
Rosch grew up in the Southwest, lived in New York for nearly 20 years, and now resides midway between Austin and San Antonio in Wimberley, TX where he works as an author, freelance creative director and copywriter in advertising, and most importantly, full-time dad.
My Q&A with the author:
How much work does your title do to take readers into the story?Visit Peter Rosch's website and follow him on Facebook, BlueSky, Instagram, and Threads.
I’d say quite a bit of work. There are dead people in my book. Check. We are going to see what they can and can’t do. Check. It sounds ominous and dark, and this book is that and more. Check and check. I like the title What The Dead Can Do for a whole host of reasons, but it was not the original title. Tend was the original title. That one word drove a lot of the plot, too. This is the story of a mother tending to her child from the afterlife. My interpretation of the word had always been tinted with empathy, love, care, and all the things that society expects from perfect mothers. Amanda, the mother here, is pushing the envelope on what it means to tend to her child—she’s trying to kill him to bring him to her so she can continue to care for him and ensure his well-being. In the end, though, I came to realize that the word tend was dated. Many people think of money first when they hear the word. It was doing nothing to take readers into the story and, in many cases, was confusing them. I count myself lucky that it did, to be honest—I was forced to re-evaluate. And I think What The Dead Can Do sets up the story and, more importantly, the vibe I want people to feel when they crack open the book.
What's in a name?
Everything. And nothing. Personally, I love to read about the meanings of names and their origins. That said, I also know that I don’t always look into why an author named someone what they did. Amanda, the mother who is seeking a way to kill her still-living two-year-old from the afterlife, is a complex character. “Worthy of love” is one of the meanings assigned to the name Amanda. The grief she experiences in this book puts her on a path to do a thing that real-world mothers do from time to time: kill their children. I went down the rabbit hole on filicide while developing this novel. Are those women worthy of love? Forgiveness? I don’t think the answer can be yes or no because the circumstances around their stories matter. Will Amanda be worthy of a reader’s love by the end of this book? I guess we’ll be finding out.
How surprised would your teenage reader self be by your new novel?
He’d be very surprised, I think. The teenage version of me and even the version of me up until I met my wife, Ariele, didn’t think he’d have any children. Side note: When I met Ariele, I knew I wanted to have a child with her immediately. My whole being knew. Of course, he probably wouldn’t know the backstory to this book, which is that it started as love letters to my own son in a year that I believed I was going to die prematurely, so maybe he wouldn’t be surprised. Even so, I think a lot of the complex themes in this book would go right over his head, too. He’d probably enjoy it, but I don’t think he’d truly get it. It is readily apparent to me at this moment that I don’t think much of teenage Peter Rosch.
Do you find it harder to write beginnings or endings? Which do you change more?
Beginnings. I always have a ton of ideas for how a story can begin. I usually have an idea of where a story is going to end, too, but that changes. I’m a pantser, not an outliner, for a whole host of reasons. One of the reasons is that I believe the real ending will reveal itself to me as I walk the journey with my characters. I have some idea of where I want them to go, end up, achieve, or fail at, but I don’t reallyknow until I’m deep into the story. Even then, a good beta reader or editor has often been the reason other ideas for an even better ending pop into my head.
Do you see much of yourself in your characters? Do they have any connection to your personality, or are they a world apart?
There is a little bit of me in every character. I don’t set out to put anything of myself into my characters intentionally. I often don’t even realize what aspect of their personality is like my own until I’ve had a good bit of time away from the manuscript. With What The Dead Can Do, I’ll be curious to hear from friends and family which character they think is me or is most like me, if any. In my fifty-two years, I’ve been many different versions of myself: an addict and alcoholic, a musician, a filmmaker, a New Yorker, a Texan, a rockstar of a sort and a cowboy of a sort, too, a curmudgeonly cynic, and an optimistic Pollyanna. I am grateful for all the lives I’ve led. I don’t have Dissociative Identity Disorder, but it is not hard for me to wear a former mask or draw upon the characteristics of the people I’ve lived as in this life.
What non-literary inspirations have influenced your writing?
My sobriety, the sobriety of others, and the dark lives we left behind in becoming sober have heavily influenced my writing. On the whole, I don’t know that I view the world that much differently than I did as a drunk and addict, but I certainly know that old Peter could rarely find the time to sit still long enough to write a novel or be anywhere other than a bar. Music inspires me. That there are people in this world who don’t like music still blows my mind. Tons of non-literary stuff moves me. But I have to say this: my mother inspires me. On paper, her journey probably seems like an easy one, but I know better. Love you, Mom.
--Marshal Zeringue