just start something and let it go. let it grow and become, like a disturbed child. spill onto the page every word or phrase or image that occurs – and don’t allow anything to be censored or hidden. allow it to be raw and so full of emotion that it threatens to rend you limb from limb and leave you strewn asunder over valleys and mountains. allow the tears to smear the ink on the page. let yourself bleed out onto the paper. because when this thing has grown into a roaring beast – a horrid dragon of toothy maw and flame – all sex and pain and the deepest love imaginable, then have you created something perfect, so flawed and beautiful beyond imagining.
Æverett lives in the northern hemisphere and enjoys Rammstein and Star Trek. He writes both poetry and fiction and dabbles in gardening and soap making. She has two wonderfully old cats, and a dearly beloved dog. He also plays in linguistics, studying German, Norwegian, Russian, Arabic, a bit of Elvish, and developing Cardassian. Language is fascinating, enlightening, and inspirational. She’s happily married to her work with which she shares delusions of demon hunters, detectives, starships, androids, and a home on the outskirts of a small northern town. He’s enjoyed writing since childhood and the process can be downright therapeutic when it’s not making him pull his hair out. It’s really about the work and words and seeing without preconceptions.