“Let us dream of tomorrow where we can truly love from the soul,
and know love as the ultimate truth at the heart of all creation.”
and know love as the ultimate truth at the heart of all creation.”
Michael Jackson
It's the birthday of Aryn Kyle, (books by this author) born in Peoria, Illinois, in 1978. Her first novel, The God of Animals (2007), was an award-winning international best-seller.
She always wanted to be a writer. And in the fourth grade she really, really wanted a puppy. But she couldn't have one, so she spent most of that year working on a novel about a magic puppy. In fifth grade, her parents got her a puppy, and when they did she abandoned the novel. But she kept writing fiction, and even years later sometimes still wrote stories about young girls who like animals. One of those stories, "The Foaling Season," was published in The Atlantic Monthly, and it won the National Magazine Award for Fiction. "The Foaling Season" became the first chapter of her first novel, The God of Animals (2007). Four days after she finished the draft, the novel sold. When it was published, critics called her one of the best young novelists in America.
She's not a daily writer or a rigidly disciplined one. In fact, she said, "I tend to have two speeds when it comes to writing: All The Time; and Not At All." She said: "Months pass in which I don't work at all. But when I am writing, that's all I do. I hardly sleep, hardly eat, hardly have any contact with the outside world. I stop answering my phone, I don't respond to emails, I forget to pay my bills. This is neither terribly healthy nor terribly good for my social life, but I try to remind myself that Emily Dickinson lived in an attic, which makes me feel well adjusted by comparison."
She said that as she gets older, she trusts this process more. "I can only loaf around for so long before I start to feel pent-up and anxious, before I feel a skittish energy begin to build inside of me, and then I know it's time to get back to work."
She loves the thrill of beginning a new story and she loves the glory of finishing a first draft. But all of that time writing in between can be difficult and discouraging, she said, like "digging through concrete with a salad fork" or being "adrift in threads that don't tie together and arcs that go nowhere." At that point, she says, there's nothing to do but "clench your jaw and power through."
She said: "Finishing a story is truly the most amazing experience in the world. ... It's like being on the most fantastic, perfect drugs. I feel like I can fly. Literally. Everything I've ever written has been finished around 3:00 in the morning — probably because I write at night — and when I'm done, I'm filled with so much adrenaline, I can hardly contain myself. I want to go running or dancing or find a trampoline."
Her most recent book, which was published last spring, is a short-story collection called Boys and Girls Like You and Me (2010). In it, she writes:
"She wasn't bored, not exactly. There were a lot of things she liked about Mark. His jawline smelled like crayons and freshly cut grass. His hands were always clean. At night, he curled his body around her in bed, one arm beneath her neck, the other looped across her waist. She would press herself into the warm weight of him and feel his breath, damp and hot on her throat. And in that foggy place between sleep and waking, he could have been anyone. That was what she liked most about him: In the darkness, he became whomever she wanted."
She always wanted to be a writer. And in the fourth grade she really, really wanted a puppy. But she couldn't have one, so she spent most of that year working on a novel about a magic puppy. In fifth grade, her parents got her a puppy, and when they did she abandoned the novel. But she kept writing fiction, and even years later sometimes still wrote stories about young girls who like animals. One of those stories, "The Foaling Season," was published in The Atlantic Monthly, and it won the National Magazine Award for Fiction. "The Foaling Season" became the first chapter of her first novel, The God of Animals (2007). Four days after she finished the draft, the novel sold. When it was published, critics called her one of the best young novelists in America.
She's not a daily writer or a rigidly disciplined one. In fact, she said, "I tend to have two speeds when it comes to writing: All The Time; and Not At All." She said: "Months pass in which I don't work at all. But when I am writing, that's all I do. I hardly sleep, hardly eat, hardly have any contact with the outside world. I stop answering my phone, I don't respond to emails, I forget to pay my bills. This is neither terribly healthy nor terribly good for my social life, but I try to remind myself that Emily Dickinson lived in an attic, which makes me feel well adjusted by comparison."
She said that as she gets older, she trusts this process more. "I can only loaf around for so long before I start to feel pent-up and anxious, before I feel a skittish energy begin to build inside of me, and then I know it's time to get back to work."
She loves the thrill of beginning a new story and she loves the glory of finishing a first draft. But all of that time writing in between can be difficult and discouraging, she said, like "digging through concrete with a salad fork" or being "adrift in threads that don't tie together and arcs that go nowhere." At that point, she says, there's nothing to do but "clench your jaw and power through."
She said: "Finishing a story is truly the most amazing experience in the world. ... It's like being on the most fantastic, perfect drugs. I feel like I can fly. Literally. Everything I've ever written has been finished around 3:00 in the morning — probably because I write at night — and when I'm done, I'm filled with so much adrenaline, I can hardly contain myself. I want to go running or dancing or find a trampoline."
Her most recent book, which was published last spring, is a short-story collection called Boys and Girls Like You and Me (2010). In it, she writes:
"She wasn't bored, not exactly. There were a lot of things she liked about Mark. His jawline smelled like crayons and freshly cut grass. His hands were always clean. At night, he curled his body around her in bed, one arm beneath her neck, the other looped across her waist. She would press herself into the warm weight of him and feel his breath, damp and hot on her throat. And in that foggy place between sleep and waking, he could have been anyone. That was what she liked most about him: In the darkness, he became whomever she wanted."
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