Board a ship that travels between real time
where lives are buffeted by political conflict, tragedy and loss and another
mysterious time where pain is healed, and love is eternal.
Dreams of Drowning
by Patricia Averbach
Genre: Literary Fiction, Magical Realism
Dreams of Drowning is a work of magical realism that moves between real time
where lives are buffeted by political conflict, tragedy and loss and another
mysterious time where pain is healed, and love is eternal.
It’s 1973 and Amy, an American ex-pat, is living as an illegal immigrant in
Toronto where she’s fled to escape the scandal surrounding her twin sister’s
death by drowning. Joanie’s been gone two years, but Amy still hears her cries
for help. Romance would jeopardize the secrets Amy has to keep, but when she
meets Arcus, a graduate student working to restore democracy in Greece, she
falls hard. Arcus doesn’t know about Amy’s past, and she doesn’t know Arcus has
secrets of his own, including the shady history of an ancient relic he uses as
a paperweight.
In 1993 Toronto, Jacob Kanter, a retired archaeologist, is mourning his dear
wife and grappling with his son’s plans to move him to a nursing home. Despite
double vision, tremors, and cognitive impairment, he remembers sailing as a
youth and sets out toward the lake where he boards a ferry boat embarking on
its maiden voyage. He expects a short harbor cruise, but the Aqua Meridian is
larger than it looks, and time is slippery on the water. When he hears a
drowning woman call for help his story merges with Amy’s, and they discover
they have unexpected gifts for one another.
INTERVIEW
What
is the first book that made you cry?
Little
Women by Louisa May Alcott
Does
writing energize or exhaust you?
It
generally exhausts me, although there are wonderful days when I get lost in it
and never want to come up for air.
Does
a big ego help or hurt writers?
It
takes a certain amount of ego to imagine that other people will care about your
ideas and be interested and amused by your world view.
Do
you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?
I
certainly write with readers in mind and do my best to create characters and
plots they’ll find entertaining and engaging. However, my main objective is to
write the cleverest, funniest, most insightful book that I can and then trust
that my readers are smart and savvy enough to enjoy a story that’s more nuanced
and unexpected
What
other authors are you friends with, and how do they help you become a better
writer?
During
my years as director of The Chautauqua Writers Center I had the opportunity to
spend my summers with some of the finest writers working today. Many of them
taught workshops through our writer-in-residence program or through the
Chautauqua Writers’ Festival and I was able to learn from all of them. That
said, the four writers who have helped me the most are the not so famous
members of a writers group I’ve been part of for the past eight years. Although
we meet online in a virtual world we’ve come to know one another well and have
each produced three or four novels over our time together. Two members, not me,
have completed PhDs in creative writing during that time as well. One of us is
a publisher as well as an author, and one of us, again not me, spent most of
his career writing for television before starting to write novels. The fourth
is a poet and a Sikh who has spent most of his life in Australia, Singapore and
India. Our voices are diverse and each of us produces work that is distinctive
and unique, yet we’ve come to rely on one another for comments and advice. I
don’t know if I’d have ever completed anything without their encouragement.
Do
you want each book to stand on its own, or are you trying to build a body of
work with connections between each book?
Each
of my books stands on its own, although I toyed with the idea of setting my
second novel in the same small town where the first novel took place. The first
book was set in the mid-seventies, the second around forty years later so I
thought of having the young characters in my first book make cameo appearances
as old codgers in the second, but the story went in a different direction so
that never happened. Maybe I’ll go back and write a sequel one day, but
probably not. I’m always chasing the shiny, new object in front of me.
If
you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?
Don’t
listen to your mother. I told my mother I wanted to be a writer when I was in
college and she told me that if I had any real talent I would already be famous
– or words to that effect. Even then I knew that was crazy, but I felt deflated
and defeated anyway. Writing as a career is tough and it takes time to learn
your craft and to find your voice. You’ll almost certainly need a day job or
some other career to sustain you until your writing starts to make more money
than it costs. But don’t give up. The journey itself is worth the effort and
you’re never too old to begin.
