All of the Voices in My Head

Points of view, an exclusive deleted scene, freudenfreude, and more.

Hey, it’s May! See what I did there? With the rhyming? Pardon me if I’m a bit loopy. My daughter is finishing up her JUNIOR YEAR IN HIGH SCHOOL! Which is a complete mind-blow — maybe for some of you, too, since she’s been on the road with me visiting book stores, conferences, and festivals around the world since she was four months old. You might remember her sitting on my lap at signings, or wailing as her dad wheeled her around in the stroller during a talk.

Now, she looks like this.

Who is that stunning young woman?

Since I left you last month, I’ve been hard at work on the new book. But lots to share, so I’ll get right to it.

No matter what perspective you choose, make sure each person in your story comes to life for your reader.

Points of View:

I recently met with the Women’s Only Friday Night Book Group to discuss SECLUDED CABIN SLEEPS SIX. Never mind that it was Saturday afternoon — with a house full of girls getting ready for junior prom, doorbell-ringing, dog barking. The book group was lovely, with intelligent things to say. Then, towards the end I was asked something no one has ever asked me before. They wanted to know if I had any questions for them. Wow! I did.

I asked the group what they preferred — multiple character perspectives, a single first-person voice, or an omniscient narrator. I get complaints from some readers when I have multiple character voices, but it’s one of my favorite ways to tell a story. So, I was curious what this group of smart readers had to say.

As you can imagine, there were many different opinions. But my big takeaway was this: As long as the characters are fully fleshed out, that they live and breathe, and each character has a rich and compelling inner life as well as an important space in the story, most enjoy multiple perspectives, especially in thrillers.

Writer pals, take it as you will. We don’t always choose how we tell our stories, or which characters speak to us most clearly. But the conversation confirmed for me what I already knew. Character is king. No matter what perspective, make sure each person in the story comes to life for your reader.

What I’m wrestling with:

But how many voices are too many?

I had another chat with a dear friend and avid reader. She had just finished SECLUDED CABIN SLEEPS SIX and shared how she connected to each of the characters in different ways. Somehow, our conversation moved to CONFESSIONS ON THE 7:45 where in a later draft, I cut all the chapters I had written from the perspective of Selena’s husband Graham. It wasn’t that there were too many voices. It was more that in the final analysis, his didn’t add enough to the story. For those who have read the book, you know that Graham is an important figure, and not a very nice one.

As I work on my 2025 novel, told from multiple perspectives, I’m wondering if all of the characters will make it into the final draft. At the moment, I’m enjoying how they all offer unique perspectives on the action, each propelling it forward, or sharing something critical with the reader. I can’t imagine cutting anyone. But — we’ll see. (Insert diabolical laughter here.)

My friend was also interested in seeing one of the deleted Graham scenes. So, here it is. (May contain spoilers.)

Deleted Scene from CONFESSIONS ON THE 7:45:

“Stephen, I am not going to tell you again.”

“Dad.”
            “Goodnight, buddy,” Graham said at the door. “Mom will come kiss you when she gets home.”
            He waited, glanced at his phone, watching the little icon that was Selena. Looked like her train was just pulling into the station. Find My Wife, as they called the tracking app. Not that he needed it. His wife was steady, predictable. He’d never doubted her, not once in their life together.

He stayed where he was in the hall, just outside the door to the boys’ room. One breath. Two.

“Can I have a glass of water?” Stephen. A probe. Testing.

“Go to sleep.”
            “But Daaaa-aaad.”

Graham smiled, victorious; he knew that tone. Defeated, half asleep already. After two trips to the bathroom, one request for another blanket, the stuffed bear that had fallen under the bed, Stephen was finally giving in. It was all theater. A stall to stay awake until Selena came home. A stall to stay awake for any reason. For Christ’s sake, why did kids not want to go to sleep? At what age did they figure out that it was the only natural state of human bliss? Teenagers, right? Didn’t teenagers sleep all day? It was something to look forward to anyway.

