Mark Rubinstein Blog

I’ve had the opportunity to interview some of the most acclaimed authors on the planet. I enjoy asking them questions often tailored to their unique writing styles or fictional characters. There are some questions that apply almost universally to writers. One of my favorites is:

Do you procrastinate? And how do you deal with the nearly universal tendency to procrastinate?

Here are excerpted responses from very successful and prolific authors.

 Don Winslow: If I procrastinate or don’t write, I feel guilty. (Laughter). I should be home writing. I feel as though I’m shirking…it’s a strange kind of dysphoria. I try take Sundays off. I sort of get away with that because I feel like I’m improving myself (More laughter). ~ Talking about The Cartel

 Patricia Cornwell: I most certainly procrastinate. I absolutely have days where I’ll find every excuse under the sun not to sit at that desk and write. The reason is: writing scares me. It’s hard. And if the characters are being uncooperative, I just move words around uselessly. At times like that, I wonder who stole my characters. Or, I think they’ve gone on vacation. Talking about Depraved Heart

 Linwood Barclay: I’ve never been a procrastinator. Once I’m working on a project, I just want to get it finished. I find if I take too long writing a novel, I lose my sense of continuity and the flow suffers. I prefer to get immersed in it and keep going until it’s done. ~ Talking about Broken Promise

 Linda Fairstein: I’m a world class procrastinator. I can find things to do that boggle the mind. The hardest point in the process of writing a book is the beginning—the first hundred pages. There are so many diversions. I become more attached to the work about a quarter of the way in. Then I really get into it and it’s a race to the finish for the last three-quarters. ~ Talking about Devil’s Bridge

Jon Land: Everyone procrastinates to some extent. But creative procrastination is a positive thing. Some of my best ideas have come when I wasn’t sitting at the computer. I might be at the gym; or watching a movie; but these connect-the-dot moments arise from creative procrastination. ~ Taking about Strong Light of Day

Tess Gerritsen: I procrastinate all the time. It’s human nature. I write and stick to my schedule because I have a contract. If I didn’t have a book under contract, I would take my time. You know, there are so many distractions for a novelist, especially for those of us who are pulled in many directions by multiple passions. I could spend an entire year doing nothing but learning fiddle tunes. ~ Talking about Playing with Fire

 Barry Eisler: Procrastination is a continuous struggle. I have a good rationalization for it: I’m obsessed with political issues. There’s so much good commentary and discussion on the matters that interest me: politics, the rule of law, the media, government transparency, civil rights, and other issues. I read and blog about them. It takes a lot of time away from what would otherwise be my day-job—writing fiction. So, my rationalization for procrastinating is built in. My novels are so driven by real world events, I tell myself I’m really doing research. (Laughter). Talking about The God’s Eye View

Robert Crais: Yes, I procrastinate. The reality is—especially on a bad day, but really, on all days—writing is a job like any other. Only, you’re your own boss, and the boss, meaning you, must keep you the chair, focused and committed to getting the task accomplished. You have to consistently force yourself to keep writing. Talking about The Promise

Lisa Gardner: If I procrastinate, I get anxious and I feel I may not meet my deadline. I’m a very structured writer. I draft a novel in about six months. Then, I re-write. If I get behind schedule, my husband and daughter will tell you I’m not fun to live with. (Laughter). ~ Talking about Find Her

Alafair Burke: If procrastination were a competitive sport, I would get lots of medals. (Laughter). I try to keep enough structure in my life so I don’t miss deadlines. My idea of goofing off is going on Facebook to look at friends’ pictures. (Laughter). It helps that I still have a job as an attorney. I have a schedule and am forced to be mindful of time. Sometimes, I just have to compel myself write the next book. ~ Talking about The Ex

Reed Farrel Coleman: Procrastination is against my religion. (Laughter). Even as an undisciplined kid, I never procrastinated. I was always the first kid in class to give a speech when no one wanted to do it. I always felt waiting caused me more anxiety than doing something I didn’t want to do. I’m still that way. ~ Talking about Where it Hurts

 

Allison Gaylin: Procrastination can absolutely be a problem. (Laughter). That’s especially true with social media. I can fall into a hole on Facebook or looking at news stories online. I have to discipline myself. ~ Talking about What Remains of Me

 

Ace Atkins, while working as a crime reporter for the Tampa Tribune, earned a Pulitzer Prize nomination for his coverage of a cold case from the 1950s. At age 27, his first novel, Crossroad Blues, was published and be became a full-time novelist at age 30.