As
a writer, what would you choose as your mascot/avatar/spirit animal?
A
turtle? My writing practice is definitely slow and steady, not fast and flashy.
If I wanted to flatter myself, and who doesn’t, I’d make my turtle very old and
wise, like the old sea turtle in Alice in Wonderland. The Mock Turtle tells
Alice that his teacher was an old sea turtle called Tortoise and when Alice
asks why they called him Tortoise if he was a turtle, he replies, “Why, we
called him Tortoise because he taught us.”
What
do you owe the real people upon whom you base your characters?
Nothing,
since I don’t base my characters on particular people. When I’m asked where I
get my characters I always answer, “They aren’t based on anyone I know. They’re
based on everyone I know. They’re all composites of actual people, fictional
people, people I read about in the newspaper and people who populate my dreams.
Describe
your writing space.
I’d
love to say that I’ve created a writing sanctuary in a garden overlooking the
sea, or in a snug cabin in a pine wood, but that would be a lie. I work out of
a walk-in closet that’s been outfitted with a desk, a chair and a bookcase. I
try to ignore the laundry drying on the rack behind my head and my husband
talking on the phone in the next room.
What
time of the day do you usually write?
They
say that young people write at night and old people write in the morning. I
write in the late morning or early afternoon. That’s not because I’m middle
aged, which I’m not, but because it takes me that long to stop procrastinating
and to get down to business.
On
a typical day, how much time do you spend writing?
I
don’t write every day. I write two or three hours a day three or four days a
week. Slow but steady.
How
do you deal with the emotional impact of a book (on yourself) as you are
writing the story?
I’ve
found that there is an aspect of writing that is very similar to acting, except
that an author plays all the characters. I’ve definitely wept real tears when
writing a sad scene or felt my heart race when I’ve put a character in danger,
but I love when that happens. That’s my body telling me that the story’s come
alive.
Do
you have a favorite character that you have written? If so, who? And what makes
them so special.
There’s
an elderly gentleman in my newest book named Jacob Kanter. He’s a retired
archaeology professor who’s dealing with failing health, the loss of his wife
and a son who wants him in an old age home. But even in his eighties, even as
he approaches the end of life, his spirit remains vibrant and alive. He’s
funny, wise and adventurous to the end. I can still hear his voice in my head
and I’d love to go on talking to him.
Where
can readers purchase your books?
My
books are available on Amazon, at Barnes and Noble, Apple Books, Google Play
and through my website: www.patriciaaverbach.com.
Where
can readers find out more about you and your books?
You
could start with my website: www.patriciaaverbach.com
or just google Patricia Averbach, author.
Have
any of your books been made into audiobooks? If so, what are the challenges in
producing an audiobook?
I’m
glad you asked about audiobooks since Dreams of Drowning will be coming out in
audio this spring. I’m paying for the audio publication myself since my
publisher only has the print and digital rights to the book. It’s expensive and
it’s likely that I won’t make my money back, but as another author told me when
he produced an audio book, “What price joy?”
Are
you working on anything at the present you would like to share with your
readers about?
I’m
working on another novel right now. Not to give too much away, it takes place
in Cleveland during the build up to World War Two, and involves a Jewish family
living in my grandmother’s old neighborhood. The family includes a young girl,
her spinster aunt, her grandfather and a ghost. I’ll say no more.
What
book is currently on your bedside table?
The
Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese and I’m loving every minute of it. I
can’t recommend it highly enough. It’s one of those books that you wish would
never end.
How
many bookshelves are in your house?
My
husband bought five matching bookcases for my old office that covered an entire
wall of our old house. We filled those bookcases plus all the bookcases in the
family room and my daughters’ bedrooms and there were more books in boxes in
the basement. We had a lot of books. And then we sold the house and moved into
a condo that meant leaving a lof of things, including most of our books behind.
We still have several bookcases filled with our old favorites, but I’ve learned
to let go and to let the books I love live in memory and the library.
What’s
for dinner tonight? What would you rather be eating?
