LEARNING ABOUT SEA TURTLES: Guest Post by Amber M. Royer

Amber M. Royer:

Learning About Sea Turtles 

When it comes to researching something for a book, eventually the easily accessible resources will leave you at a dead end, and the scholarly ones can be above your pay grade. You need to talk to an actual expert. The beauty of talking to a real actual person is that as a writer, you don’t always realize what parts of a topic you don’t fully understand – and so you might not even know the right questions to ask. 

In 70% Dark Intentions, the second book in my Bean to Bar Mysteries, part of the plot revolves around endangered sea turtles that nest on Galveston Island. I wanted to be careful with what I had to say on the subject, in part because I wanted to get turtle biology and behaviors right – but also because I didn’t want to say anything that would inadvertently encourage someone to interfere with these amazing animals. 

I’ve always liked sea turtles, even more so when I got to visit a turtle sanctuary in Acapulco and see some of the tiny little ones awaiting release into the ocean. (I don’t remember what species those turtles were, but I did take this picture.) It’s one reason I gave Logan (one of my protagonist Felicity’s two potential love interests) the name Ridley Puddle Jumpers for his flight business. After all, the Kemp’s ridley nests on Galveston beaches. It was a reference that showed how this transplanted guy from Minnesota had started to form connections to the island, and I meant to leave it at that. But in the first Bean to Bar Mystery, I had made references to the tree sculptures (trees that were drowned during hurricane Hugo but left in place, with the wood carved into chainsaw sculptures) as a symbol of renewal. I knew that for Logan, sea turtles symbolized hope and second chances. So when we visited Galveston last, and I saw the Turtles Around Town sculptures dotting the street where Felicity has her fictional shop, I knew the turtles – and the sculptures -- needed to show up in the book. 

I did my due diligence and researched basic information about the turtles. But what I needed to know was how turtle nests were handled when found on the coast, so I decided to approach an expert. I have found that most people are passionate about their work, especially if you have enough knowledge about their area of expertise to discuss it intelligently. (You don’t have to be a fellow expert, or even able to discuss the topic on a professional level – just reasonably well informed.) Things also tend to go better if you have a list of questions to ask, and possibly even a few excerpts of what you are planning to write to present with the idea that you want to make sure you have the terminology right – not enough to overwhelm the expert, just enough to get across the feel of the project. I think the excerpts I presented to my turtle expert reassured her that I was taking the topic seriously, and that I had attempted to do my research. 

But – there were a few things I had gotten wrong. And far better to have an expert correct me in the drafting stage (even if I felt a bit silly) than to have readers point it out to me later. 

One of the biggest was when I said that Kemp’s ridleys had always been in the area. This was especially embarrassing, because I’m from the Texas Gulf Coast. And I don’t remember people talking about sea turtles in Galveston when I was a kid, except for the fact that there was a restaurant called Tortuga, right near the Seawall. I personally have never seen a sea turtle nest. But I assumed that lack of experience was just because the turtles were so endangered. Kid’s don’t catch everything, right? In this case . . . wrong. Kemp’s ridleys were first documented nesting on Galveston beaches in 2002. Consulting with an expert kept me from making a major factual error. 

Realizing that I hadn’t even known what questions to ask, the turtle expert I had contacted gave me several scientific papers to read, where I learned about the fascinating efforts to create a thriving breeding colony of these turtles on Padre Island – many of which the turtle expert had been involved with. The main takeaway: with only one active breeding beach in Mexico used by most of the Kemp’s ridleys, there needed to be a backup location in case of natural disaster, which resulted in a multi-national conservation project. (This is of course, a vast oversimplification.) I learned about turtle imprinting (the theory that nesting turtles return to the beaches where they were born), which was further researched with the tracking program used to measure Kemp’s ridley populations, and how “head starting” turtles that were born on one beach and released on a different one likely led to turtles from Mexico nesting in Galveston. (At least that’s how I understand it – some of those papers were above my pay grade.) 

The biggest challenge once I had all that information: not putting it all in the book. Logan is fascinated by the sea turtles, so in my mind, he knows the information, but it doesn’t make sense for him to share everything he knows in dialogue. (He’s not a viewpoint character, so it’s never a problem.) 

When we finally got back around to the original question of how nests are handled, I found that what happens in reality (immediate relocation of the eggs to the breeding colony) was different than how turtle nests are handled in many other places – and different from what I wanted to do in my book. And in the end, I decided that that is actually for the best, considering my original concern about writing anything that might negatively impact the turtles. I added an author’s note saying that this book included a fictional what if the nest were left in place – and a note about who to call and what to do in the event the reader should actually locate a turtle nest to help keep the little ones safe. 

