Averil Dean's Blog, page 28

Peeps

Last night I drove down to Portland alone and came home with two of my most beloved peeps: my mom and my daughter, who are here for a week. We’re on our way out to downtown Olympia (hello, Orca Books!) but I wanted to pause and mention that ALICE is up on Harlequin’s Facebook page, and I have a new author page at Facebook as well. It’s completely barren and friendless at this point but hey, you have to start somewhere.

Wanna be friends? Photo by Ellen Von Unwerth

Canners

Yesterday I heard back from speedy Mr. Kleinman, who’s read the new manuscript and gave it a round of enthusiastic praise. He totally dug the backward-moving timeline—which was a scary, ambitious risk for all of us—and said the narrative pace ticked along at just the right clip. There are a few confusing details to clear up, and some more substantial areas where I need to add material, but other than that the book’s in pretty good shape.

On the other hand, the job hunt is starting to freak me...

Book-Chat

What’s been your favorite book of the year? What did you love about it?
Post a favorite snippet from the above, if you like.
What are you reading now?
One unforgettable fictional character.
What book has taken you by surprise–either because you expected to like it and didn’t, or because of a dastardly plot twist, or for some other reason.

Photo by Bruce Weber

Mine:

The Age of Miracles by Karen Thompson Walker. The story world absolutely captivated me, and I loved the constant low-level foreshadowing...

Marshmallows

Yesterday I started a fire in my writing room for the first time since we moved here. I’m a desert rat with little experience in firestarting (which in Vegas usually means flipping a switch on the wall), so I forgot to open the flue. Cue the smoke detectors! Cue the howling dog! And the fits of coughing, and the windows open letting all the heat out. Once everything had settled down and the smoke was drifting sweetly up the chimney, I sat at my desk, gathered up my pages and set them in the b...

Grub

Welcome to my house, land of the great unwashed. Or, the un-blowdried at least. I’ve barely left the house in over a week. Haven’t run the vacuum cleaner or a dust cloth over the furniture, I forgot to take out the trash, and my hair has begun to resemble a small shrub. I’m on the home stretch with the Blackbird draft and the living is greasy. I’m wearing my husband’s shirts, and boxers, and I may have mistakenly swiped his deodorant because I keep catching whiffs of Icy Blue. I’m a mess, no...

Un-Job

The job hunt is heating up. I’ve got applications out all over town, and all over the surrounding towns, and even some so far-flung that it would take quite an effort even to get to work every day. My wonky work-history is not helping matters. I’ve tried to put my best spin on it, but the fact remains that I have been self-employed for the better part of six years, and it’s not that easy to explain what I’ve been up to without sounding like a flight risk.

People don’t see creative work as work...

Deflower

Here I am again with my stack of pages. All my notes are resolved, all the {more here}s filled. Why can’t I let go? I’ve done my best, haven’t I? I’ve written my little heart out. I’ve produced some work that’s ready to be seen—no bigs, dude. Books are written every day. Only no one’s read a word of this story but me, and now I’m facing the moment of deflowering. Which, as I remember, hurts. I’ve been writing and rewriting an email, filled with preemptive excuses and disclaimers, an elaborate...

Between the Bars

The Silent Wife

I’m supposed to be quiet right now but I just had to say, in my bossiest tone of voice…

Read this.

Suitcase

This morning I’m back at my desk after a couple of days away. I flew out to Denver on Thursday for the MPIBA trade show, where I met my publicist, Emer Flounders; the lovely Heather Foy, Harlequin’s director of sales (I may have inadvertently promoted or demoted her with that title; sorry Heather); Shona Patel, who was signing her novel Teatime for the Firefly at the table next to me, and cracking me up the entire time (and whose husband extended enough spousal support for the both of us); an...