NSMC

Some of my favorite interviews, Part 4

If you are a writer of fiction who is touching on any kind of fact-based thing in their writing (I guess some books do this more than others) at least if you are conscientious you live in fear of really getting something terribly wrong. Luckily I don’t write historical fiction, and while I don’t like to do hundreds of hours of research just to make sure that every thread laid down is correct (because really that is just a form of procrastination), I definitely don’t want anyone rolling their eyes or worse getting offended with something I’ve said because I’ve gotten it wrong (if they’re offended but not because I’ve gotten it wrong, I guess I don’t care..?)

A little while after the book was out, a curious email landed in my inbox—it was from a professor, Abigail Marsh, who studied psychopaths and is currently running a program to help them! And while she was typically skeptical of books that featured psychopaths, she was surprised to read an accurate representation of what life is like for them. I was overjoyed to hear this, and the below is a mutual interview of sorts, where she asks me about the book, and I ask her my burning questions about psychopathy, which include quite a few that readers as me, such as can psychopaths actually get better? Do they fall in love?

Click below or check out PsychopathyIs for more information.

Some of my favorite interviews, Part 3

Here I am on Book Off! with Bella Mackie, author of How To Kill Your Family. This is a great podcast- longform interviews with two authors in conversation, usually ones that have something in common. Bella and I both have a dark sense of humor (as apparent in the title of her book!) Listen to our conversation to hear our takes on horror and humor, America vs. British views of Downton Abbey, and David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas.

How to Kill Your Family
By Bella Mackie

Some of my favorite interviews, part 1

Not surprisingly, I have spent a lot of the past month plus doing various interviews promoting Never Saw Me Coming. I wanted to highlight a few of my favs in case you missed them.

The below video was from my official launch by Politics and Prose (a local bookstore in DC). If I seem really chummy with the interviewer, it’s because we happen to be very close friends—Everdeen actually read the first draft of this novel, and saw it through several revisions, to my battle to get an agent, all the way through submission to the book deal. (She has been moderating book events for years, and we had a dream of her one day moderating my book event.) During the horrible year of 2020, updates on the book coming out were sometimes the only positive thing we had to share! NB: if the questions at the end seem progressively weirder, it is because 100% of them came from my friends who were attempting to troll me and who may or may not have been drinking in a hotel room ten blocks from my house.)

So you've binged Never Saw Me Coming, what now?

sidebar- is this not the most beautiful cat you have ever seen?

sidebar- is this not the most beautiful cat you have ever seen?

Do you suffer from a pervasive emptiness after having finished my book? Um, sorry. I hope you enjoyed it. I hope the characters stay with you and I hope you had a few laughs. As I’ve written elsewhere, this was very much a pandemic book (it was written before the pandemic, but the entire business end of selling and marketing the book occurred during the pandemic) so if I was able to take you away from it all for a few hours, mission accomplished.

I am writing this on Monday, September 6th, the day before my book officially goes on sale tomorrow. My launch event happens to fall on Saturday, September 11th, the 20 year anniversary of the terrorist attacks. The past two years have been very strange: my little fictional book with its made up characters and problems feels tiny compared the the huge, daunting problems that face us in real life: political instability, climate change, COVID, I could go on. I don’t think of myself as an “important” writer, someone who has profound things to say about the zeitgeist or whatever—I am a popcorn writer who leans towards intelligent. During the pandemic I was not reading War and Peace, learning a new language, or getting into the best shape of my life. I went for long, meandering walks while listening to podcasts. I stared at clouds. When I did consume media, it was comfort watches that took me away: rewatching Breaking Bad for the 100th time, rewatching Lost for inexplicable reasons, becoming obsessed with Full Metal Alchemist and The Expanse. I am not a gamer, but I obsessively played and consumed Skyrim material for most of the summer of 2020. I could not really leave my house as COVID was spiking, but at least in that fictional world I could wander around gathering flowers to make potions, defeat enemies, and stand less than 6 feet away from someone at a tavern (actually I couldn’t if I was wearing Ebony Mail, which poisons people if you stand too close shout out to the one person reading this who’s played Skyrim.) There is nothing wrong in wanting to get lost in a fictional world.