I know a lot of writers are hesitant to approach experts, but try to go into the situation with a positive mindset. I’ve asked a ton of odd research questions over the years (ask me sometime about that one time I wound up on a tour for incoming astrophysics grad students) and only once have I had someone flat out tell me no. I would say that as long as you are earnest in wanting to get the aspects of the book that they know about as accurate as possible, you are professional in the way you approach your request, you don’t take up too much of the expert’s time, and you do as much research as you can ahead of time, more often than not, people are happy to share knowledge they are passionate about. 

***

Amber Royer is the author of The Chocoverse Science Fiction Series and The Bean to Bar Mysteries. She likes to tell stories that involve complex characters caught up in sticky situations larger than themselves, with no easy answers in sight.

NOTE: Here is the link and re-use information for the stock photo included in the images folder: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Kemp%27s_Ridley_sea_turtle_nesting.JPG

Getting it Right: Guest Post by Allison Brennan

ALLISON BRENNAN:
GETTING IT RIGHT

My first book was published in January of 2006 … over 14 years ago. Sometimes I feel like I’m still a new author, fumbling along, uncertain if the writing gig is going to stick. (Okay, more than sometimes!)

Recently, I wrote a blog about research — mostly the fun things, like going to the morgue and viewing an autopsy. Participating in SWAT training drills with the FBI. Going on a private tour of Quantico which was extremely helpful when writing the early Lucy Kincaid books. Going on ride-alongs. I still have more than 50 research books on forensics, law enforcement procedures, criminal psychology, and more … but now I have a huge list of professionals I can call for information to help make my stories as realistic as possible. Cops, doctors, nurses, firefighters, FBI agents, and more.

It’s amazing that I have so many resources, and these people definitely help make my stories better. I can send any public information officer an email and say, “I’m a New York Times bestselling author and I have a question for a book.”

It wasn’t always like that.

When I first started writing, I worked in the California State Legislature. I had no books published, no website to point to, and this was before Facebook. I had friends with different areas of expertise to help me, and a few friends who were cops. I had books to look up details I needed. But for the most part, I made everything up. I took my limited knowledge and used my imagination to write The Prey, which was my fifth completed manuscript. I sold it in March of 2004 and started on the second book of a three book contract called The Hunt.

I wrote the book, thinking I knew everything. (Don’t laugh!) One of the main plot points was that the killer would target college girls at gas stations — he would wait until they went into the station (to buy food, to pay, to use the facilities) then he would put “something” in their gas tank so that 3-5 miles down the road, their car would break down in a secluded area, making it easier for him to grab his victim.

I figured I would look up what to put in the gas tank later … but by the time the book was done I’d forgotten I didn’t have that detail. Now I had a deadline … I needed the answer!

I asked my husband, who’s pretty good with cars, but he wasn’t certain there was anything you could put in a full tank. He said sugar could destroy an engine (something about tanks and war, I don’t remember) but the fuel tank would have to be near empty. So I started calling mechanics listed in the yellow pages.

Imagine this. “Hi, my name is Allison Brennan. I’m a writer working on a book and my bad guy puts something in his victim’s gas tanks in order to force the car to break down a few miles after they fill up with gas. What could he use?”

The first two mechanics hung up on me. What did they think, I planned to kill my husband? One said, “I don’t know, maybe sugar.” Which my husband already explained wouldn’t work on a full tank.

I was embarrassed and desperate. The book was done — I couldn’t change this plot point because the entire story was dependent on it. My first book hadn’t even come out yet, and I didn’t want to tell my editor I needed more time … a lot more time! … to come up with a completely different premise that I would then have to thread through the entire book …

That weekend, we went to our niece’s baptism. My brother-in-law Kevin had been hugely helpful with research for The Hunt — he’s a wildlife biologist and the bad guy was a wildlife biologist. Kevin’s the one who helped me come up with a physical clue that helped the police figure out who the killer was, based on soil in specific areas of the country. (He also loves the fact that I modeled a serial killer after him … LOL.) Anyway, because Kevin already knew the story, I shared with him my frustration about the gas tanks. He said, “Oh, John over there? He’s a mechanic. I’ll introduce you.”

I explained my story to John, and my need to put something in a full tank of gas to force the car to break down a few miles later. John said, “Molasses.”

Didn’t even have to think about it.