The Innocents is the sixth installment of his critically acclaimed Quinn Colson series. After a stint in Afghanistan where he trained local police, Quinn returns to his hometown of Jericho, Mississippi. Along a country road, an eighteen-year-old former high school cheerleader is found engulfed in flames; and there’s no shortage of suspects in her murder. Working with Lillie Virgil, the first woman sheriff in the state, Quinn and others sort through a web of intrigue and secrets, trying to bring justice to the town of Jericho.

One of the striking things about The Innocents and the other books in the series is how the town of Jericho almost becomes a character. Will you talk about setting?

I’m always struck by how many novels today focus on international intrigue and involve white-knight superheroes. While I enjoy reading them, I try to write a different kind of novel. I write about ordinary people living in a small town such as Jericho, Mississippi. I love capturing the atmosphere of Southern life with its unique ambience and everything that goes on—the good, the bad and the unexpected.

I also think one of the advantages of a series is the author can elaborate on the setting and the characters with each successive novel. I can expand and dig deeper with each novel. Six books into the series, Quinn Colson has become a more complex character, and Jericho’s corrupt underbelly has been more vividly exposed.

You anticipated my next question. In the Quinn Colson novels, is Jericho a microcosm of the larger world?

Yes, absolutely it is. You don’t have to be in Paris, London or New York, and you don’t have to write international thrillers to experience corruption, intrigue, brutality, and criminality. It’s as much a part of life in a small town as anywhere else.

So, as you said, the fictional town of Jericho is a microcosm of the larger world. And a protagonist like Quinn Colson has all the flaws and warts you would expect to find in people anywhere: he’s had a problematic off-again-on-again relationship with a married woman; has issues with work; and must sort out complicated relationships with his father and sister.

 The Innocents, as are all your other Quinn Colson novels, is peppered with authentic dialogue. Tell us how you approach writing dialogue.

I think dialogue is the engine driving a novel. It propels the story and bespeaks character. A novel’s characters are made real by their dialogue more than by anything else. I’ve always felt dialogue is not just what people say to each other; it’s what they do to each other with words. I love walking around and jotting down little bits of dialogue I overhear, whether it’s at the general store, standing in a supermarket line, or sitting in a restaurant.

Without trying to eavesdrop, I hear the most amazing bits and pieces of conversation, some of which I can fit in a novel.

A short while ago, while walking around, I heard a man and woman talking. From their conversation and the tones of their voices, it was clear they knew each other very well. She gave him a gentle punch on the shoulder and said, ‘How dare you sleep with another woman.’ He laughed and said, ‘What can you expect? I was in jail for a month.’ [Laughter]

By listening to conversations taking place anywhere, a writer can find a treasure trove of dialogue that might wind up in a novel.

 The Born Losers, a motorcycle gang, plays a significant role in The Innocents. Is any of this based on your observations of real-life people?

Some of what I try to capture in my writing is the way the South was back in the Seventies—motorcycle gangs, overt prejudice, and things like that. And I’ve always loved films like Easy Rider and I’ve done research on motorcycle gangs; but most of what appears in the Quinn Colson books is a product of my imagination.

 Quinn’s relationship with his father, Jason, is interesting. Tell us about that.

In the previous Quinn Colson novel, I decided to bring Jason Colson back. He was something of a ghost in Quinn’s life, having been largely absent when Quinn was growing up—Jason was a Hollywood stuntman living the fast life.

When I reintroduced Jason, I wasn’t really sure what to do with him. I didn’t have him sketched out as well as I’d have liked. I gave the script to a psychologist friend who made a very perceptive observation: he felt that as a Hollywood stuntman, Jason Colson had a risk-taking personality and that trait would permeate his lifestyle. So, Jason is a risk-taker, and gets immersed in various high-stakes ventures. True to form, in The Innocents, Jason wants to get involved in a huge land deal.

Because of Jason Colson’s absence all those years, he and Quinn don’t have a close relationship. In fact, it’s quite strained, as are many father-son relationships in real life.

 As a successful novelist, what’s the most important lesson you’ve learned about writing?

The most important thing is to work, work, work.

I work on my books every day except when I’m on vacation. To be a professional novelist means you want to improve with each project, and there’s no substitute for always working and trying to write better prose.

I’ve been doing this for almost twenty years, and it’s a constant struggle to keep at it and grow as a writer.

 What do you love most about the writing life?

Sometimes I love it and sometimes I hate it [Laughter].