Well, when can you next enter one of my fictional worlds? Um.. I’m not sure? I’m not currently under contract, but I am working on another book. If you want a book exactly like Never Saw Me Coming I will inevitably disappoint you. If the book felt fresh it was because I was doing things with characters and tropes you weren’t expecting. I’m not ever going to be a writer who keeps hitting the same notes over and over to make “different” songs. If you like my actual style of writing, my humor, my focus on characters, you’re going to like my next book. I promise. It will surprise you because it’s different. When exactly you’ll get to read it, I have no idea. It’s going to take me a while to write and then, you know, it has to be edited and printed and stuff.

In the meanwhile, I have a backlog of other stuff you can read right now, which I will tee up here!

Guava Summer

Guava Summer is a chapbook (novella—a very long short story) published by Radix Media as part of their Futures science fiction boxed set of chapbooks. You can buy it singularly or as part of the set. (This novella is only available in print.) The picture doesn’t quite do it justice, but each chapbook was individually designed, and each has their own personal touches (mine has an inset of colorful guavas). In fact, Radix won an award for Book and Cover design from AIGA’s 50 Books 50 Covers 2019 competition.

The story focuses on an unnamed, schlubby detective living with a sexy android (yes there’s a backstory there) in a totalitarian society where the government sees all, people are carted off in the dead of night, and corruption abounds. When Sebastian Black, a corrupt mobster-turned-politician and former client emerges as the leading presidential candidate, the detective prepares for another sham election. But with the summer heat comes the unexpected…

Guava Summer is one of my most favorite things I have written. If you’re a regular thriller reader, but not a sci fi reader, give it a chance; all of my stories are fundamentally about character, but this one is also strongly about creating a new and interesting world, and the political context within it. It also has the best ending I have ever written. (Sadly, because the story is too long, I will never get to read it out loud for an audience.)

Twelve Years, Eight-hundred and Seventy-two Miles

Twelve Years, Eight-Hundred and Seventy-Two Miles is literary fiction, a novella about two brothers going on a road trip to see their father executed on death row. Here’s the blurb:

For twelve years, Zeke Honeycutt has been waiting for his father to be executed on death row.

Haunted by the crime he witnessed as a child, he has been scraping together a living to raise his brother, Will—now fifteen years old—ever since they left foster care. Unlike Zeke, Will, an oddball budding filmmaker, was too young to remember their parents, and to him their mother’s murder is just a case file. Nonetheless, Zeke takes his brother on a road trip across the eight-hundred and seventy-two miles that stretch between LA and the Eyman Prison complex in Arizona to view the execution. As they drive through the desert in their beat-up car, they keep up a steady banter about the mundane—school, girls, and everything in between. But as they move closer to their destination, each must confront the family history that left an indelible imprint on their lives.

This one is always interesting to tee up because it is about something awful and tragic, but it’s also a comedy. For me, there’s often an element of comedy in things that are dark, dreadful, or scary. Here are two boys with a different set of memories, and different feelings about the death penalty. One thinks the execution will bring him a resolution—the other doubts this. I love this story for having a lot of heart and a lot of humor (also it would make a good movie cough cough). The greatest compliment I received about it was a friend who told me that it made him “ugly sob” when he was running on a treadmill. (People can read while running???)

Other Short Fiction

If you head over to this section of my website there are a few more short stories (more of the short variety that the above two) that are available online.