I asked why (because my characters would have to explain this!)

He said something like this: “You really just want to clog the fuel filter, so you need something heavier than gasoline. Sugar would work because it doesn’t dissolve in gas, but only over a long period of time. But molasses is heavier and would be pulled into the fuel filter which would clog it because it’s heavier than sugar and also doesn’t dissolve in gasoline. The car would run rough, definitely make some unusual sounds. It might not break down right away, but most people would pull over because it wouldn’t drive right. And yeah, it would take a couple miles before they would notice anything.”

I wanted to kiss him. (I didn’t.)

Now that I’m a New York Times bestselling author most strangers are happy to talk to me. I can point to 38 books and a nice website to prove that I’m not trying to kill my spouse, that the reason I want to know how to disable a car is truly for fiction.

***

Allison Brennan believes life is too short to be bored, so she had five children and writes three books a year. A former consultant in the California State Legislature, Allison is now a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than three dozen thrillers and numerous short stories. Reviewers have called her “a master of suspense” and RT Book Reviews said her books are “mesmerizing” and “complex.” She’s been nominated for multiple awards, including the Thriller, RWA’s Best Romantic Suspense (five times), and twice won the Daphne du Maurier award. She currently writes two series—the Lucy Kincaid/Sean Rogan thrillers and the Maxine Revere cold case mysteries.

ABSOLUTE PROOF: RESEARCH BACKGROUND: Guest post by Peter James

PETER JAMES:
ABSOLUTE PROOF 
RESEARCH BACKGROUND

I love learning stuff, and one of the best ways to do that, sometimes, is to just listen. Something I learned a long time ago, before I became an author, was that most people you’ll ever meet in life have a story. Maybe it just one story inside them, something that happened to them once, long ago, and just sometimes, if you can just mine it out of them, you have pure gold. So, when I had a phone call out of the blue, back in 1989, from a man claiming to have proof of God’s existence, I didn't immediately replace the receiver, I listened.

Many people I’ve told this story to say they would have hung up, in those first seconds. But if I had done that, I would never have written this book, which has taken me on an incredible 29-year journey, and is the book I’m most proud of and most excited about of all thirty-three novels I have written.

The caller, an elderly sounding gentleman asked if I was Peter James, the author. Hesitantly, I said I was.

‘Thank God I’ve found you!’ he replied. ‘I’ve called every Peter James in the phone book in the South of England, it’s taken me two weeks. My name is Harry Nixon, I assure you I’m not a lunatic, I’m a retired academic, and I was a bomber pilot during the War. This may sound extraordinary, but I’ve been given absolute proof of God’s existence, and I’ve been told, on the highest authority, that you are the man to help me get taken seriously.’

I asked him who exactly it was who had recommended me.

‘Well I’m sure it will sound strange, but I can assure you it was a representative of God. Please hear me out.’

He told me he lived in the Midlands and that his wife had recently passed away from cancer. Before she’d died, they agreed that he would go to a medium to attempt to communicate with her. Some while after her death, he dutifully did this, but instead of his wife, a male claiming to be a representative of God came through.

He told Harry Nixon that God was extremely concerned about the state of the world, and felt that if mankind could have faith in Him reaffirmed, it would help steer us back onto an even keel. As proof of his bona fides, God’s representative had given him three pieces of information no one on earth knew, all of them in the form of compass coordinates: The first was the location of the tomb of Akhenaten, uncle of Tutankhamun and the first monotheist of the pharos. The second was the location of the Holy Grail. And the third was the location of the Ark of the Covenant.

I asked him if he had checked any of these out and he replied, excitedly, that he had indeed. ‘I can’t tell you any more over the phone, Mr James, I need to come and see you. I’m going to need four days of your time.’

I told him that was a pretty big ask! I said I was extremely busy, I could spare him half an hour for a cup of tea and if he could convince me we needed longer, we’d take it from there. We made an arrangement for him to come down the following Tuesday, at 4pm.

On the nanosecond of 4pm the doorbell rang. Standing there was a man in his seventies, holding a large attaché case, who had the air of a retired bank manager. He was dressed in a neat suit, with matching tie and handkerchief and looked at me with sad, rheumy eyes. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Mr James,’ he said, shaking my hand and holding my gaze. ‘You and I have to save the world.’

‘Yep, well, I’ll do my best, I replied.

I made him a cup of tea and sat down with him in the living room. ‘So where do we start?’ I asked him.

He opened his case and removed a manuscript, hundreds of pages thick, bound with an elastic band. ‘We start with you reading this, please.’