I do love the freedom the writing life allows, but as a professional writer, I’ve got to make deadlines. I have to deliver a manuscript on time and it has to be good, sharp, and right. My editors expect a solid book, not a rough draft. So, while I love being my own boss, and having independence, the writing life also confers responsibilities.

 What’s coming next from Ace Atkins?

I’m working on my twentieth novel. It’s going to be my sixth Spenser novel. I’m overwhelmed by how accepting readers have been of my taking over the series after Robert B. Parker’s passing. Writing those books has been very satisfying.

 

Congratulations on penning The Innocents, another compelling and atmospheric Quinn Colson novel in a series about which John Sandford said, ‘With terrific, inflected characters and a dark, subtle sense of place and history, these are exceptional novels.’

Patrick Flanery earned a B.F.A. in film at NYU and worked in the film industry before moving to the U.K, where he completed a doctorate in Twentieth-Century English Literature at Oxford. He has written for the Washington Post and the Times Literary Supplement, and is a professor of Creative Writing at the University of Reading. I Am No One is his third novel.

I Am No One features Jeremy O’Keefe, a divorced, middle-aged history and film lecturer at NYU, who has returned from the U.K. after spending a decade teaching at Oxford. He had left New York, his crumbling marriage, and young daughter after not receiving tenure at Columbia.  Now back in the city, he begins to receive a series of mysterious packages, each one containing seemingly incontrovertible evidence that every aspect of his digital life over the last ten years has been the subject of intense surveillance. At the same time, he repeatedly encounters a strange young man who appears to know exactly where Jeremy is going or has just been.

And who’s that darkly clothed figure Jeremy sees on so many nights peering at his apartment windows?

What is going on …. and why?

The reader is drawn into Jeremy’s world of possible paranoia and delusion; or is it one of a frightening level of all-encompassing surveillance?

On one level, I Am No One deals with the issue of surveillance, either by the state or by rogue players. Will you talk about that?

When I started writing the book, I didn’t set out to write a novel about surveillance. I was thinking about a moment I’d experienced in New York City. I was staying with a friend who was living in Silver Towers. I was on the street and looked up at her bedroom window. I waved to her, but she didn’t see me. I told her I’d seen her and it was the first time she’d been aware she was living a half-public life in her own apartment. That made me think of crafting a story about different kinds of intrusions into one’s private life. It made me want to explore the kind of characters who would be at the nexus of that experience. That led to a broader story about surveillance. It became a book about different kinds of watching and the experience of being watched—both on a personal level and in a larger, more abstract governmental way.

You can probably discuss this extensively: Is I Am No One a political thriller, a cautionary warning, an existential meditation of self and the world, or a combination of all three?

I think it can certainly be read with all three of those categories in mind. In some ways, the novel is trying to engage the possibility of each of those genres. The book is conscious of its status as something involving complexity. There are moments when Jeremy wonders what kind of novel he’s in. Is he in a thriller, a drama? It’s also a novel about how we live our lives these days and how we think about ourselves. People interested in a political thriller will find something identifiable for themselves. However, it’s not a novel that plays by the rules of commercial thrillers.

All your novels deal, at least partly, with contemporary political and social issues. Will you talk about that?

[Laughter] I grew up in a household where the political was a key component of everyday life. My father was a newspaper reporter and my mother was a school teacher and also worked for a non-profit organization. They were both involved in anti-war movements in the late 1960s in Chicago. I grew up with that legacy. With that background, I had great difficulty navigating my way through the world without thinking about the ways in which the political affects everyday interactions. When I sit down to write a book, the political is always influencing my creative impulses. I think my books tend to be very broad and complicate realism, while still telling stories about the world we live in.

At times I Am No One uses long, elegant sentences with digressions, but they never lose the reader, and always return to where they began. Who are your literary influences?

There are a great many. [Laughter] For this book, I was thinking about a few writers in particular. I’ve been trying to read Proust in French, having read the first two volumes in English. His circumambulatory style influenced my prose. The Spanish writer Javier Marias is also an influence. And then there’s someone like Nabokov. I was reading Lolita before I began working on this book.

I also wanted prose that would speak to the style of the character, Jeremy.

Yes, professorial and intellectual.

Even a bit pedantic.

Yes, somewhat self-important but still quite likable in his own way. [Laughter] Which leads to the next question. At times, Jeremy O’Keefe seemed the proverbial unreliable narrator, but was he merely unwilling to look at himself more deeply?