Semi-Gone Girl

All of the work and publicity that goes into the later stages of getting a book out there—well, it’s a lot. A lot of what I have counted as “writing” in the past few months has actually been the business end of getting this book out into the world. I am still saying yes to most publicity things (in as much as I can) and supporting the other 2021 debuts who are coming out later this year through the rest of the year, but what I would love to do is get back to writing a new book. I will still be active on social media in support of the above, but maybe not as active. I will still be doing events, and am still open to doing book clubs (see that section of my website if interested—I would love to finally talk about Never Saw Me Coming without having to worry about spoilers.) But really it’s best if writers are left to do what they do best, which is write. I might delete Twitter off my phone or put some strictures on non-writing stuff I do, but that’s because what I need to be doing is sitting my ass down and writing. If you loved my book, great, thank you, please rate and leave a review and mention it to a friend or two. I hope if you loved it, you’ll continue to support my career, wherever that may take us. I promise it will be interesting.

A week out.. it's been a blur.

I have to interrupt regularly scheduled blog posts to scream the following: I got a glowingly positive review in the New York Times and for a brief moment in time, this review was on the front page of the digital edition.

nytimes front page.png

(You can find the review pretty easily, but I won’t link it right now because there might be a spoilery detail or two).

At some later point, I will write a longer post about the emotional roller coaster that is Your Book Is Coming Out, but at the moment I still haven’t processed everything. If you’re someone who bought NSMC, thank you. If you have already read/listened to it, please drop a review on Amazon, B&N, and/or Goodreads, regardless of where you bought it, as reviews affect algorithms. My next post will be on 9/30— see you then.

The McMillan Sand Filtration Site

So.. if you haven’t gotten to this scene of Never Saw Me Coming yet, you probably won’t understand why I am talking about a pre-World War II water treatment facility, but if you have finished the book, I think this will be pretty interesting to see what I was talking about. Once I learned what this thing was, I thought “oh this is the perfect place for something terrible to happen.”

I had lived in DC for years and driven past the McMillan many many times, often wondering what the hell it was. It was just this strange place overgrown with weeds with these bizarre round, mini-silo like buildings—I wondered if they were some form of urban apiary. I learned about it a few years ago, and when I started writing NSMC I knew it was the perfect place for a major “set piece.” The McMillan Sand Filtration Site used to be a place where water was purified before it could be used in households.

McMillan was featured on Atlas Obscura, if you’d like to see some amazing photos.

The place has remained a nonproductive construction site for years—plans were drawn up to change it into a combination park, historic site, and and housing complex. But then it got tied up in years of litigation. Some people—not clear on exactly who they are—are dead set against the construction plans going through. Pretty much standard NIMBY stuff. DC really needs housing and the site is has been doing nothing since World War II. Below is a video of what they want to build (I do hope they don’t clean the ivy off the storage bins though).

What's in a name

This is from when I was writing the first draft of NSMC:

coffee.jpg

My writerly Facebook friends are very clever. Here are some of the best. (I starred the ones that were mine.)

Daily Grind (person saying this did not realize it’s an actual coffeeshop in DC)

Bean There, Bun That (I imagine this as a place that specializes in cream buns or bao)

Fake Brews* (has free newspapers laying around and also has a variety of coffee substitutes for people like me who can’t drink coffee! seriously we want more than just tea or hot chocolate..)

Bean and Nothingness* (the sort of place that gives you a dirty look for asking for espresso on ice. I’m really proud of various accomplishments of mine—getting a PhD, getting a major book deal—but high up there on the list is that there is a coffeeshop in my novel with this name.)

Capitol, Old Bean! (employees are wearing seersucker)

The Coffeum (a play on the Newseum, one of my favorite museums- very sterile, lots of stainless steel)

The Coffeehouse of Representatives (contains cartoon drawings of Members of Congress who have visited)

Vegislative Branch (they serve vegan sandwiches too)

All the Brews That’s Fit to Pour (one of those weird places that never seems to have any business and you wonder if it’s actually some sort of money laundering enterprise)

1600 Beansylvania Avenue (sells mugs to a lot of tourists bc they are located close to a metro)

Supreme Cup* (has themed drinks named after Supreme Court Justices.)