I glanced at it, it looked about 1000 pages long, typed with the pages covered in handwritten annotations. ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘Leave it with me.’

He shook his head. ‘I cannot let this out of my sight – this was channeled to me directly from God, through his representative.’

‘So Mr Nixon, you are going to sit there, in that chair, watching me sitting here, reading it all the way through until I’ve finished?’

‘Yes.’

‘This would take me four days!’

Excitedly he retorted, ‘See, I told you so!’

I replied that either he took a massive leap of faith and left it with me, or he took it back home with him after his cuppa, but there was no way he was going to sit in my home for four days! And, before anything else, could he now answer my question over the phone about whether he had checked out any of the coordinates?

He replied he had indeed. Using his skills learned as a Fleet Air Arm navigator in the War, he now had, so far, the precise location of the lost tomb of Akhenaten in the Valley of the Kings, and the precise location of the Holy Grail. The Holy Grail, he told me, was at Chalice Well in Glastonbury. I’d never heard of this place, but I subsequently discovered this wasn't too far-fetched a scenario. Long a holy and mystical site, there is some evidence that Joseph of Arimithea bought the Holy Grail – the chalice used at the Last Supper and to collect Christ’s blood when he was on the cross - to Glastonbury and hid it at Chalice Well.

‘I’ve been dowsing and metal detecting there, and there is something under the ground in the exact position I’ve been given,’ Harry said. ‘Chalice Well is run by a group of trustees – I’ve approached them asking permission to do an archaeological dig at this location, but they won’t take me seriously. But, Mr James, I am sure they would take you seriously.’

Eventually he agreed to leave the manuscript with me, and trundled off into the night. I settled down to start reading – and after about twenty minutes I began to lose the will to live. I was wading through page after page of religious tracts, new age diatribes, and barely legible annotations.

I might have simply returned the manuscript to him the next day, were it not for an extraordinary thing that happened and was to change everything.

By sheer coincidence, the following day I had to go to Bristol to do a BBC radio interview for my then latest novel. When we finished the interview, I carried on chatting for some minutes with the very bright and delightful presenter. Suddenly, out of the blue, she mentioned Chalice Well.

Coincidences have always fascinated me, and her words send a ripple of excitement through me. Twenty-four hours earlier I’d never heard of the place – and now it was twice in two days. ‘What do you know about Chalice Well?’ I asked her.

‘Quite a bit – my uncle’s a trustee,’ he replied.

Astonished and very excited now I told her the story of my encounter with Harry Nixon. She said she would ask her uncle what he knew about the man. I left, feeling very strange – not exactly the chosen one but I had the feeling something was going on, and phoned a good friend of mine, Dominic Walker, who at that time was the Bishop of Reading (he went on to become Bishop of Monmouth and is now retired). I asked if I could come and talk to him.

I should add that Dominic had always struck me as a very modern thinking clergyman, coming from a no-nonsense family – his father was a doctor, his mother a nurse – and he has a brilliant intellect. Over lunch a couple of days later, I told him the story and asked him what he thought.

He thought about it very carefully and said, ‘I think I would want something more than just three sets of compass coordinates to give me proof of God. I would want to see something that defies the laws of physics of the universe – in other words a miracle, and it would need to be a pretty spectacular one.’

‘OK,’ I replied. ‘If someone could deliver that, what then?’

‘You know what I really think if someone could deliver that? I think they would be assassinated. Because whose God would it actually be? You have all the different factions of the Anglican, Catholic, Judaic, Islamic, Hindu, Sikh and all the other monotheist religions in utter disarray. How would China view it or Russia? Would either of them want a higher power usurping their authority? What would the impact actually be on the world?’

As I left, I punched the air with excitement, as I realized I had my story right there! The potential for a truly twisty, global thriller, centered around the biggest question for all mankind.

Twenty-nine years of research later, I’m thrilled to see Absolute Proof published, and equally thrilled that in the US it is an Audible exclusive, brilliantly and compellingly narrated by Hugh Bonneville of Downton Abbey fame.

***
Peter James is the author of the Roy Grace thriller series. He has had 3 smash--hit play adaptations of his work, has hit #1 on the international bestseller list, and was awarded the Crime Writers’ Association Diamond Dagger Lifetime Achievement Award in 2016. 