He walked quietly down the hall, still listening. Would there be another half-hearted call?

No.

The kid was out; you could just tell when they’d finally fallen asleep. Some of the tension released, a layer of vigilance fell away – at least for him. Selena was ever-vigilant. Even in her sleep, the tiniest peep from either of them and she was awake moving down the hall. She never complained about it, no matter how many times she had to get up. She was rarely impatient with either of them, always on top of all their needs small and large.

Selena.

A wash of guilt so intense it was like nausea. But then it was gone.

Her icon was on the road home; she must have deboarded the train, was in the car. He watched the dot travel as he moved into the bedroom.

He could pretend things hadn’t happened. He’d always been good at that. He could erect a wall around events, memories, mistakes he didn’t want to think about and, poof, they were just gone. Really gone. Ignore your problems and they will go away, that was his mantra. Usually, it worked. Ghosting, right? He’d been ghosting his problems since before it was cool.

Denial, Selena called it.  You can’t just pretend things didn’t happen, Graham. She had a way of saying his name that made him feel like a bad schoolboy. It was kind of hot and annoying all at the same time.

But he could. He could pretend things didn’t happen. Compartmentalization was his gift. Like when he was at work he didn’t think about home; when he was home, he didn’t think about work. At all. Everything had its place. The person he was when he was with his family. The guy he was when he was with his friends. Who he was with his brother, his sons. Alone with Selena. The man he became when he was on his on his own. When he was angry. When he’d had too much to drink.

And when those moments passed, the Graham he was in other circumstances didn’t even exist. He’d tried to explain that to a therapist once, but the guy didn’t seem to get it. That’s a bit too close to disassociation, he’d said with a concerned frown. Let’s talk more about that. But Graham never went back. He didn’t go to therapy to feel worse about himself.

Selena made sure, of course, that he didn’t forget certain events. Like all the money he’d lost in the stock market during his foray into day trading. That came up all the time; whenever she was stressed about bills. Or that guys’ weekend in Vegas. That was pretty bad. But that was life, right? You screwed up; you moved on.

The house was quiet. Geneva, thankfully, was gone. God, how stupid could he be? The cliché of it all.

He got in the shower to scrub the deed off his skin, wash it away down the drain with the soap – some abrasive, exfoliating bar that Selena favored. The water was scalding. He let it beat on him, his neck, his back. Why was he so tired all the time?  Geneva’s words rang back. You need to get a job.  It’s just not a good idea for men to be home.

There was some truth in that. There was something soul crushing about domesticity, wasn’t there?  There was a smell – to the house, to the kids, and a kind of slow expanding to the day. The tasks – grocery shopping, laundry, cooking, cleaning – they never ended. There was no completion, no reward at the end. Just another day of the same to follow.

He missed his office with its view of Rockefeller Center, the meetings, the slew of email, the lunches, the conferences. The hustle of it all, the excitement – which had felt like stress when he was in it. But now, it seemed like energy, high level tasks that were an engine for the day.

“I hate this, Graham,” said his boss, who he’d also considered a friend. “I really do. But I just don’t have a choice. Not with the way things are.”

How many times had he said the same thing – to assistants he’d had to fire, to authors whose books he couldn’t buy. Now he knew what was behind those blanched expressions, those leaden silences on the other end of the phone. Despair.

“I get it,” he’d said with a stoic nod. His stomach clenched as if someone had punched him, but he wasn’t going to let her see it. One stupid mistake, one error in judgement, and his twenty-year career was flushed. That bitch. He wouldn’t get another job, not like the one he had. They both knew that.

Even though it was easy for him to forget his transgressions, his mistakes. It seemed that other people remembered all too well.

“I’ll make some calls,” said Jaden. “See what’s out there for you.”

“Great,” he said. He felt a lash of rage so intense it made him lightheaded. But he bit it back. It wouldn’t do here. Not at all. “I appreciate it.”