Democracy Dies in Dark Roast* (this is post 2016, after the Washington Post added a black banner to their website that said “Democracy Dies in Darkness)

Caffeination Without Representation (donates some percent of proceeds to the movement to have DC declared a state)

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post, where I will have some details about a very specific location for a couple pivotal scenes in the book..

DC's Serial Killers!

If you’ve read at least a third of Never Saw Me Coming, you’ve probably touched upon a certain serial killer, so I thought I would do a post on real DC serial killers. There’s actually a fairly high murder rate in DC (some years feel more like a spike than others)— in 2015, the per capital murder rate in DC was higher than those of Philadelphia, Chicago, or Atlanta. But most of those murders are the more standard type (related to crime more broadly, and not serial killing).

The DC Sniper (Beltway Sniper)

This occurred in October 2002, during a year I happened to not be living in DC. But friends reported back to me the general fear they had walking around, hurrying to their cars if they were in a parking lot, or feeling paranoid around their own neighborhoods. Someone was randomly shooting people in random locations—there was no apparent reason and no apparent connection between victims. In that sort of senselessness, this always reminded me of the Zodiac Killer: with no clear motive or clear selection of victim, it seemed like someone was just killing for the sake of killing. Near one of the crime scenes, police found a note (decorated with Halloween stickers..) that said, amongst other things, “Call me God,” and “you’re children are not safe.” There was a brief national obsession with white vans (assumed to have been used to commit the attacks), but this turned out to be wrong. It always truck me as odd that the “Sniper” turned out to be two people, a 40-something year old veteran, John Allen Muhammad, and a 17 year old Lee Boyd Malvo. JAM met Malvo when he (JAM) kidnapped his own children and brought them to Antigua. (JAM’s ex-wife believed the killings were linked to a plan to get his children back). He got the death penalty and Malvo got multiple life sentences.

The Freeway Phantom

This was a killer in the early seventies who has never been identified or caught. At least half a dozen young women / girls went missing while in transit (walking to/ from a store, riding buses, at the like) and were later found dead. One victim had on her a creepy note from someone identifying himself as the “Freeway Phantom,” which also said “this is tantamount to my insensitivity to people especially women.” Gosh.. it’s great to be a girl.

The Princeton Place Murders

In the 90s, when DC already had a high murder rate, Darryl Donnell Turner could fly under the radar. He killed a few women, and even stashed the body of one victim a few doors down from his apartment on Princeton Place (this is in Petworth, if you’re familiar with DC). The police did not think the killings were linked—residents disagreed. (and in the process of researching this I discovered that the Post reporter who covered the murders went on to write a novel based on them!) Turner was caught when DNA linked him to the crimes.

Samuel Little

Little (possible the America’s most prolific serial killer?) can’t be claimed as being a “DC” serial killer—his murders were literally spread across the country in a terrifying map. Interestingly, I’m fairly patched-in with true crime stuff, but I hadn’t heard of Little until I saw a documentary told from the perspective of his neighbors a few years ago. For whatever reasons, some serial killers are more famous than other, but honestly I think Little is not as famous because most of his victims were minorities, often low income women who could slip between the cracks of society, or be blamed for their own disappearances. Little had 60 murders confirmed by the FBI, although he claimed that the real number was close to 100. The following is devastating and tragic, but he did drawings of women that he remembered killing and turned these over to the FBI, who released them in hopes that family members of the deceased would recognize them and they could close out missing person cases. One such woman is a still-unidentified woman from NW DC. If you’re interested about this case, there area couple different true crime documentaries, and this longform article from the Post.

Unsolved Killings in SE DC- possible serial killer?

In April 2018, construction workers working on renovations discovered human remains in a crawlspace. Soon after, two more bodies were discovered buried nearby in shallow graves. All three victims were female. By August, police were able to identify the three women by using forensics to narrow down their ages, cross referencing with missing persons reports, and using the DNA of family members to make a match. As far as I know the murder remains unsolved.