Before writing full time, James lived in the U.S. for a number of years, producing films including The Merchant of Venice, starring Al Pacino, Jeremy Irons and Joseph Fiennes. James’s novella ‘The Perfect Murder’, started its world stage premiere in 2014, and his first Roy Grace novel Dead Simple has now been adapted for stage, and toured the UK in 2015. In 1994, in addition to conventional print publishing, James’s novel Host was published on two floppy discs and is now in the Science Museum as the world’s first electronic novel. 

Famed for his in-depth research, in 2009 James was awarded an honorary doctorate by the University of Brighton in recognition of his services to literature and the community, and in 2013 he was awarded an Outstanding Public Service Award by Sussex Police with whom he rides along regularly.  He has served as two-times Chair of the Crime Writers’ Association and is a board member of the US International Thriller Writers. He has won numerous literary awards, including the publicly voted ITV3 Crime Thriller Awards People’s Bestseller Dagger in 2011 and was shortlisted for the Wellcome Trust Book Prize for Perfect People in 2012. 

James’s novels have been translated into thirty-six languages and three have been turned into films. All of his novels reflect a deep interest in the world of the police, with whom he does in–depth research and has unprecedented access, as well as science, medicine and the paranormal. A speed junkie, who in his teens was selected to train for the British Olympic Ski Team, he holds an international motor racing license and switches off from work by racing his classic 1965 BMW. James divides his time between his homes in Notting Hill in London and near Brighton in Sussex.

Some Thoughts on In-Person Research: Guest Post by Mark Pryor

Mark Pryor is the author of the Hugo Marston novels The Bookseller, The Crypt Thief, The Blood Promise, The Button Man, The Reluctant Matador, and The Paris Librarian, as well as the novels Hollow Man and Dominic. He has also published the true-crime book As She Lay Sleeping. A native of Hertfordshire, England, he is an assistant district attorney in Austin, Texas, where he lives with his wife and three children. 

Mark Pryor:
Some Thoughts on In-Person Research 

I initially titled this article, “The Importance of In-Person Research,” but I am always wary of writers who lay out their practices and procedures and suggest every author needs to adopt them. In fact, when asked the only good piece of writing advice I give is: do what works best for you. Also, the original title doesn’t really work if you’re writing about Mars or Atlantis, or 17th century Belgium, since you’re not doing much in-person research. I assume…

So, maybe this should really be called: Why in-person research is important to me, and why it might be good for you to do it, but please don’t feel obliged. Hmm, accurate enough if not all that snappy…

Anyway.

I go to the places that I write about for several reasons. The first is that I like to travel, and so do my wife and kids. Setting a book in a new place, then, is the equivalent of packing a bag—once I’ve done it, we’re going! (I have friends who set their books in east Texas and rural New York. Truly wonderful books, but hardly the most exotic research jaunts!)

Another reason is that for my series, I try to make the place another character: it throws up obstacles to my detectives, and provides flavor and atmosphere for the reader to enjoy. Now it’s true, I can find locations and street names online, I can be geographically accurate that way but, if I did all my research that way, I’d miss this (true story):

I was walking in Paris to meet my mum at the train station. A fairly drab part of Paris, nothing for the tourists to enjoy really. But then I turned the corner into a short but wide pedestrian street that sloped gently uphill. The tarmac gave way to cobbles, and on either side the street was lined with small stores. A cheese shop to my right, and beside it a bakery. Across the way the proprietor stood in the doorway to his little restaurant smoking a cigarette, perhaps waiting for customers or maybe just someone to chat with. I looked ahead, past the flower stalls, as a pretty girl on a bicycle free-wheeled towards me, her hair, scarf and coat fluttering in the wind behind her, a smile plastered across her face as she and the rolling suitcase she was pulling bounced across the cobbles and past me.

It was a perfect moment, and one that went straight into a book, a moment I’d never get from Google maps.

Another one: in the old town of Barcelona the small, winding streets are lined with shops, cafes, and restaurants. Most of them are roughly the same size and fronted with large, square windows that are protected during closing hours by metal shutters that are pulled down to the ground. When they’re down, you have absolutely no idea what the business is behind them, it could be a toy shop, a perfumery, or a hat store. Those shutters are very often covered in graffiti, but more often than not quite beautifully, delightfully expressive artwork of all colors and styles.

And so one October morning, as I walked through Barcelona’s narrow and ancient streets, I had the sensation that I was strolling through an advent calendar, these colorful square shutters scrolling up and open to reveal some new delight I couldn’t have guessed at. Again, that’s something you can’t get from the kind of moment-in-time snapshot an internet map would give you.