I think that’s a really interesting way of thinking about him. He’s not trying to mislead the reader as often occurs with unreliable narrators. What makes him unreliable is his inability to see his own self in the world and his not being able to see the ways in which he’s failed, both professionally and personally. I agree with you: his unreliability derives from his failure at introspection.

That leads me to another question. The novel seems to be partly metafiction in the sense that Jeremy is very aware of writing a chronicle about his experience.

The books I most enjoy reading are those that are conscious of their status as books. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy reading books where metafiction isn’t in play. But I find the playful self-consciousness of a book very satisfying. So, I write the kind of books I would like to read. I’m interested in the way metafiction can take political energy and do something concrete with it.

You’ve studied both film and literature, and you’re a novelist. Talk about storytelling in film as compared to the novel.

The storytelling tools I learned at NYU’s film school were important in ways I could never have foreseen. Film chiefly taught me to build a kind of visual sensibility. Even when I’m thinking about the world within the confines of prose fiction, I’m always thinking about the visual setting.

I’m currently trying to write a screenplay. It’s a completely different kind of creative work. You have to resist those impulses to describe setting or describe a character’s interior thoughts and feelings. In film, you have to find ways to focus only on action and dialogue, yet convey the depth you can portray in a novel. It’s challenging.

Film forces the writer to conform to the proverbial axiom of ‘show, don’t tell,’ doesn’t it?

Absolutely. You have to show everything, right up front.  It has to be done by showing action, setting and dialogue.

What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned about writing?

First, the process of reading is never finished. You must read whatever is published in your genre and must read and re-read your own work in progress. I learned to appreciate how the process of reading and re-reading one’s own work helps clarify issues of both plot and style.

You’re hosting a dinner party and can invite any five guests, living or dead, real or fictional, from any walk of life. Who would they be?

[Laughter] I’d like to invite Stanley Kubrick. Then, I’d have Ruth Bader Ginsburg there. A fascinating guest would be William Faulkner. I’d also invite the late Bill Cunningham, along with Elena Ferrante because I really enjoy her work.

Congratulations on writing I Am No One, a superbly-written and elegant novel exploring multiple themes involving political surveillance, human nature, consciousness, relations between people, and the role of culture in forming a person’s identity.

Larry Watson received his BA and MA from the University of North Dakota and his PhD in creative writing at the University of Utah. His fiction, published in many foreign editions, has received multiple prizes and awards. His short stories and poems have appeared in various journals. He taught at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point for twenty-five years before joining the faculty at Marquette University in 2003 as a visiting professor.

As Good as Gone, his 10th novel, is set in the 1960s. It features an entire family, but especially focuses on Calvin Sidey, an aging cowboy living in a trailer outside Gladstone, Montana. Calvin has had no real communication with his family or with anyone else, for many years. He’s asked by his son Bill to look after Bill’s own two kids, 17-year-old Ann and 11-year-old Will, while Bill takes his wife to Missoula for surgery. Calvin agrees to babysit, but must confront the reality that his Old West ways of settling scores, issuing ultimatums, and teetering on the edge of violence are no longer acceptable.

Calvin Sidey in As Good as Gone is something of a mythic American cowboy—perhaps a Clint Eastwood type— transported to 1963.  Tell us your thoughts about this kind of iconic figure.

Maybe you’re casting the movie, already. [Laughter]

I had a mythic western hero in mind as I was working on the novel, but I also wanted to undercut that myth even as I was writing it. In a conversation with his grandson Will, Calvin tries to destroy that myth by disabusing the boy of some of his notions about who and what a cowboy is.

I also had my own grandfather in mind; he was a cowboy in Montana, but was completely unlike Calvin Sidey. He was a gentle, kind man and would have chuckled at the notion of his being an iconic American figure. He thought the best part of his life was when he gave up the cowboy life and became a homesteader.

As Good as Gone is as much a family saga as anything else, isn’t it?

Yes, I very much think of it as a generational family novel. I tried building parallels into the characters. Besides exploring Calvin’s experiences, we have episodes of Bill Sidey as a boy; some of Will’s; others of Bill’s wife Margery as a teen-ager; and Calvin’s granddaughter Ann’s. I wanted to describe the struggles of a family showing how the different generations are reflected in those challenges.

As Good As Gone is populated by a diverse cast of characters, each with a distinct voice. What thoughts do you have about character and voice?

I don’t much analyze it. I just hope if I have a sure enough sense of the character, his or her personality will emerge in the writing. One of the problems I had in the early drafts was with the internal perceptions of Calvin Sidey. I didn’t yet have his voice. I’m not quite sure what happened, but I finally felt I knew him well enough to offer his take on the world. Maybe I just got older. [Laughter].