Other notable murders

Chandra Levy: I was here for this. It was a big deal. Chandra Levy was a Congressional intern who worked in Congressmen Gary Condit’s office. She was reported missing in May and then everyone was talking about Condit, whom she was having an affair with. News at the time was nonstop Condit-Chandra Levy and it probably would have dragged on all year OJ Simpson style if 9/11 hadn’t happened, and then the public forgot about it… till a year later when her body was discovered in Rock Creek Park. I don’t want to give Rock Creek Park a bad name—it is a nice park but even on the park’s website it says, “don’t come here alone if you’re female.” It’s really pretty but there are times when you realize how isolated you are. Anyhoo, the case gets pretty complicated and people other than me are probably better experts: the police’s fixation on Condit made them not investigate this other guy, Ingmar Guandique, who had been attacking women in Rock Creek. A few years later, because of a Washington Post investigation, the police went back to investigating Guandique, who was already in prison for the other attacks. But over the course of many years and multiple court actions, the case fell apart because jailhouse informants were revealed to be as such, or got caught on tape saying they were lying, and various other things. Eventually they said they did not have enough evidence to go on with another trial, and Guandique was deported. Did Guandique actually do it? I don’t know. All I know is that after Levy disappeared, police looked at her last few internet searches and one of them was “Baskin Robbins.” Ok, according to Google maps, there are two Baskin Robbins in DC: at at George Washington University and one in Capitol Hill. The one at GW didn’t exist in 2001 (it sits in a dorm that wasn’t built until 2004). Levy’s apartment was in Dupont Circle, which is in NW DC, more or less smack in the center of the NW quadrant of the city. I’m not sure if the Capitol Hill Baskin Robbins was open in 2001, but if it was why would she go there? It would take at least half an hour, a considerable distance in a place like DC where there are plenty of places that would be walking-distance away. (Dupont probably had better non-chain ice cream options within walking distance.) Wonder what Gary Condit is up to? After he lost his bid to be reelected, he left Congress in 2003 and moved to Arizona… where he runs two Baskin Robbins stores.

Abraham Lincoln: Obvi. Shot at Ford’s Theater (kitty corner to what is now a Sephora) in Chinatown and died across the street.

James Garfield: assassinated at a train station in NW DC. Despite Lincoln having been assassinated, people were like, that was the Civil War, it’s totally not going to happen again, and the President’s whereabouts were publicly reported. He was shot by a man named Guiteau who thought that because he did some work for the Republican Party to get Garfield elected, he was then entitled to a desirable posting in Paris. He was told no, and like some people, thought that this entitled him to commit murder. Sadly, Lincoln’s son was happened to at the train station during the shooting and was disturbed by what happened. (As I’ve mentioned, DC is a small city.) Garfield survived for a few more months, but various doctors had poked their unclean hands into his wound and it likely got infected. Despite an attempt by Alexander Graham Bell to find the bullet via metal detector, Garfield died.

How I Wrote My Book (literally)

Building off of last post where I showed you my notebook, this post will discuss the actual process of writing Never Saw Me Coming. This might be interesting for curious readers or may be informative to other writers. Everyone has a different process, so take with a grain of salt—there is no “right” way. There is no magical thing if you just do it, you will finish your book and it will be great and you will get a huge book deal. There are people who take 10 years to write a book, and people who take 10 weeks. There are various recommended processes and programs and books about writing, but ultimately, you have to do what works for you.

I don’t think of writing as a grueling process, which some writers make it out to be. Working at a chicken processing plant, an Amazon warehouse, or as a doctor or nurse right now in COVID is grueling. Maybe it’s because I don’t do autofiction, but writing has never felt like I was tearing out a piece of myself, or processing my trauma. For me it was always fun, even the more difficult parts like revising feel like solving a puzzle. That doesn’t mean that related aspects of the business of writing weren’t hard— getting an agent was emotionally difficult, watching other people succeed when I felt like I was failing was difficult (but not like chicken processing plant difficult).

