Shred of Evidence

I don’t come from a very literary family. Well, my father once wrote a suicide note, but he never followed up with a sequel, so he doesn’t count.

THERE BUT FOR is sort of dedicated to him, even though it is not his story. The man you are about to read about is not my father, despite the many surface similarities. His killer, she is not my mother.

This is after all a novel. THERE BUT FOR is not a memoir or a true crime book. It is fiction, spun like cotton candy from colored crystals of truth, tasting good as it goes down, yet managing in the end to stick.

My father’s death was ruled a suicide. The same can be said of my character’s. In the latter case, we know that his wife killed him because we will be flies on the wall when it happens. We will watch the police fumble the investigation after assuming the suicide note is legitimate, screaming at them from our omniscient perspective, “Don’t you see? He was writing a different kind of farewell when she shot him!”

That is the magic of fiction. We can be where we can’t. We can know the unbelievable.

Many months ago, and many more by the time you read this, my agent asked what I was writing. She did not quite see how this particular novel would advance my career, but she supported whatever decision I made, knowing I couldn’t be swayed in any case. Perhaps my readers would buy the book out of habit, biding their time until I returned to my best-selling series.

Even before we hung up the telephone, damage control was already underway.

From my position of omniscience, I screamed at the broken connection, “Don’t you see?”

People ask me many questions. Where do I get my ideas? Do I outline? Do I write longhand or on the computer? People ask when I first decide to follow one certain story wherever it takes me, forsaking all others.

Why did I write the book you’re about to read? Instead of, say, the next book in the series? Or a standalone calculated to extend my brand? Or a screenplay?

Why did I set this novel in the neighborhood where I was raised? Why did I house the characters in my childhood home? Why did I name the child Ed?

Did Oedipus blind himself when he saw what he’d done or, conversely, to keep himself from seeing that truth?

There will be readers who dislike the ending. Perhaps you will be one of them. My agent is just glad it’s been reached so I can return to what she believes I should be writing.

That happens. Human nature favors brushing unpleasantness under the rug, even if the rug itself is just as unpleasant.

While it may be difficult to say which is the worse crime, suicide or murder, there is no denying that suicide compresses the perpetrator and the victim into one. Negates the need for a trial. Reduces the inconvenience.

I still remember the police coming to the house.

Since we live in an age that glorifies so-called reality, you may read scenes in THERE BUT FOR and wonder how honestly I’ve captured what actually happened, but this is not a piece of reportage. The dialogue is not a faithful rendition of what was said to and around me. The descriptions of sights, sounds, and smells are not merely documented memories.

Remember, this is a work of fiction.

Do I write every day? I only wish I could, but like everybody else I have all manner of demands on my time. I do set aside scheduled writing sessions and vary from that commitment only when no other option exists, in which case I reschedule that four-hour block.

Morning? Afternoon? Night? I’m not all that particular about when I write, just so long as I do. Of course I’m more awake at certain times and more fresh at others, but I’m not sure I could go through this book and select which passages were written during what period.

Likewise, this novel was written over a year at least, a year that saw the usual highs and lows that aren’t necessarily evident in the writing.

Try to guess, if you wish, when during the process I was sued to block publication of THERE BUT FOR, and then when that suit was thrown out of court.

I’ve discussed characters, plot, and setting. I’ve set the scene for the opening and mentioned the ending. What else might tickle your fancy?

Research. Even fiction should be meticulously researched to ensure a sense of authenticity. While writing this novel, I spent an inordinate amount of time studying the science of gunshot residue, the art of splatter patterns, and the history of staged suicides.

I interviewed hundred of law enforcement officers and forensic experts. I waded through a volume of trial transcripts and decisions regarding the rules of evidence. I talked with family and friends of my parents.

While research may be necessary to write, it should not be mistaken for the actual writing. Notes do not constitute a novel, no matter how many manuscripts pages they may fill.

Stories are driven by conflict, and THERE BUT FOR is no exception. Conflict alone, however, is not enough. Conflict must be shaped, and that shape should taper to a point that aligns with the spine of the story.

If a character begins the novel with thirty choices, he or she must end with only one.

My character reached that point and made his decision. His killer reached that point and made her decision. I reached that point and wrote this book.

What will you do once you finish?

AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD

I owe a debt of thanks to the many people who helped me write this book, people too numerous to mention by name.

A heartfelt thanks also goes to the person who must remain nameless after helping me acquire an untraceable poison.

Ed and I both appreciate the closure.