Speaking of character in As Good as Gone, you beautifully capture the thoughts and feelings of an eleven-year-old boy. Tell us about that.

I may be older and mature, but I can still feel an eleven-year-old boy inside me. Maybe it takes remembering an event from my own life, but I can certainly go back to the experiences and mindset of an eleven-year-old.

I was impressed by how well As Good as Gone describes the small elements of everyday life—the feel of sun on one’s neck, the taste of river water, the smell of mildewed sheets. Tell us about that.

You’ve mentioned different sensory experiences. I do remind myself as I’m writing to include not just visual perceptions, but auditory, olfactory and skin sensations. I think of those things as the kinds of details that help shore up the reader’s belief in what’s happening, and it helps readers experience for themselves whatever is going on. I want them to identify with the experience.

Your prose is spare yet powerful, and reminiscent of Hemingway’s.  Who are your literary heroes?

You just named one: Hemingway. I’m re-reading Hemingway over the summer because I’m teaching a course in fiction. Hemingway was one of the first good writers I discovered on my own; that is to say, I wasn’t assigned a Hemingway novel. I recognized how good he was. His short stories inspired me and made me want to try writing.

What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned about writing?

It’s not a complicated one: it’s just to do it. For me, that means writing every day. I’m a slow writer. A two-hundred-word day is a good one for me. I’ve always taught so I have to allot my time between teaching and writing. The habit of writing every day is essential.

You’re hosting a dinner party and can invite any five guests, living or dead, real or fictional, from any walk of life. Who would they be?

First, I’d have my wife there. I enjoy talking with her, and if you depended on me to keep the conversation going, you’d all be in trouble. I’d really like to invite Philip Roth and Alice Munro. I think so highly of them. Both of them have stopped writing, and I’d want to hear what they would have to say about not writing. I’d also invite John Updike whose work I admire. In contrast to Roth and Munro, he was in the hospital at the end of his life writing poems about getting chemotherapy. He never stopped. And lastly, I’d want my father there. All my novels were published after he died. I never had the chance to ask him, ‘Hey, Dad, did I get this right?’ I wish I’d have asked him more questions and had him talk more about his own experiences.

What’s coming next from Larry Watson?

I’m not sure. I’ve finished a couple of drafts, but I’m not certain about what to do with them.

Congratulations on penning As Good as Gone, a suspenseful and evocative novel with stunning prose, painting strongly drawn characters facing daunting emotional, social and family conflicts.

John Hart, a bestselling author, is the only writer ever to win the Edgar Award for consecutive novels. He’s also won the Barry Award, the Ian Fleming Steel Dagger Award, and the North Carolina Award for Literature, among others.

Redemption Road features Elizabeth Black, a North Carolina detective accused of murdering two kidnappers and rapists after their bodies are discovered riddled by 18 bullet holes.

The novel also focuses on Adrian Wall, a former police officer who was convicted of murder and imprisoned for 13 years, during which time he was tortured relentlessly.

The reason for the torture is one of the backbones of this dual narrative novel.

In the past, Elizabeth’s and Adrian’s paths had crossed, and they meet once again to deal with a web of corruption, abuse and evil conspiring against their coming to terms with their own demons.

Your last novel, Iron House, was published five years ago. What caused so long an interval between that novel and Redemption Road?

Having written four novels, with each one having done better than the preceding ones, I came to believe I knew what I was doing. That turned out to be a rookie’s mistake. As soon as I started taking the writing process for granted, or putting faith in some kind of ‘divine inspiration,’ I was in trouble. Of course, now I’m speaking with the clear view of hindsight.

With the first four books, I knew exactly who my main characters were. I knew their weaknesses and their strengths. And those books worked because in addition to the plot, I had created real, fully-fleshed-out characters. When I began writing book five, I lacked that awareness.

So, when I started to write my fifth book, I just had the idea for a story…I envisioned it to be a modern retelling of The Count of Monte Cristo. There would be a good man wrongfully imprisoned, and an exploration of what he does after his release.

Three hundred pages later, I had the meat of a novel, but the protagonist was like those of a hundred thrillers I’d read before. He was predictable and the story didn’t resonate.

My publisher was very patient and decided to wait for me to produce the right book. It turned out Liz, who had been a bit player in the first attempt, now became a main player in Redemption Road. Once I had her character, it took another two years to complete the novel.

