Fiction or non-fiction, we write into the truth. We feel the story and layer the details onto the page. We rework the scraps until they bloom — the quilter, the painter, the metal worker, the writer — we all work in scraps until we have captured the story that speaks our truth. – Charli Mills
Mountain Cove. Art Quilt by Barbara Williamson
When I was a kid most homes had a sewing machine with a pile of old clothes nearby. Any buttons were removed and saved as a precaution against future losses, the cloth cut and used as patches on our torn jeans. The rags might also be turned into braided rugs or become pieces of a quilt. My quilt was a memory keeper, with prints and material still recognizable and recalled from their former incarnations. Surely the quilter was an artist.
Where I come from most people have in a barn or out of doors piles of scraps and spare parts. Wood that has length enough to be called lumber is stacked with blocks to keep it aired and level. Shorter pieces go to the kindling pile. Large rocks are sorted by size and shape, stockpiled until they might become part of a wall, a culvert, fire-pit, or a landscape feature. Scrap metal and machine parts line oil stained shelves. These various building blocks await the artisan that will eventually tap their potential in some project.
An industrious kitchen generated little waste. Watermelon rinds were pickled. The excess pie dough trimmed from the pan edge was rolled out and baked with butter and cinnamon, a snicker-doodle. All manner of leftovers enjoyed a second life as a hash, stew, or casserole by a resourceful and creative culinary artist.
Writing is my art. I am no expert on writing, thank goodness. How crippling expertise would be. No, I am just the kid I used to be, using my father’s tools to cobble wood scraps together to make a fort or a treasure chest. I’m the kid with a box of crayons unafraid to put color on the page; the kid who wasn’t daunted by a needle and thread when Teddy Bear needed clothes or his nose sewn back on; the artist who accepts that the product might not be seamless but that it is satisfying to play with an idea, to play with words and to create something whole from the bits and pieces lying about.
I’ve accumulated messy piles of memories, material for my art. I’ve squirreled away bits of stories partially remembered, stories of people remembered and perhaps partially made up. Places, people, and pasts are wrapped in scraps of memories flickering like dust motes in a shaft of windowed light. I am an artist that eyes these scraps, wondering what assembled shape and texture might be forged. That these scraps of memory and remembered details are my building material as I play with words doesn’t mean my stories aren’t fiction. They are. But maybe fiction is nothing but patchwork truths stitched together, scraps of real and unreal, wishes and wonderings, memories and maybes woven together into a renewed story that resonates as a possibility.
D. Avery’s latest book, After Ever; Little Stories for Grown Children, is a collection of flash and short fiction. Cursed with a compulsion for word play and a growing addiction to writing, D. Avery blogs at Shiftnshake, where she pours flash fiction and shots of poetry for online sampling.
D. Avery is a Rough Writer at Carrot Ranch. She is the author of two books of poems, Chicken Shift and For the Girls.
Find her on Twitter at @daveryshiftn and Amazon
Big stories come in small packages. Told with the sure-footed brevity of fairy tales, After Ever is a collection of stories that explore dark depths and uncertain endings, flash fiction that often leaves room for interpretation and speculation. These are stories in which the grim tragedies of life befall characters of all ages. There are no happily ever after fairy tale endings, but there are flashes of resilience and hope. The heroes of these short stories are ordinary people who recognize the mystery, beauty, and small wonders contained in their ordinary lives. Sample and savor each story individually or as a banquet of offerings both dark and light, tales of lives tragic and magical.
“An interesting and eclectic collection of short stories and even shorter flash stories, this collection has something for everyone. Whether the situation be mundane or mystical, tragic or cheerful, D. Avery records events matter-of-factly and leaves it to the reader to choose how to respond. After Ever is great for reading in bites or as an entire feast.” Norah Colvin readilearn.com.au
“D. Avery has written a stunning collection of flash fictions that take us from here in Vermont to places far afield and from children to the elderly. These short stories in After Ever, though, all share one common thread, and that is tight, beautiful prose about the human condition, about the moments of our lives that make us weep from sorrow and from love.” Sean Prentiss, author of Finding Abbey
Other books by D. Avery
Click the titles or images to go to Amazon
Poems of life; Crossings & Roadkill; fun, philosophical inquiries into why the chicken crossed the road and the consequences therefrom.