To me, it’s not just Notre Dame or the Eiffel Tower that give Paris its unique ambience. It’s also these little moments, a glimpse into someone’s day or a passing mail van with a message stenciled on its side: Smile. There could be a love letter for you inside! I mean, could that be anywhere but Paris? And how would I know about it, how would I see it if I don’t go there in person?

Ah, yes. You’re right. I do have a trip to plan. Merci beaucoup!

Mark Pryor’s The Sorbonne Affair (Seventh Street Books) hit the shelves last week.

Research Trip: guest post by Chris Pavone

CHRIS PAVONE is author of the New York Times bestsellers The Accident and The Expats, and winner of the Edgar and Anthony Awards for best first novel. He was a book editor for nearly two decades and lives in New York City with his family. With The Travelers (Broadway Books, January 10, 2017), which has been acquired for film by DreamWorks and is now in paperback, Pavone has crafted a jet-setting, fast paced thriller that transports readers from the beaches of Saint-Jean-de-Luz and the bustle of Barcelona to the isolation of northern Iceland—all beautiful places that are hiding a darker story of surveillance, lies, and espionage. 

CHRIS PAVONE:
RESEARCH TRIP

I realize that it sounds a bit like bullshit: “I’d like to go to Mexico. For research.” It’s a frigid midwinter day in New York City, and what I’m telling my wife is that I want to fly someplace warm, by myself, to quote-unquote work. This certainly seems like a flimsy excuse for an indulgent vacation.

There are all sorts of ways to travel: on the cheap or in the lap of luxury, for business or pleasure, adventure or enlightenment, seeking art or food, activity or relaxation, for a day or a week or a month, for a year and a half. I’ve done all, with every sort of companion and their combinations—parents and grandparents, wife and children, in-laws and colleagues, friends and strangers, all by my lonesome.

I think every style of travel presents a different opportunity, enriching in a different way. For me, traveling solo is the least fun version, the most demanding. But it’s also the most rewarding for my current purposes. Removed from my daily routine, from all the people who inhabit my life, from repeat experiences, this forces me not merely to see the world in a different way, but also to become someone a little bit different myself, at least temporarily, at least in my imagination. More cosmopolitan, perhaps, or maybe more provincial. Richer, or poorer. Bolder, or more timid. More exciting, maybe more dangerous, sexier; it’s the rare hotel room that doesn’t make me think of sex, part and parcel of an overall sense of possibility, of adventure.

Wherever I’m traveling, I can’t help but wonder this: Could I live here? What would I do here? Who would I be?

Nine years ago, I found myself wandering the cobblestoned streets of Luxembourg contemplating exactly these questions, but this time in the concrete, not the abstract: my wife had just started a job in the Grand Duchy. I was forty years old, and except for college I’d only ever lived in New York City; never even considered anywhere else. I’d spent nearly all my adult life working as a book editor, surrounded by a rotating cast of similar characters.

But now suddenly I was a stay-at-home parent to twin four-year-old boys, living in an unfamiliar little city. I cooked and I cleaned, I planned our travels, I attempted to integrate myself into a community of utter strangers. I was an expat trailing spouse.

Nothing in this life was familiar. I didn’t know how to do anything I needed to do—speak French, take care of children, make new friends, fill my days in satisfying ways without a job. I had grown very comfortable, very competent, being the me who lived in New York among friends and family and a lifetime’s worth of accrued local competence. Now I was incompetent.

I realized that I needed to become someone different. Friendlier, more outgoing, more accepting; a more disciplined housekeeper, a more patient parent, a more supportive husband.

I also had to find a new career, and I needed to pursue it in a more self-motivating fashion. I started writing a novel, a story about someone who moves to Luxembourg, doesn’t know how to do anything—speak French, take care of kids, make friends, fill days in satisfying ways. That protagonist is a very different version of me: she’s a woman, I’m a man; she’s an ex-spy, I’m an ex-editor; she occasionally kills people, I never do. But I invented her as an alternative me, living a life very similar to mine.

That Luxembourg adventure came to an end, and we returned to a variation on our old life in New York. But I’d learned some important things about myself. I could become someone different enough to live a different life. I could become a full-time parent, and like it. I could imagine myself as someone else, and turn that someone into the protagonist of a novel. I could write a novel, all the way to the finish.

But sometimes I have a hard time doing it sitting here in New York, surrounded by everything that’s familiar, everything that’s the same old me I’ve always known. Here in New York, the thing I see mostly clearly is me in New York. And that’s not what I want to write about.

So I get on a plane.