel that stands a fighting chance in pub-land.

Them’s the breaks. I’m not willing—at the moment, anyway—to sink a year or more into something that I know from the outset is going to be a tough...

Meadow

“Is there something you’ve always wanted to do, but never got around to starting (an activity, a hobby, or anything else, really)? Tell us about it — and tell us about what’s keeping you from doing it.”

I always thought that when I was an adult I’d have a horse. I imagined myself on shaded trails, wading through streams, loping across summer meadows with the wind in my hair and a fist full of mane. There are opportunities to do that now, but somehow I haven’t. I don’t know why.

It’s been twenty...

Yarn and Popsicle Sticks

The dishes are done. I know as much about this book as it’s possible to know without getting in there and starting to write. I’ve planned it, mapped out the arc, amassed a series of (to me) interesting complications, and done some rudimentary research. This book is going to take a good bit more of that than anything I’ve written before, but it can wait. The story comes first, verisimilitude later.

I’m stalling about sending it to my agent. It always feels like offering the breathless expositio...

Gray Area

Truly, Madly

If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads.

I wish you a wrestling match with your...

Disgrace

Some books must be read twice in order to feel as if you’ve read them once. This is one of those.

Which books are like that for you?

Twenty Questions

What’s the first article of clothing you remember owning?
What time do you naturally wake in the morning?
Last sandwich you ate.
Do you sing in the car?
Tattoo inventory.
Broken bone inventory.
On a scale of 1-10, the heat number on your Thai noodle order?
Have you ever held a snake? (That’s only a euphemism if you want it to be.)
Weird lessons your parents made you take.
What’s your sign?
Where are your glasses?
What would you name a little boy?
What would you rename your home town?
Can you tie a cherry...