All the details of the room, that afternoon light, the ringing phones, the constant ping of email from her desktop, the framed book covers – bestsellers they’d grown together – a framed photo of Jaden’s husband and two kids, with whom they’d just been skiing at Stowe – they leapt out at him, glowing. All things he took for granted. Instead, he’d carried around an almost perpetual sense of dissatisfaction. Not enough. In fact, that was the attitude that the industry, maybe the whole world, fostered. It was never enough. Only the anomalous, runaway success was enough, and even that must be duplicated.

Now, he stepped out of the shower and looked at his vague form in the fogged mirror. He was getting a little soft. Selena had wondered aloud – gently – if his athletic pants could use a wash. The truth was, they could. But all his other pants were pretty tight.

He turned to the side. A few months ago, maybe he’d had a bit of a paunch. But now it was bigger. He sucked it in. It was that pantry full of snacks, goldfish crackers and fruit rollups, granola bars, chips, cookies. He couldn’t stop eating all that stuff. He’d never had such good snacks when he was a kid. He was still built through the chest and the arms, though.

He cleaned off the mirror, leaned in to inspect his face – no lines, not too many grays – a few. A presidential jaw, square and solid, straight white teeth. He still had it. He was still a good looking guy. Snap out of it, you little pussy. It was his father’s voice, tense and nasty. Often phrases like that were followed by a slap, maybe a too-hard pull on the arm. The old man didn’t put up with any shit from anyone.

Snap out of it. Yeah. Graham was going to start running tomorrow. He could lose weight fast when he wanted to. Geneva – she wasn’t an issue. He’d keep away from her and they’d both pretend it hadn’t happened. He’d make some calls, get his groove back, get back to work, maybe pick up some freelance editing. Selena never had to know he’d fucked up again; Geneva was a reasonable girl. She didn’t want to lose her job. And he certainly wasn’t one of those dicks who was going to fire her for his mistake.

He rifled through his drawers, to find some clean clothes. Finally, he squeezed himself into a pair of jeans, left the top button open and pulled on his NYU sweatshirt. In the mirror, he looked better, fresher.

Ignore your problems and they will go away. It was as good a mantra as any.

He heard the security system alert as the front door opened and closed downstairs. Front door open, the voice, somehow soothing and mechanical at the same time, announced. 

Then, Selena’s heels on the hardwood, the drop of her bag by the consul table. He thought she’d head right upstairs to the boys’ room but instead he listened as her footfalls echoed down the hall, disappearing into the kitchen.

She was mad about something. She’d been off on the phone. Shit.

When you’d been married as long as they had, you knew how your wife was feeling just by a subtle shift in tone, her word choice, the sound of her walking, even how the cabinets opened and closed. He heard her banging around.

Maybe she was tired, worn down after a hard day, and a long commute. He knew the feeling. More guilt. It should be him; he should be out there, and she should be home with the boys. It was the natural order of things, no matter what anyone said. And it was, more importantly, what Selena wanted. In spite of his continued bad behavior, he did love his wife. He wanted her to be happy.

He climbed down the stairs. In the hallway, the energy of anger lingered on the air. Graham approached the kitchen quietly, pushed through the swinging door.

She was leaning against the counter, waiting for him.

“Hey,” she said. She didn’t wait for his reply. “We need to talk.”

What I’m reading:

You’re going to be jealous, but I was lucky enough to get an early copy of Lisa Jewell’s upcoming NONE OF THIS IS TRUE. She’s one of my favorite writers — so dark and deep. I am just about to dive into this. The early praise is ecstatic, so I’m excited to lose myself in her signature twists and turns, brilliant characterization, and perfect plotting.

Another favorite author, New York Times bestselling bestie, the great Kate White has a new book out today BETWEEN TWO STRANGERS. A struggling artist receives a life-changing and totally mysterious inheritance. White’s formidable talent for turning the screws of suspense is on full display in this deliciously addictive chiller. With her perfect pacing and gift for simmering tension, White deftly pulls back the delicate layers of secrets and lies, page by thrilling page. Whip smart, elegant, and utterly immersive, BETWEEN TWO STRANGERS is as impossible to predict as it is to put down. 

Katherine May

, author THE ELECTRICITY OF EVERY LIVING THING, is simply a beautiful and poetic writer. This book about how she discovered her autism late in life, and how the chaos of our modern world contributes to the condition, will be illuminating for anyone who struggles to keep up with the incessant barrage of technology we live with now. (Spoiler alert: That’s everyone.)

What I’m watching:

“Citadel” on Amazon Prime starring Richard Madden, Priyanka Chopra, and Stanley Tucci is good, action-packed fun. We’re only four episodes in but lots of twists and turns, a compelling double narrative, intense action scenes and great eye candy. Grab the popcorn and enjoy this one if you like spy stories that are just over the top enough to ramp up the suspense and thrills.

“Kaleidoscope” on Netflix starring Giancarlo Esposito, Paz Vega, and Tati Gabrielle is a layered and high concept heist thriller. The episodes you’re given are chosen at random, flipping you between years, or hours, before or after, or during an audacious vault job. Compelling characters, layered motives, and some stellar acting.

“The Americans” starring Keri Russell might be one of my all-time favorite shows. So, we couldn’t wait to dive into “The Diplomat.” Keri Russell as brilliant, tough, brave Kate Wyler and Rufus Sewell as her charming, not quite trustworthy, but ridiculously appealing husband Hal are both mesmerizing. And even amid the fascinating and authentic political intrigue, their marriage and all its complicated layers are really at the heart of the show. This one ends with a shocking season finale that will have you googling for when to expect season 2.

What I’m listening to:

I am a long time Martha Beck fan from way back when she used to write for Oprah Magazine. Now I listen to her podcast “The Gathering Room.” Her wise, deeply intelligent, spiritual, and compassionate thoughts on pretty much everything never fail to inspire. Her conversation with author

Katherine May

resonated in so many ways for me as an introvert living in an increasingly chaotic world.

What I’m researching and thinking about:

This is a fascinating article from New York Times book reviewer, author, and friend

Sarah Weinman

about the truth in true crime podcasts, books, and shows, and how errors and liberties taken can threaten "the integrity of true crime, which as a genre has grappled with whether the stories it tells about crimes are, in fact, true." These ideas figure into my 2024 novel, my upcoming Christmas novella CHRISTMAS PRESENTS, and the 2025 book I’m working on now.

As someone who generally has to be dragged to the doctor, largely due to childhood trauma but also because of unpleasant experiences as an adult, I found this article by

Melinda Wenner Moyer

about medical gaslighting illuminating. It’s a call to action for doctors to change how they treat women and people of color.

I love this article about “freudenfreude” which is taking vicarious joy in a friend’s success, and why it makes us healthier and deepens relationships. To mindfully practice freudenfreude, first be observant and then make a note to celebrate the good things that are happening to folks around you.

Where to find me:

We’re just weeks away from ThrillerFest in NYC! You can find me there — if you can catch me. I’ll be the blur you see zipping from meeting to panel to evenings out with friends old and new.

I am beyond excited to conduct the Spotlight Interview with the brilliantly talented Oyinkan Braithwaite, who wrote MY SISTER THE SERIAL KILLER. I have an absolutely stellar panel with some of my favorite writers, and some of my favorite people — Walter Mosley, Sarah Pekkanen, Kalisha Buckhanon, Clare Mackintosh, Joe Finder and Heather Graham. And at the banquet on Saturday, I’ve invited some very special friends to help me deliver the Presidents’ Address. It’s going to be totally chaotic and loads of fun!

See you there??!! Get Tickets

---

That was a lot, but I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading. Don’t forget that you can interact here, and I love to hear from you. So, if you have a comment, please leave it below!