The Problem With Writing Thrillers

I already admitted in a previous blog that I have a hard time writing scenes I’ve never seen before. So it shouldn’t be all that surprising to find out that I used my apartment as a model for Kayla Jeateski’s in the Dirty Politics series, right from page one of “The Politician’s Pawn” when she’s looking through her peephole to see nothing but black.

From the hallway she peers out into, to the wall she gets slammed up against when Evans barges onto the scene, to the alley where Rod and the SUV are waiting to spirit her down to D.C.: It’s stuff I see every day.

Which works well when I’m busy establishing setting in my stories, but maybe not so much when someone knocks on my door… or when something goes crash over at my neighbor’s place… or when the building creaks.

You can call me stupid. I’ve been called worse. But in my defense, I’d probably be a little paranoid even if I hadn’t done that.

Why? Because I’m a creative writer. And that’s how we are. Our brains are constantly asking particularly pointless questions:

·        If that guy with the mullet goes over to say hi to that girl with the black pumps, will she brush him off or chat him up right back?

·        If faeries really did exist, would humans get along with them?

·        How would a modern-day teenager react to being thrown into a previous century?

And creative writers who work on thrillers take those pointless questions and add nasty little twists:

·        I can’t seem to make my fingers work to find the right key for my front door. Is this one of those movie moments, and I’m the stupid co-ed who’s about to get attacked by a vampire?

·        Say I follow this salesperson to “the backroom” like he/she’s suggesting… Is this really a kidnapping ploy to sell me on the black market? (I hear there’s a huge demand for short, snarky 32 year olds.)

·        If I stop to tie my shoe out here in the middle of the woods, are my fellow hikers going to somehow speed up enough that I can’t manage to find them again?

Of course, the sane side of me recognizes that vampires don’t exist, that there really isn’t any great demand for short, snarky 32 year olds, and that the forest path doesn’t curve nearly enough for me to lose sight of my group so fast.

And the sane side always wins out in the end, usually sooner than later.

It’s just for those first few seconds after someone knocks on my door that I have to wonder… what’s on the other side?

No Nurses Were Harmed in the Making of This Novel

I have a confession to make. I’m not one of those brilliant authors who can write about stuff I have no concept of.

For example, two years ago, I started a story about a lawyer in New York City who got turned into a vampire. It was going to be a hysterical chicklit piece, but I couldn’t get more than two chapters in. Why? Because I have no idea what it’s like to be a lawyer.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I also don’t have a clue what it’s like to be a vampire. But that seemed a lot easier to write about than the legal stuff. I mean, you don’t have to go to school to learn about sucking people’s blood.

So there you go. You know my shameful secret. My failing as an author. Which is why I had to make my main character in “The Politician’s Pawn” – a character who gets kidnapped and terrorized and, well, I can’t say more without issuing a major spoiler alert – the same exact profession as one of my best friends: oncology nurse.

I actively borrowed from my best friend’s expertise and stories in order to make Kayla Jeateski realistic. However, their personalities and looks are completely different. If I had based Kayla off of Ashleigh in any other way, shape or form, the story would have been a lovely fairytale with a Disney-princess ending.

I might be able to throw characters with my personality and some of my basic looks under the bus. And I can definitely do it to the ones I base off of people who irritate me. But I draw the line when it comes to best friends.

Even writers have their loyalties. Or at least they would if they had the friends I did.

They Kicked Down the Door at 7:23!

One October night in 2012 or 2013 (I honestly can’t remember), I was sitting on my comfy couch in my secure living room at my safe residency doing absolutely nothing noteworthy on my laptop and watching something entirely forgettable on TV, when I happened to notice the time.

My clock said it was 7:23, and for some reason, that captured my attention. I stared at it, a little bewildered for a moment, with one thought – one question – imprinted on my brain…

What happened at 7:23?

And then it hit me: They kicked down the door at 7:23!

My imagination took off from there, and I began typing right away. “They” immediately became a gang of four masked men bursting into a tidy little apartment to drag the confused and terrified 28-year-old Kayla Jeateski out to their waiting SUV. The only clue she gets about why they’re abducting her is when the blue-eyed leader calls her Lucy.

It was such an intense opening, and I loved it! I absolutely loved it. It was dramatic, it was intriguing, it was confusing in all the right ways with the main kidnapper showing small signs of genuine compassion that I fully planned to exploit as the story went on.

Seriously, it was awesome.

Unfortunately, just not awesome enough to make the final cut.

As two dear and knowledgeable writers pointed out, there were some logical discrepancies in that first chapter. Basically, I talked about my team of four masked man being obvious professionals, yet they put themselves at unnecessary risk of discovery more than once. So while the opening was without a doubt dramatic, it just didn’t make sense. And so, with much sighing and moping, I changed it all.

The first chapter of “The Politician’s Pawn” no longer starts out at 7:23. It doesn’t mention 7:23 at all. Nor does the rest of the book, for that matter.

But it’s still awesome and intense, and sets up one wild ride of a trilogy that took even me by surprise more than once. Poor Kayla Jeateski wasn’t the only one scrambling to keep up with the plot as it rushed forward, twist by twist and turn by turn. And in the end, the beginning wasn’t the only aspect that took a far different route than I had planned.

Yet even so, I’ll never forget how it all still started at 7:23.