I am a weird mixture of crazy efficient, lazy, and practical. When I have a project to get done and it is clearly delineated, I will go after it having lots of “flow” moments, losing track of time, and get it done. When I’m not actively working on a project (ie, I’ve just finished a book) I often spend months at a time watching mind-numbingly stupid TV, listening to podcasts, and generally dicking around. It’s all or nothing for me. And that’s fine.

I have a career, which I don’t intend to give up, and writing will continue to be my hobby. So when I wrote this book, I was working about 40 hours a week, sometimes a smidge more. But I have very, very strong boundaries between different things. If I am doing career stuff, I am not on social media poking around book-related stuff. If I am with my friends, I am not checking my phone. It is entirely possible to write a novel and have a full time job. And you don’t have to wake up at 5 in the morning to have the time. You don’t have to stay up till 3 am. You don’t have to kill yourself to be an artist. I wrote the first draft of this novel very quickly (about six weeks) and this typically involved writing for about an hour after dinner but before I went to the gym, and maybe writing 1-4 hours on the weekend. I guess I’m being very specific about saying this because I want to point out that 1) you don’t need a special “thing” to write- like an MFA or a computer program or something 2) you don’t need enormous blocks of time 3) you don’t need a special place, like a writing cabin in the woods away from everything else 4) you don’t need a mentor, guru, or person to hold you accountable because you could just hold yourself accountable.

I will say that the two things you do need are 1) efficiency and 2) a map.

I’ve met a lot of writers who say they can’t write unless they have a big block of time- like 3 or 4 hours. It’s my belief that this is a “won’t” and not a “can’t.” You’ve convinced yourself that you can only write under these specific conditions.. but you made those conditions, so you can change them. If you need a big block of time and don’t have one, then you’re not going to write, or you’re going to learn to write with smaller blocks of time. Can’t write while the kids are screaming? Then learn to write while the kids are screaming or get noise cancelling headphones or introduce the kids to colorful, sparkly bits of yarn. There is no magical formula thing, you just have to sit your ass in a chair. And I had, max, about an hour at a time on weekdays, because I had work, a dog to take care of, meals to cook, gym to go to, friends to see—only an hour. So pragmatically speaking, with only an hour to spare, was I going to spend it dicking around? There’s a time and a place for day dreaming, for researching about agents or publishers, poking around literary gossip, but that time was not when I was sitting down to write.

Maybe you’ve heard of “pantsers” vs “plotters.” ie, people who make up where they’re going as they go along vs people who outline. I am in the latter camp and I will die on this hill. Pantsers always seem to have more severe rewrites and I don’t have time for that. Imagine an architect who just sort of.. builds whatever he feels, whenever he feels it, and then goes back to fix it later lamenting about how much work it is. I don’t think its an efficient use of one’s time, nor do I feel that outlining in anyway holds back my creativity. By the time I’ve outlined something, I’ve spent a lot of time working over the plot in my head, and my subconscious has been mulling over things for even longer than that. I do some plotting exercises before I even get to the outlining stage. This doesn’t mean that the outline is never shifted or significantly altered. Or that it’s even entirely complete. Sometimes I have A B C D F G K L and I sort of fill in the blanks as I go or after the fact. Or I know I need to get to L and I have to figure out how. Now I tend to write more in order because I’m working on two books, still work full time, am starting to have to do various publicity things for NSMC as pub date approaches, and spend approximately 20% of my day washing my hands. So now I work from more detailed outlines.

I really like this. It’s the difference between being hungry and opening the fridge to see raw chicken, yogurt, and celery, and being hungry and having a box that has all the ingredients you need and detailed instructions on what to do with them. (is this an ad for Hello Fresh?) In this case, having a detailed plot outline is like having a sous chef (past me) who’s prepared everything for current-me and all I have to do is provide the labor. Perhaps I’m missing some inherent value in pantsing! But I will say that once you move away from the “I could take as long as I want to write my first novel” into territory that has more strict deadlines and others depending on you, I highly recommend the more structured way of doing it.