Averil Dean's Blog, page 26

The Locked Room

Blackbird 2.0. I spent the weekend mapping out a new outline and got a start on the writing, beat down yesterday morning’s panic attack over the looming deadline, and woke this morning with an unambiguous directive in my head: simplify. The structure of this work is becoming increasingly complex, with a third-person, backward-moving timeline spanning several years, and a new first-person narrative detailing the events of a single hour, weaving through the middle of it. (Yeah, I know what you’...

Smooches

Ahh. I just got off the phone with my editor at MIRA. She’s read the new draft and has walked me through her ideas for revision. The chick is brilliant. She managed to give me a shitload of homework that I can’t wait to do.

Who’s the best source of feedback for your work?

Photo by Ellen Von Unwerth

Doldrums

I haven’t been writing lately. I’ve been depressed, I suppose, though it’s hard to tell. I recognize the bigger fiery emotions, but this slow coldness is harder to name. Could be the winter doldrums, or low-level angst about my job, or diminished expectations, or grief. It doesn’t matter really. We feel what we feel until it passes.

It should be something to write my way through, but I’ve been obliterating the words on impact. It’s a side effect of publication, this apologetic feeling for havi...

Thither

You don’t see me. I’m not here. I’m there.

You can be there, too.

Photo by Ellen Von Unwerth

And if you feel like chatting, I’d be happy to join you.

Diorama

When I was at my mother’s house last weekend, we got to talking about the objects we live with. My mother, ever the caretaker, loves antiques and considers herself personally responsible for their well-being. My sister likes a feathered nest, but enjoys a good purge every now and then in order to keep the clutter under control. I could happily live in a nunnery, provided there were books available, and…well, men. So maybe the convent is out, but the idea of a spartan environment enchants me....

Macaroni Art

I don’t write much about my family, here on the blog or anywhere else. Part of that is due our smallness, the tight-knit, tight-lipped nature of us and the way we interact as a group. We are fiercely protective of each other, careful of our secrets and inextricably intertwined. But more of it is about the nature of me as a writer. Even beyond the sexual content, my writing is intensely personal. It’s my psyche on the prowl, creeping around the corners and standing with an eye pressed to the p...

Raggedy Alice

One week. Alice Croft is out there now, being loved and hated. Judged, along with her creator, for what she’s done. Readers are trying to get a handle on who this character is and what point of view she represents—and they’re trying, I think, to like her.

This last effort is probably a mistake. As Lionel Shriver points out:

Readers often get approval and affection confused. Countless book-club denizens have denounced Kevin’s narrator for not having taken her wayward little boy to see a therapis...

Crawlspace

Photo by Todd Hido

Where to start? I’ve got a draft out with my editor and too much time on my hands. I want to be writing, so I’m bingeing on movies and reading and jotting things down. I’m after a feeling. A particular mood. It’s not about the story right now or even the characters, it’s how do I get the hard-on? What do I need to see, feel, think about to get into that place? What’s my wank material gonna be this time? Revolutionary Road comes to mind, and Blue Valentine, and The Place Beyo...

Cherries

Sometimes I come to the blank blog-page with absolutely nothing to tell you. Other times I have so many things to say that I can’t think where to begin. Tonight it’s the latter, so I’m going to simply announce the naughty prize-winners from our NYE party, and live to blog another day.

For the truthiest truth-teller—or most convincing liar—Tetman Callis, who deserves a prize anyway for putting the image of the big-dicked boy in my head. The Out-of-Print gift card is yours, my friend, as soon as...

Show and Tell

Note to self: just because it’s New Year’s Eve does not mean that you will magically develop the capacity to hold large amounts of straight-up alcohol.

Self? Shut the fuck up. That was totally worth it.

I had a blast with you guys last night. I can’t thank you enough for giving me such a fine kick-off to the new year. I read through our comments this morning with a slightly clearer head, resisting the urge to correct my drunken typos. I want to leave them as souvenirs of my giddiness and a true...