I’ve read all your novels. Redemption Road is the first written largely from the perspective of a woman. Was it a difficult challenge for you to write from this point of view?

I was worried when writing from a woman’s perspective that the character would ring false. I don’t think that happened with Liz. The reason seems clear to me: what makes us human is universal—the core emotions of fear, love, hate, and rage; the need for security and understanding. They’re the same whether one is a man or a woman. I focused on those elements, not on personal things like fashion or makeup. I kept it to the core of meaningful things.

Redemption Road describes police corruption and prison abuse. Does your earlier work as a criminal defense attorney inform your writing about these issues?

I can’t say I’ve seen a lot of corruption and abuse, but I have seen the jaded callousness that comes from institutional indifference. In a real sense, the people who cycle through the justice system become something less that human in the eyes of the people running the system—including administrative people, as well as guards. Even as a visitor to a prison, you feel yourself being dehumanized and turned into part of an indifferent machine. Once you go to prison, everything is beyond your control.

My background gave me that baseline of understanding from which to extrapolate some of Adrian’s experiences as a prisoner.

Your writing is very lyrical. Is it accurate to characterize your prose as Southern literary?

Actually, I’m woefully under-read. I’m always flattered to be called into the canon of Southern writers, and anything I could say about that would probably be grounded on air. I do think Southern literature is about love of place, a sense of history, and embracing the difficult parts of the human experience.

For a long time, the South was a vanquished nation. We have darkness and pride in our history. The South’s history is largely agrarian and there’s a strong tie to the land. Many people have had family farms for generations. As for the language itself, I love the late Pat Conroy’s writing. I don’t pretend to rise to his level, but I think language matters very much to storytelling. If in a reader I can create an emotional response that goes beyond enjoying pure story, then I’ve accomplished adding richness to the reading experience.

What do you love about the writing life?

I believe being a novelist is the ultimate expression of personal freedom. I have no boss; no calendar; I can live wherever I want; write what I want; and with sufficient readership, the relationship with the publisher becomes a partnership. I love living a writer’s life—being able to make a living through pure imagination and not have someone telling me what to do.

What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned about writing?

The most important lesson about the writing life is you must hold onto the world.

I spend my time in virtual isolation. I no longer have colleagues or people with whom I talk at the water cooler. It’s just me and silence. For a writer, it’s very important to hold onto friendships and activities, to stay grounded in the real world.

As for the most important lesson I’ve learned about writing, it’s this: you must be brutally hard on yourself. You have to keep at the writing until it’s right. It’s very seductive to say to one’s self, ‘This is good enough.’ But, you can almost always make a manuscript better. There’s a balance between wanting a novel to be completed and a willingness to go back again and again. As Dennis Lehane said, ‘The first draft is spaghetti on the wall.’ The real work is in the rewriting.

You’re hosting a dinner party and can invite any five people, living or dead, real or fictional, from any walk of life. Who would they be?

I’d invite Leonardo DaVinci, arguably the most amazing man who ever lived. I’d also invite Admiral Horatio Nelson because I love that period in naval history. I’d ask Hans Solo to join us along with J.R.R. Tolkien, the writer I admire for his gift of pure storytelling; and I’d invite my wife, because if I didn’t, she’d never forgive me [Laughter].

Congratulations on writing Redemption Road, an explosive and riveting novel written so lyrically, it must be described as literature.

Mary Kubica is the bestselling author of The Good Girl and Pretty Baby. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in History and American Literature from Miami University in Ohio.

Her third novel, Don’t You Cry, features a dual narrative focusing on a young woman, Quinn Collins, and an 18 year old man, Alex Gallo. Quinn’s roommate, Esther, disappears from their Chicago apartment, leaving Quinn wondering what happened to her. She finds a strange letter addressed to Esther, which makes her question if she knew anything at all about her roommate.

Meanwhile, in a small Michigan harbor town, a mysterious young woman shows up in a coffee shop and catches the eye of 18 year old dishwasher, Alex. The story takes unexpected twists down a sinister narrative trail in which the past and present collide in a shattering conclusion.

The first lines of Don’t You Cry are, ‘In hindsight, I should have known right away that something wasn’t quite right. The jarring noise in the middle of the night, the open window, the empty bed.’ Tell us your thoughts about the opening lines of a thriller.

The opening lines need to grab and suck the reader in. I want to lay the groundwork of a problem at the beginning of the book. We know right away that something is wrong, that a sinister event happened or will occur. Quinn has discovered something and hopefully, that will grab the reader. The reader wants to know ‘What is this jarring noise and why is the bed empty?

