Ask the Author: Brett Dakin
Answered Questions (6)
Brett Dakin
I actually prefer to write on "deadline," leading up to an event like a conference call or a meal with family. It forces me to get something finished before I'm required to take a break. Then I can return to what I've written with fresh eyes--ready to tear it apart.
Brett Dakin
I treat the blank screen as an enemy to be vanquished, so I don't allow it to remain blank for long. I try to populate the screen with words right away, then hack away at them until I have something of value. The original manuscript for American Daredevil was nearly twice the length of the published book. Good riddance!
Brett Dakin
I’ve just published my second book and my first biography, American Daredevil: Comics, Communism, and the Battles of Lev Gleason. It’s the story of my great-uncle, a titan among Golden Age comics publishers who fought back against the censorship campaigns and paranoia of the Red Scare. After dropping out of Harvard to serve during World War I in France, Gleason moved to New York City and eventually made it big with groundbreaking titles like Daredevil and Crime Does Not Pay.
Brett Dakin
I treat the blank screen as an enemy to be vanquished, so I don't allow it to remain blank for long. I try to populate the screen with words right away, then hack away at them until I have something of value. The original manuscript for American Daredevil was nearly twice the length of the published book. Good riddance!
Brett Dakin
Not much gives me more pleasure than a well-crafted sentence. Finding just the right words to express an idea or capture a moment brings me great joy. My latest book is a biography, which brings a sense of mission to the craft: without American Daredevil, Lev Gleason's story might never have been told. By sharing it with my readers, and pointing to the relevance of his battles to our struggles today, I ensure that his legacy endures.
Brett Dakin
I never met Lev Gleason; he died five years before I was born. Growing up, I relished the stories my mother would tell me about her flamboyant, free-spending uncle from New York City. The story I loved most of all was the one about Uncle Lev’s Day: the day, once a year, when Lev and his wife would drive to my mother’s house near Boston, pile her and as many of her young friends as possible into his gleaming aqua Packard, and head to the mall, where each kid was free to buy whatever her heart desired—courtesy of Uncle Lev. He was my mother's Emperor of Ice Cream!
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