Bodies, Bodies Everywhere
Bodies, Bodies Everywhere
(how studying art history turned me into a thriller writer)
by Laura Leffler
As a student of art history, I was taught to ignore the bodies—the many, many bodies, mostly female and mostly nude—strewn through textbooks and set on pedestals and hung from gallery walls. In art history, you see, bodies are not really bodies; they are vessels. A body is form. It is light and shadow and line and curve. It is a shape in space, a means to an end. Something to be used—to be handled—by the master.
The Likability Trap: Why We Need More “Nasty” Female Protagonists
Laura Leffler Considers the Faulty Logic Behind Gendered Expectations of Goodness in Fiction
Like many women I know, I’ve wasted good amount of my time on Earth trying to be likable. I’ve sat quietly, apologized for my presence, dressed for the male gaze. I’ve tiptoed around men who offended me and said thank you when I really meant go away.
7 Historical Novels That Explore The Underbelly of the Art World
Laura Leffler on art crimes in fiction, near and far
How to Plot a Plot Twist: 5 Steps to Writing a Satisfying Switch Up
Back when I was a pantser, pulling off a plot twist was the furthest thing from my mind. I was just trying to pull off a plot, full stop. I had a premise—basically, a character with a problem—and spent the next 80,000 or so words finding out what happened. Spoiler alert: What happened was two failed manuscripts.
8 Dark Academia Novels Set in Art School
Who doesn’t love dark academia? The malevolent architecture and forced proximity cut with the youth and ambition that sets it all aflame? Ever since chancing upon a marked-up paperback of The Secret History in the late ’90s, I’ve been obsessed with dark academia and all the micro-genres contained within it: gothic mysteries, boarding school thrillers, Neo-Victorian suspense, and my new favorite—what I’m calling art school academia.
10 Literary Thrillers Set in the Artworld
10 Literary Thrillers Set in the Artworld
What's In A Mat? A Lesson in Aparigraha
My legs shook. My arms wobbled. I feared that my face was red as a siren. I hadn’t expected sweat. I hadn’t expected all this effort. But there it was, and then there I was in Savasana at last, with my eyes closed, my heartbeat slowing and my body still and cooling. I feel as calm as a dead person, I thought, and right then, the teacher spoke.
“Savasana,” she said. “Corpse pose.”