Aaron Tillman’s debut novel, Lucy Miles Photogenic Mind, combines literary fiction, mystery, and magical realism—but he never wanted the mystery to overshadow the people at the heart of the story. Read why he chose to leave some questions answered, others unresolved, and let the characters themselves remain the deepest mysteries.
What:
Currently, the What I’m focused on is my debut novel, Lucy Miles’ Photogenic Mind, which is a literary mystery with a magical realist element—coming out from Regal House Publishing on November 17th! Since the novel incorporates magical realism, mystery, and literary modes, I’ll do my best to address what I was trying to do and how they connect.
In magical realism, there is a supernatural element that is treated as a natural part of the narrative. In Lucy Miles, Lucy’s unique ability—being able to display what she sees in the pools of her pupils—allows for an exploration of how differences can manifest in secret and be exploited by those who are close to them. The exploitation, at least in this case, is a product of complex circumstances that have remained in the realm of personal, familial, and societal mystery.
Mysteries add an inherent layer of suspense, while effectively pushing the narrative forward. However, some mystery novels can be too plot driven, often at the expense of character development. In his essay, “The Magic Show,” Tim O’Brien notes the irony “that most so-called mystery stories conclude with no mystery whatsoever.” He goes on to discuss characterization, suggesting that “successful characterization requires an enhancement of mystery: not shrinkage but expansion.”
For Lucy Miles, I didn’t want to sacrifice the fully fleshed out character in favor of a formulaic plot. Although I incorporate some of the common themes of the mystery genre—disappearance, drugs, murder, and a central character who is a police detective (Walter Walsh)—I made sure the story did not become a police procedural, and the detective remained a flawed human character. While some mysteries do get resolved in Lucy Miles—related to aspects of the plot—the mysteries that remain are largely connected to character.
More than anything, I wanted Lucy Miles to be a compelling literary novel, featuring relatable human characters. Just as the Walter sections focus more on his personal challenges than police department details, the emotional center of the story is found in Pinky Green’s first-person narrative. On the surface, Pinky is a small, awkward teenager who wears his insecurities on his sleeve; the characteristics not evident to the eye are his strength, creativity, determination, and wit. Through Pinky’s narrative, these individual characteristics are revealed in real time, and readers stay connected to the complex human dynamics—with all their comedy and tragedy—that are driving the story.
Ultimately, I wanted the layered narratives and the differing points-of-view to merge in a way that is satisfying and has literary merit. Might as well have lofty goals!
Why:
For me, writing has always been a way to release and examine anxieties, uncertainties, and mysteries—a way of making the intangible more concrete. The Why has also led to my interest in magical realism. I’m fascinated by the questions raised by the magical-realist story: why would a writer incorporate magical or surreal elements in otherwise realistic settings or characters?
In Aimee Bender’s story “Ironhead,” for example, she portrays human feelings of isolation and difference through her central character, a sensitive boy with a literal iron for a head raised by pumpkin-headed parents. The premise can sound absurd, but it’s emotionally honest, raw, and real. We get a sense of the unbearable weight of his difference and the ways he tries to navigate through a tragically familiar world.
In Lucy Miles, Lucy’s extraordinary difference is not evident to the eye. One would have to be very close to her and even then, she’d have to reveal herself. I wanted this internal difference to have a degree of vulnerability and be aligned with what’s hidden inside the other central characters. For example, Walter, the police detective, has very realistic struggles with depression and loneliness that are as internal and as masked as Lucy’s; the same can be said for Pinky’s maturity, strength, resilience, and wit.
These characters take the time to see and accept what makes each of them different—those qualities that are not evident to the generalized eye. It’s one of the reasons why I was drawn to the magical realist mode: to highlight Lucy’s vision and give the unrecognized differences light and power.
How:
Since I’ve touched on a few components of the How for my current project—magical realist elements, humor, and the effort to represent realistic struggles in a distinct way—I’ll address the How question in a more fundamental form that has always been helpful for me. I’ll begin by saying there’s nothing magical about writing except for the writing itself: writing is generative. The words won’t appear on the page unless you put them there, but once you start that process, new, unexpected ideas emerge—almost magically!
To be clear, there are times when we have thoughts in mind or something we want to express and we get it out in writing, and through that process we clarify ideas and follow the streams to new reservoirs. What holds some writers back, I think, is the misconception that we must have something in mind in order to write. This creates an unreasonable pressure and can lead to a certain paralysis. When little seems to be moving in my mind, I take a fairly simple approach: I read something and then I write something. The reading allows some rhythms and images to sift into my brain, and the writing distills all that and enables something new to come out.
And once something, anything, is on the page—even if it began with I don’t have a single damn thing in my big fat brain (add a “he said,” and you actually do have something) —you are able to work with it and build the circumstances from there. So, the How always boils down to a belief in the process of reading and writing.
“With a cast of unforgettable characters including a quirky beach concessions connoisseur, a woebegone police detective, and an adolescent boy trying to find his place in the world, Tillman’s novel will both delight, intrigue, and torment you with its wry humor, its turns and tension, and its deeply flawed and human inhabitants… a joyful read that will buzz in your brain long after it’s over.” —Joe Baumann, author of Tell Me and Where Can I Take You When There’s Nowhere To Go?
About Aaron:
Aaron Tillman is Associate Director of the Writing Program at UMass Amherst. His novel, Lucy Miles’ Photogenic Mind, is forthcoming from Regal House Publishing (Nov. 2026). He is the author of two short story collections, Consolation Miracles and Every Single Bone in My Brain, and a book of critical nonfiction, Magical American Jew.
He received the Gival Press Short Story Award, the John Gardner Memorial Prize in Fiction from Harpur Palate, a Short Story Award for New Writers from Glimmer Train Stories, and his work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His stories have appeared in Mississippi Review, Pembroke Magazine, Narrative Magazine, upstreet, Sou’wester, and elsewhere. He has recorded stories for radio broadcast, and his essays and reviews have appeared in The Writer’s Chronicle, Colorado Review, Studies in American Humor, Symbolism, The CEA Critic, and The Intersection of Fantasy and Native America. He can be found online at aarontillmanfiction.com
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