Short witty, multi-layered poems.
Thought and laugh provoking.
![For the Girls (E) by [Avery, D.]](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51RG7CBUmAL.jpg)
Poems in reaction to losing a friend to breast cancer, of having more friends go through it, and having a touch of it myself.
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Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
‘maybe fiction is nothing but patchwork truths stitched together’ I love this definition of fiction. I shall probably steal it.
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If you do I shall take that thievery as a compliment. (You’ll note I complimented Charli Mills pretty heavily to get started)
I think this piece is me trying to work out the answer to the questions I’m starting to get- “where do the stories come from?”
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I once did a post about getting them from the charity shop 🙂
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Perfectly stitched…and beautifully told! ❤
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Thank you so much.
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I so enjoyed this!
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I am so glad you did. Thank you.
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You’re welcome!
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I enjoyed this article. I think many of us do this. Utilize scraps of memories and ideas from throughout our lives in our books and stories.
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Thank you Robbie. You’re right for sure. And in many cases fact is stranger than fiction, which makes for a good story. Doesn’t make my stories true.
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Reblogged this on anita dawes and jaye marie.
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Thanks for sharing, Jaye x
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They call me a hoarder because I cannot bear to throw anything away, but you never know when something will be needed again. The things I save are not rubbish, they are ideas in waiting…
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Right? I had no idea what was squirreled away until I started writing flash fiction every week. It’s all made up but….
Thank you for the reblog!
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Welcome!
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Wonderful post, D. Great to see you at Sue’s place. Congrats on the new collection! Looking forward to reading this one.
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Thank you Sarah. It is kind of nerve wracking this putting a book out there. Ya know?
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Reblogged this on ShiftnShake.
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What a beautiful post from D. I love the metaphor of the quilt, of the workshop and the kitchen where every scrap is valuable and has a life beyond its initial use, stored away or recycled or added to the pot. A beautiful description of writing and our quilts of words and experiences.
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Thank you D. (I love that name!) Truth is, I patched this together from a recent prompt at Carrot Ranch; this came out in addition to the flash for the week.
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It’s wonderful. 🙂
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A kid at heart is the best way to approach craft because it reminds us to be curious, to play and discover. You are a kid of New England and I love how clear your vignettes of scrap piles are written. Of course, that’s why your new book is good as pickled watermelon rinds!
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That good? (Have you ever had “tongue” pickles?)
Thank you Charli. You’ve given me so much scrap, (no scratch that.) You’ve shown how to see the value and potential of scraps. You are a fine quilter of stories and communities. I appreciate your support (understatement) Thanks Boss.
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If by pickled tongues you mean something akin to ferns, why yes I have. Mostly I grew up on pickled jalapenos and dills. Everything is a scrap of wonder to the child in us all. Keep on playing!
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We called the pickled watermelon rinds tongue pickles because of how they looked. Honestly, they’re not my favorite pickle. But would go well in a chutney I’m now thinking. Hmmm
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Ha! Chutney is worth experimenting.
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Lovely post, Sue and D. I like the thought of weaving together a patchwork of ideas to create stories that may contain elements of what is true and what might be true. There is but a thin line between what is imagined and what really happened.
I have and have read all of D.’s book and am happy to recommend all three.
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Maybe “true” stories are as subject to change as a writers’ identity. At the Ranch there was discussion around memoir and truth; people can get picky about too much fiction in the non-fiction but people also get fussy about too much truth or perceived memoir in the fiction. It’s all patchwork.
Hey thanks for coming by here, I just noticed you and Anne. I appreciate it.
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That’s true, I think. Or is it fiction? No, it’s a patchwork!
Obviously Anne and I get around. 🙂
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What a beautiful post. I so agree that stories emerge from scraps, but you’ve got me wondering about what the analogy would be for the throwaway society. Maybe that’s the editing stage? Congratulations on your new book – look forward to reading.
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Maybe the throw away society is illiterate in the very worst sense, turning their backs on their own stories and that which sustains them.
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OMG, I think you’re right.
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Thanks for sharing this! It’s good to hear from the other generation–such wisdom. My grandma tells me stories about what she did growing up. She had no money, but she said she never went hungry. She farmed and went to school in a one room school house.
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