Don’t You Cry is written in the first person, present tense, as are The Good Girl and Pretty Baby. What makes you prefer this style?

I love getting into my characters’ heads. I want to be ‘at one’ with my character. I feel a character is presented more effectively when I’m in his or her head, when I feel those things intrinsically, rather than as an outsider. I feel the first person perspective does it best.

The present tense creates a sense of urgency. Whatever is happening is going on now, not in the past. The narrative is propelled forward rapidly.

I found Quinn Collins to be an intriguing character. Tell us a bit about her.

Quin, in some ways, reminds me a little of myself when I was twenty-three. She’s out of college, not quite sure what she wants to do with her life, and she’s living on her own for the first time. She has insecurities, having come from a loving and sheltered environment. I think readers will relate to her. It’s the time of life when a young person must come to terms with reality for the first time.

 

Quinn makes mistakes, and learns there’s a bigger problem facing her than just finding Esther. In the process, she discovers a great deal about herself, and becomes a stronger person.

Speaking of mistakes, don’t most readers love flawed and very fallible characters?

Yes, we all do. They’re real. We all make mistakes. We can relate to that, and though a reader may wonder why Quinn is making such obvious errors in judgment, it’s clear she’s very human, and more like we are, not just a character in a novel.

Both The Good Girl and Don’t You Cry have dual narratives. What makes this form so effective?

I love writing a story from two perspectives because, I can tell two stories and then at some point, merge them. At times, one character will see a situation one way, while the other narrator portrays it differently. It keeps readers on their toes. They wonder whom they can trust. Is there an unreliable narrator mixed in?

With The Good Girl, I told the story from three perspectives. If I’d told the story from only one point of view, it would have been a very different one. And, much of the plot and certain relationships between characters would have been excluded from the novel. The same thing is true with Don’t You Cry. I don’t think I’d have been able to tell the same story with only one narrator.

Also, the mystery element of the novel is enhanced by there being two stories because the reader may wonder, ‘When are these two stories going to come together?’ That’s one of the unanswered questions.

What draws you to writing suspense novels?

I didn’t start out writing suspense. Before, I wrote quite a bit of women’s fiction, though nothing was published. I felt something was missing in my writing—I’d create characters, but wasn’t grabbed by the storyline.

When I started writing The Good Girl, I was captivated as an author by having a mystery to solve. I found I loved putting together intricate puzzle pieces, and figuring out how they would come together. It was also a challenge to think of ways to surprise the reader. Once I’d written The Good Girl, I knew the suspense element was what had been missing from my previous writing. Now, I can’t see myself writing anything other than suspense.

What has surprised you about the writing life?

I have to say the authors I’ve been connected with have been wonderful, generous and warm. Writing is such a solitary career, but when I’ve had to go out there and show my work, I’ve been so pleasantly surprised by the support and generosity shown by so many authors.

What do you love about the writing life?

I love creating. It’s a job, but it rarely feels like one to me. I generally write early in the morning before the rest of the house is awake. Before going to bed each night, I feel a sense of excitement that in eight hours, I get to wake up and rejoin my characters. It’s great to forge these people on the page, to give them personalities. It’s a thrill to craft these characters and make them do and say what I want in the story.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be doing?

I was a high school history teacher before my daughter was born. If I wasn’t writing, now that my kids are a little bit older, I’d go back to teaching.

I also volunteer at an animal shelter. My bucket list includes owning my own shelter.

What’s coming next from Mary Kubica?

My next novel will come out in 2017. It involves the death of a young father in an automobile accident. His very young daughter was sitting in the back seat, and was unharmed. Soon, after the accident, she begins having nightmares of a car following them, and things take off from there.

Congratulations on writing Don’t You Cry a suspense-packed novel plumbing the psychology of both narrators, and a book ending with a twist every bit as mind-boggling as the one in The Good Girl.

 

 

L.S. Hilton grew up in England and has lived in Key West, New York City, Paris and Milan. After graduating from Oxford, she studied art history in Paris and Florence. She has worked as a journalist, art critic, and broadcaster.

Her debut novel and the first in a trilogy, Maestra, is a psychological thriller about Judith Rashleigh, an assistant at a London art gallery. By night, she’s a hostess at a champagne bar and is familiar with the ways of the wealthy. When she’s fired from her art gallery job, she accompanies one of the champagne bar’s biggest clients on a trip to the French Riviera. While there, a fatal accident befalls that client. For various reasons, Judith must assume a different identity, and she turns herself into an extraordinary femme fatale.

