Not Another Newsletter!

And Endings

I thought of starting this newsletter with a cool encrypted message. Something like, The next time you get this, it might not be from me, or, Don't go looking for me, just wait for contact. Or even, the eagle has landed. You know. Some super secret spy code only super secret spies know.

I think most thriller writers secretly want to be spies or double agents or, at the very least, action heroes.

In my case, this newsletter really does represent an ending of sorts, although not because I'm going undercover to try and save the world. Lucky for the world. 

Just kidding with that little piece of self-deprecating humor. In truth I suspect many of us could do a pretty good job of world saving right about now, especially in comparison to those we're looking toward to do so.

So my first wish in terms of an ending applies to this year, which has brought so much suffering and deprivation of basic needs to so many. May we ring in 2026 to better times on the horizon.

Last January, I sat down to start a new book. I've done this most years for the past twenty-six, and the reason I have "only" seven published novels is because my debut was the eleventh book—yes, eleven, as in the number after ten, as in a double digit number, as in a LOT—I wrote. And even after I finally got published, several manuscripts got caught up in shifts at the publisher or changes between agents or were drawered for some reason.

Emerging and aspiring writers, please reread the above paragraph and take heart! Keep writing, keep honing your talent and being open to feedback, keep building your network, keep just plain hoping/putting it out there, and you will get where you're meant to go.

Anyway. The novel I just finished is different from all the other ones. In almost every respect. If you are someone who thinks there are only so many ways to write a novel, a limited number of plots or stories to weave—and I myself used to believe this—well, it turns out that it isn't true. In fact, you can toss out everything you thought you knew about craft and genre, throw those elements up to the heavens, and watch them come sprinkling down like stars.

And thus when you next hear from me, there will have been an ending, and maybe a beginning, too.

In the meantime, please read on to discover two authors, as well as a holiday gift from me. Reply to this letter and you'll be entered to win your choice of either one of these great books!

Spotlight guests

Elena Taylor and I go way back. I've been a fan of her work in both her writerly incarnations, and her support of fellow writers is legendary. Most of all, she really gets books—check out her blog where she offers up reviews—which has a clear and instrumental effect on her own writing. Proof tk as we say in the biz; see below.

The Haunting of Emily Grace is my first foray into standalone suspense. It's also a book about grief. Deeply personal, the novel combines a longtime love affair with Daphne Du Maurier's Rebecca, with my experience in overcoming a personal tragedy. While the situation Emily Grace endures is different than my own, part of being a writer is to extrapolate out from events in our lives to shape our fictional characters with authenticity.

While the island where the novel takes place is fictional, it's modeled after places I've visited for more than twenty years. Places where I spent time with people no longer living. Places where I spent time with people I no longer see. Ghosts invest our lives in so many ways, when relationships are no longer available to us, yet still inform our present.

My hope is that readers become immersed in the world of this book, finding empathy for the characters, a resonance in the emotional landscape, and discovering the sense of hope that I worked to create at the end.

Carol Van Den Hende and I are also fellow travelers on this writerly road. Carol's entrance into fiction became known to me when I learned of her connection to a veteran. The bond she found—and built—while shaping her story struck me as a bolt of hope amidst the fallout and trauma of war.

 

Dear Orchid started with a simple question. If you could send a letter to anyone–past or present–who would you write to?

While I was penning Goodbye Orchid, I most wanted to write to Sgt. Bryan Anderson, the Purple Heart decorated veteran who helped me with my novels. When he learned that my protagonist suffered similar injuries to his, he generously offered, "Come spend some time with me. I'll show you how easy I make it look to be a triple amputee."

After our deeply-moving first meeting, I leaned into the epistolary style that actor Mary-Louise Parker used in her memoir, Dear Mr. You. I wrote to Bryan about feelings that couldn't easily be expressed in person. That letter wasn't intended for publication but my editor adored it and placed it in the powerful opening spot of my new book. Her confidence unleashed a flurry of letters: I wrote to a childhood friend who never spoke, to a girl newly freed in East Berlin, to an aunt lost to Communist-era border closures. Dear Orchid offers dozens of these missives, and readers say their power is universal. Bryan agrees: my letter lives among his most important possessions inside his treasure box.

So please tell me: who would you write to?

The End of Things

is encoded in our makeup, our very DNA. Everything we start must end, from a book to our lives. But with each ending comes a beginning. A new form of being, another realm to inhabit, or perhaps simply the energy of carbon breaking down and feeding new life—depending where on the spiritual spectrum your beliefs lie.

Less a circle than an infinite line, progressing on and on and on and on.

I don't know where my new novel is going to take me. But I hope that all of you, with each of your own rich endings and brand new starts, will  be there to read it and find out with me.

A happy, glowing new year to us all!