I
love cooking and food usually finds its way into everything I write. We eat a
lot of fish and pasta since my daughters are pescatarians. However, my husband
is an unrepentant carnivore so I cook brisket and braised short ribs as well. I
especially like ethnic recipes that include a lot of vegetables, spice and
seasoning.
Share
something your readers wouldn’t know about you.
At
the risk of making myself seem goofy, I spend quite a bit of time in a computer
generated world called Second Life. There’s a vibrant writing community in that
virtual world and I’ve made good friends and valuable contacts in there, plus I
always look great and never have a bad hair day. In fact, my avatar was on the
cover of Lilith Magazine the year they published my article about the Jewish
community in Second Life. Imagine, being a cover girl at my age.
EXCERPT
Prologue
"Help!"
Joanie's shouts are barely audible above the wind and the roar of the outboard
motor as she struggles to keep her head above the waves. I put my hands over
my ears and close my eyes, but she's still there, still struggling to stay
above the water, the panic in her eyes a mirror of my own, her pale, freckled
skin, her green eyes fraught with horror, identical to mine. I watch helpless,
my heart pounding, until she disappears, as she always does, beneath the
roiling waters of Lake Ontario.
Dreams of Drowning
Part One
Amy
April 1973
“Amy, wake up.” Mrs. Klein was
shaking my shoulder. “You can’t sleep here. If you need to sleep, go home.”
How
had I fallen asleep with the clatter and bang of the old linotype reverberating
through the shop? I picked my head up from
the drafting table and struggled to bring Mrs. Klein into focus. She was as
solid and gray as the presses she ran. I felt a chill as her steely eyes took
in my tousled hair and bloodshot eyes then moved to the floor where a chaotic
mess of colored markers, X-Acto knives and technical pens lay scattered.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep again last night,
but I’m okay now. I’ll get back to work.” I was already on my knees gathering
up the fallen art supplies as quickly as I could.
“When was the last time you had a proper
night’s sleep?”
I
took a moment to consider. “Nineteen seventy-one.”
Esther Klein was my mother’s
best friend, more like my aunt than my employer, but she wasn’t amused. My
literally falling asleep on the job had pushed her too far.
“That’s not funny. You need to see a doctor.”
“Now
that is funny. How am I supposed to
do that?” Legal Ontario residents had
magic OHIP cards that entitled them to almost unlimited medical care, but she
knew I’d slipped into the country illegally and had no papers.
“You
can pay him in cash, the same way we pay you, so there’s no record. I’ll
explain the situation to my doctor.”
“Sorry, can’t risk it. I’ve got to stay under
the radar, but thanks anyway.”
Mrs.
Klein’s face darkened, and a deep crease appeared between her eyes. “Go home,
drink some tea, take a hot bath and think about whether you want a future here
or not.”
My
heart skipped a beat. Was she threatening to fire me? She knew I’d be on the
street or worse without this job. I could hear a slight quaver in my voice as I
responded. “What about this poster?” I pointed to the design job I’d been
working on. “They need it by tomorrow.”
She
examined the work on my design table and nodded her approval. I’d hand drawn
shadows beneath stenciled letters making the company name, Revolution Records,
appear to float over a background of brightly colored discs. “You can finish in
the morning. Now go home and get some sleep.”
What
was the point of going home? It was
easier to sleep in a noisy print shop than back in my apartment where Joanie’s
ghost followed me from room to room. It had happened two
years ago, yet her desperate calls
for help still woke me from panicked dreams of drowning. I gathered up my coat
and purse wondering if I’d just ruined my last chance for a new life.
I
was half-way out the door when Mrs. Klein called me back. “And don’t forget the
party tonight. We’re expecting you at seven.”
I
thought of rushing out the door, pretending I hadn’t heard, but Mrs. Klein was
standing right beside me. I paused and took a breath. “Thank you, I really
appreciate the invitation, but like I said, I don’t do parties.”
She
stepped between me and the door, blocking my only means of escape. “This has
gone on long enough. You’re not the one who died.”
Mr.