Judith Rashleigh is a fascinating character. Tell us a little about her.

She’s ambitious and extremely independent, as well as quite funny and just slightly sociopathic [Laughter]. To me, she’s a very modern young woman and totally unapologetic about her desires and ambitions. She’s also unapologetic about her body. She tends to make some people very angry, which I suppose, is a good thing. I’ve been living with her for quite some time, and have become very fond of her. She’s become a slightly strange friend of mine.

Maestra’s descriptions of the glossy, sleek life of the super-rich are fabulous. Are they based on your own experiences?

I wish they were. [Laughter]. When I wrote the book, I had in mind the sort of books I liked reading when on holidays. I would call them sunburn books—the kind where you tell yourself, ‘I’ll read one more page before I leave the beach’ and before you know it, you’ve been sunburned.

As an adolescent, I really loved the 70s and 80s blockbusters which were often about pleasure and fun. They took me to different worlds. So, I wanted to write something that would transport the reader to a very different and glamorous world. The exotic locations in the novel enhance that experience.

Judith seems to be a morally complex ‘anti-heroine.’ Do you agree with that?

I do. In many ways, she is an anti-heroine. At times, she can be quite nasty. The challenge for me was to make the reader stay with and root for her, even though she’s horrible in certain respects. She’s not a typical heroine in the way she makes her way through the world. But I hope readers will find her a sympathetic character. She’s capable of friendship; has a good sense of humor; has a strong sense of fair play; and most importantly, doesn’t take herself too seriously.

She’s also been described as reminiscent of Lisbeth Salander from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Do you feel that’s accurate?

Actually, I don’t, though I’m flattered by the comparison. Lisbeth Salander is motivated primarily by revenge. Lisbeth was also horribly traumatized as a young woman. And she’s considerably more imaginative and violent than Judith.

Judith is certainly murderous when she needs to be, but she’s practically minded. She doesn’t kill unnecessarily. Both protagonists are complex and powerful, so in that sense, I can see the connection between them.

 You’re obviously comfortable with writing graphic scenes of sexual activity. Will you talk about that?

Yes, they are graphic. I think Judith is part of a sexually graphic generation—she’s part of the ‘hook-up’ culture. I think the Internet has changed the way people interact socially and sexually.  Like it or not, we’ve undergone another sexual revolution in the last ten years. People talk and think about sex differently now than before.

For me, the words Judith uses and the things she does are honest and feel modern to me. I describe them so graphically for two reasons: the first is I felt it was realistic for the character and consistent with her voice. These are the words she would use to describe sex. Second, it’s a technically interesting challenge for a writer to describe sexuality in an effective way.

I don’t know if you’re aware of the British Bad Sex Award. It’s an award given every year by The Literary Review to a literary novel which is spoiled by a sex scene. The award has been given to John Updike and Jonathan Littel, among other luminaries.

The problem with writing about sex is one person’s erotic scene can very quickly become someone else’s comic scene. I wanted to write about sex in a way that was clear. To do that, you must get rid of metaphors; you have to minimize adjectives; and you have to use proper nouns. I wanted to write about things adults do, using the words adults use. There was no place for euphemisms or sentimentality in Maestra.

Judith assumes and sheds identities with ease, so I must ask if Maestra partly concerns questions about self-definition.

Yes, I think it very much concerns self-definition. It’s about a woman who tries to do things the right way, but that doesn’t quite work out for her. She realizes she’s been reduced to a sex object, so she turns certain prejudices against the person with those pre-judgements. Her journey is very much towards self-definition. She’s not actually interested in money or in living a luxurious lifestyle. She’s intent on being free and living her life on her own terms. Her self-definition isn’t found in material things. It’s found in those things to which she has the most passionate emotional response; and those things involve beauty. She wants to live a gracious life amongst beautiful things.

I understand Sony’s TriStar Pictures purchased the film rights. Who do you see playing Judith?

Of course, that won’t be my decision. I would be interested in seeing an unknown actress playing the part. I think readers want to see the character, but not see a star playing her.

Two more books about Judith are coming. Where will her travels take her?

There’s a clue in the first book about something quite unexpected happening in the second one. The second book has something to do with Caravaggio and features some Eastern European locations. The third goes back to Italy with certain characters reappearing. But Judith herself evolves over the course of the three books.

Congratulations on penning Maestra, the opening salvo of a trilogy about a ferocious heroine, a page-turning novel that’s also been described as dipping into the same psychological waters as Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley.