What We're Writing--Hank's Turn!

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN:  I love that we're all at different points on the writing road. 

I am in the just-finished-my-copy-edits stage—and had so much fun with the almost-final revisions! I adore revisions, I mean, I truly get goosebumps, sometimes, doing them, because something that was kind of okay and serviceable sometimes can become something that's chillingly good.

Not always, I know. But enough times that it’s fuel to keep me going.

 

So as I close the writing door on TRUTH BE TOLD, I’m fascinated to see what’ll happen as I get into WHAT YOU SEE. It’s about how photos don't lie, but witnesses do. And of course how what you see is not always—well, you get the picture. (Ha!)

Anyway. I'm very early into it, only about 19,000 words.

Here's two cops talking to each other in draft one. Jake and another cop on the scene of a potential homicide. I wanted the arriving detective to query Jake about the situation, but I hadn't quite developed their relationship.

So first-first draft, the cops meet at a crime scene. I had no back story, no connection between the two, so I had officer Barton (turned out there's a reason for her name, who’d a thought?) just ask Jake a question, pure and simple.  

 “Did you take any photos?” 

Which is fine, flabby, but fine. Sometimes you’ve just got to ask a question, with no sub-text. But let’s say Officer Barton is a go-getter, an ambitious climber who might be scheming to get a promotion.  What if she said:

"What photos did you take? If any?" 

Now, see, she’s angling for something. Or maybe even trying to figure out if Jake did his job. This is not only a question, but, if he didn’t take any photos, a potentially circital question. Or--maybe she’s in on the crime, and trying to figure out how much Jake knows. Hmm. That’s a possibility.

 But what if—she’s got a crush on Jake? What if she’s trying to make a connection, or curry his favor, or keep herself on the case?

What if she asks “Could you please you email me any photos you took? I’d love to see them.”

Now that’s a different relationship, right? And you can hear her voice a little now. That’s a character who’s coming to life a bit.

But what if—she and Jake had a past, and not necessarily a good one. I decided – this is early on, remember—that maybe she and Jake had been an item, pre-Jane, and then, when Jake made detective, and she didn’t, she’s never gotten over it. She’s still a cop on the beat, he’s got a gold badge. And she resent it.

“You need to send me your photos,” she says.

Or even “Send me your photos, Detective. You still have my address?”

I still haven’t decided. But this is the interesting part. How are these characters going to  come to life? How will they relate to each other? Each line, every line, makes a difference.

And as for TRUTH BE TOLD, I am so excited! I am so happy with it.

The question in TRUTH BE TOLD—how far would you go to save your home?   The first scene is an eviction, Jane Ryland covering the heart-wrenching scene of a family forced fro their home and the heavy-handed deputies throwing the family’s possessions out the window. Until—uh-oh. They discover…

Chapter 2 is Jake’s point of view. A guy has arrived at the police station, and confesses to a cold case murder. Why would he do that?

Chapter 3, a new character arrives. Meet—well, that’s exactly what she’s deciding.

                                         Chapter 3

       Lizzie McDivitt typed her name, letter by letter, on her new computer. Trying it out. Elizabeth McDivitt. Elizabeth Halloran McDivitt. Elizabeth H. McDivitt. The admin types needed the wording of the nameplate on her new office door, and she had to choose. First impression and all that.

Would her bank customers be more comfortable with her as the crisp and competent Liz? Or the elegant and experienced Elizabeth? Maybe this was the time to become Beth, the friendly-but-competent Beth. The motherly Bess?

Lizzie stared at the computer screen, the cursor blinking at her. Decide.

“Lizzie,” at least, that was a definite no. “Lizzie” was fine for her parents, and even for Aaron, but not here at the bank. “Lizzie” sounded like the new kid, eager to please. Semi-true, of course, but not the image she needed. She needed . . . compassionate. Understanding. Her clients would be the needy ones, the out-of-work ones, the down-and outers who’d once had the assets to get a mortgage from A&A—but now had to scramble for refinancing and loan modifications.

“If you say it, if you portray it, they will believe it,” her father’d always told her. Seemed to work for him. His black fountain pen alone could probably take care of the monthly mortgage tab for a few of her clients. Father was always losing his fancy pens, misplacing them, forgetting them, one after the other. He never flinched at purchasing a new one.

She clicked her plastic ballpoint.

The bank had so much money. Her new customers had so little.

Click. Click.

What would be the bad thing, she wondered, about making it a little more fair?

Click. Click.

Aaron was still out for lunch, she guessed. She thought of him, his curls, and that smile, and what he’d actually said to her that first day back by the old vault. Their “tryst” last night, which ended—way too late—with her finally saying no and cabbing it home. She shook her head, remembering her girlfriends’ advice. You have to stop being so picky or you’ll be alone forever. True, Aaron was more than cute. True, he had a good job. So, okay, maybe. Even though he wasn’t exactly . . .

“Miss McDivitt? You ready for your one-thirty? Mr. and Mrs. Iantosca are here.”

Lizzie jumped, startled at the sound of her own name buzzing through her intercom. She’d started behind the cages in the teller pool, then got promoted to a loan officer’s desk in the lobby, visible every single moment of every single day, like a zoo animal.

Now, finally, she’d been named the bank’s first customer affairs liaison. With her own private office. It was lovely to have a door that closed. And an assistant, Stephanie Weaver, who stayed outside unless invited in.

“Thanks, Stephanie,” she said. She punched up the Iantoscas’ mortgage loan documents: a series of spreadsheets, tiny-fonted agreements, and the decisive flurry of letters stored on the bank’s in-house software. The green numbers that were entered several years ago had gone red last summer, then bold red in the fall, then starting around the holidays, black-bordered bold red. By now, mid-May, Christian and Colleen Iantosca were underwater and in trouble.

So they thought.

HANK: I cannot wait for you to read TRUTH BE TOLD! (Now, um, she mutters under her breath, available for pre-order ….the first time I've ever said that for this book!) And I will show you the cover soon! SO exciting!

But let me ask you…let’s just say that a few bankers in this book at not exactly good guys. Do you think I’ll get bank-loving backlash?  And what would you think if your mortgage was suddenly—paid in full?