Bedelia Albert is, on the surface, a normal high school girl experiencing the surreal grind of adolescence. But something distinguishes her from her peers: she may be losing her mind. Considering the world she lives in, and when one lights up the corners of her myriagonal past, who can blame her? The only wonder might be why it did not happen sooner.

She is tired of being the victim, tired of power and agency eluding her. She wants to at last be the aggressor. But while revenge transfixes her, there is something the world may be less ready for: her resilience.



by Clare Ross


What is this?

The Short Answer: The serialization of my novel-in-progress, combined with the transparent process of writing it.

The Long Answer: The following content may share certain traits with the serial – the gradual release of story, the concision – and I hope you’ll tune in to it as such. But once an entry goes live, it won’t be sacrosanct, inalterable. Rather, information on here will be subject to change at any time. Characters can disappear, facts can be adjusted, situations and events can be honed, all so that the whole is the sum of many, many upset parts. Partly, it’s a concession to my perfectionism. Mostly it allows for an anarchic testing ground for an eventual novel.

It can be read any way you want, in any direction or depth you choose. The Chapter header at the top is for when I have enough material amassed to call it such, with ancestral versions of that chapter archived therein. Smithereens are the shorthand: the vignettes; the fragments; Bedelia’s misadventures and musings. These may eventually have entire arcs crafted around them, or be cannibalized by larger sections, or exiled from the narrative altogether. Right now I have the handicap of knowing where I want to go but not exactly how to get there.

Let’s torch the romantic concept of the lone writer in exile, gold welling from their fingertips, returning to civilization with a finished opus – it’s damned hard work. Anyone who says otherwise is either a phenomenon or a liar. Instead, watch the novel coalesce: the editing, plotline cul-de-sacs, tonal and POV experiments. The only thing invisible will be the merciless self-doubt. Dialogue with me. Point me to the crucial, salient texts that could be my allies. We’ll live the tumultuous middle together.

Touch anything. Touch everything.