Klein and Eddie, our pressman, were watching from the back room. I didn’t want
to make a scene, but - a party? “I’m
sorry, I know you want to help, but I’m just not ready.” Me, the good-time girl
of Fairport High, turning down another party.
Joanie wouldn’t have believed it.
Mrs.
Klein took an umbrella off the coat rack and handed it to me. “You’ll need
this, and you’re coming to the party. There will be people your age from the
sailing club.”
Was she kidding? Sailors were the last people I’d
want to meet. The very thought gave
me the willies. I started to say no again, but she wouldn’t listen.
“Consider
it a condition of your employment, and I mean it. Oh, and bring a box of
baklava from that Greek bakery near your apartment. No excuses.”
Then
she shoved me out into the rain and shut the door.
Jacob
April 1993
Rain exaggerates
my tendency to see double. It's
difficult to distinguish the reflection of images on water, through glass, or
on wet pavement from the blurred images resulting from my weakened ocular
muscles. I turn away from the window where rivulets of water are playing tricks
with my eyes, melting the pane, and leaving me suspended between worlds. It's
been like this for eight years now, ever since Bessie died. On clear days I can
tilt my head twenty degrees to the left and bring faces, signs, and scenery
into focus, but on rainy days I confuse reflections with diplopia, my double
vision, and become perplexed. My thick corrective glasses and cocked head make
me look like a myopic spaniel, but they allow me to look people in the face and
see just one nose, just two eyes. I can look at my son, Michael, and see a busy
man with graying hair and sagging jowls, and not someone who wobbles back and
forth between adolescence and middle age every time I blink.
Most people aren’t aware of my disability. Sometimes even I forget
because there are days, even weeks, when things come into focus. The past and
present don’t seem so blurred and muddled. Before Bessie died there'd been
another kind of doubleness. There'd been two of us, a pair, coupled for nearly
fifty years. Double meant increase, abundance, joy. Afterwards it meant
distorted vision, ocular fatigue, and cold dinners in front of a television
with an oscillating horizontal.
There's a brochure on my desk from Bayside Manor Retirement Home.
Michael left it for me even though he knows I can no longer read small print on
shiny paper. No matter, I know what it says. It says, old man, you've had it.
You're done. Pack up and move along, you've outlived your welcome in the world.
A small incident set him off, a minor mishap he’s blown out of
proportion. I was out walking after dinner a few weeks ago and, preoccupied, I
missed my turn. Nothing odd about that, but by the time I realized what I’d
done the sun had set and I was wandering around in the dark. With better eyes I
could have managed, but well, I got lost. Whichever way I turned I only got
further afield until I was exhausted. I
must have been stumbling about because a policeman stopped to ask if I needed
help. “I’m fine, just fine,” I told him. “But I seem to have misplaced my
apartment.” It was a joke. I thought he’d laugh and point me in the right
direction. Instead, he drove me home then notified my son. Ever since then, all
Michael talks about is, wouldn’t I be happier living with other people who’d
cook my meals and see that I was safe?
Readers get the book now for 20%
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About the Author
Patricia Averbach began her writing career at sixteen as the entirely unqualified
literary assistant to Anzia Yeszierska, Jewish-American author of the immigrant
experience. A native Clevelander, she’s a former director of The Chautauqua
Writers Center in Chautauqua, New York. “Her
newest novel, Dreams of Drowning
(Bedazzled Ink, 2024), was a finalist for the Tucson Festival of Books and
Chanticleer’s Somerset Award for Literary Fiction. Previous novels include
Painting Bridges (Bottom Dog Press, 2013) and Resurrecting Rain (Golden
Antelope Press, 2020.) Her poetry chapbook, Missing Persons, (Ward Wood
Publishing, 2013) was cited by Times of London Literary Supplement (November
2014) as one of the best small collections of the year. She lives with her husband
in a suburb of Cleveland when she’s not visiting her daughters in Toronto, Maui
and Peru or hanging out in a virtual world called Second Life. To learn more go
to http://www.patriciaaverbach.com.
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