The “Quick” Leap into Writing Suspense that Took Four+ Years
My big stubborn re-branding
Last week, Caitlin wrote about her big sexy debut, and I loved every detail. I furthermore realized that we don’t write about ourselves very much in this newsletter, because we are usually writing about craft, books, and other authors. But it’s time to share my journey to this land we call SUSPENSE.
Four years ago, I was living in an apartment I detested, with a scary, hot-tempered neighbor overhead. Work-wise, I was finishing final edits on a novel that had been many years in the making, not sure what I wanted to write next.
I’d already given notice to leave the apartment when I took a ferry to a tiny, pastoral island nearby to look at a house for sale. By the time I arrived, the nothing-special house had been bought. I enjoyed my island time anyway, sprawling on the rocks at a remote beach with a view of forested islands, relaxing with a tin cup of wine take-out coffee (why did I remember it as wine?) and a paperback by suspense author Lisa Jewell.
On this day I had a glimmer of several elements in a new life I desperately wanted, but I knew they wouldn’t come easily, or quickly.
The housing issue: my husband and I would have to move to another apartment, even darker and noisier than the first, to save money for a future house deposit.
The writing issue: I was struck with a desire to write a more commercial, psychological suspense novel, but I didn’t know how. So far, my five published novels had been literary and historical. I had no intention of leaving those other genres behind, but I wanted to stretch and play.
The next several years didn’t go smoothly, but they did proceed purposefully.
It took one year of saving and island house-hunting before we stumbled into a rare deal. The pandemic was underway and we had to act fast, making an offer without getting a physical tour. As it turns out, the little house was perfect. We were so grateful we nicknamed the house “(Sea) Stars Align.”
The process of finding my way into a hot new genre took longer. Sometimes the stars aligned and sometimes they didn’t. But every step taught me something as a writer.
DON’T JUST READ, STUDY
On the way to becoming an author of psychological suspense, I read with purpose, about fifty thrillers in all.
Sure, everyone has heard of Gillian Flynn of Gone Girl fame, and Paula Hawkins of Girl on a Train. But I was new to many other writers who continue to delight me: Gilly Macmillan, Amy Gentry, Angie Kim, and more.
When it came to my favorites, I didn’t just enjoy their work, I studied it. I noted the progression of their styles and content and the evolution of their careers. I learned from their world-building and POV choices, their thematic obsessions and tension-creating tricks, the line they walked between literary and commercial.
When it came to my less-than-favorites, I started to recognize what premises seemed to be getting stale and what was off the table for my own future brainstorming.
One day with a fellow aspiring suspense writer, I even analyzed in wonky mathematical detail some of our most recent reads. Half of them featured unreliable narrators. Frequently, the villains hid in plain sight. Often, an apparent hero—or an apparent victim—is revealed as a bad-guy. (Yep, it’s the husband. Or the friend/neighbor/helpful cop).
I’ve often looked back at the journal where I scribbled that analysis. I know enough about suspense now to realize that my discoveries of certain tropes or tricks—like “villain-hiding-as-victim” —weren’t uniquely brilliant. But it mattered that I was the one to discover them, by actually thinking through very own recent reads. If I’d simply consumed a craft book or an online article, I would have skimmed, missed insights, and failed to connect lots of dots.
During that collaborative exercise, my fellow apprentice and I also drilled down into what made us want to throw a book across the room, disappointed. Plenty of recent bestsellers left me cold. I discovered that my very favorite suspense novels are both emotional and intellectual, with deeper characterization and confident doses of cultural commentary. I fall for an anxiety-making premise but I fall in love with a suspense novel that brings me into an interesting work domain, generational or socio-political situation, or ethical quandary that highlights who we are now or will be soon as struggling humans.
FAIL FAST
No amount of reading, however, can make up for the lessons learned while writing. I believe that when one is trying to bust into a new genre, it’s best to “fail fast.” Write a lot, experiment, learn from your mistakes, and move on quickly. Do not cling to failed structures for too long.
My first thriller attempt involved a young, small-town artist being preyed upon by an unscrupulous bat-shit cousin. Nothing wrong with that. I may even return to it! But my overly complex plot took place in two countries and had a set-up that dragged.
I’d been hacking away at that plot for four months when I had lunch with an editor. I pitched her the artist thriller. She nodded politely, willing to read it once I finished.
Then I opened up and told her what I knew I was doing wrong. The world was too big. The storyline was unwieldy. The characters’ problems and desires weren’t clear at the very start.
“A better story would be more constrained in time and space,” I said, shooting myself in the foot—or thinking I was—as I began a second pitch of a purely hypothetical story based on some disturbing personal experiences I’d recently had while visiting Central America.
Those experiences provided the setting, key themes, and scene inspirations, fashioned into a premise about a grieving mother seeking the truth about her twenty-something daughter’s disappearance while at a memoir retreat at Lake Atitlan.
“Write that one,” the editor said, sitting up straighter, no longer as interested in her lunch—or my artist thriller, either. “How long will it take you? Can you do it in two months?”
Excited, I went home and wrote it in four months—not two. For me, that was still lightning-fast. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time, which I took as a sign that I’d made it to Easytown.
I hadn’t.
EMBRACE REVISION
Let me assure you. The first draft was fast. The revisions and the submission process took forever.
With this new suspense manuscript, I got a new agent who had me revise more than I’d ever revised in my life. The manuscript changed so many times I felt like I wasn’t writing one book, I was writing two or three, all with different tones, for different audiences. At times, I wondered if the agent regretted taking me on.
This “easy book” was quickly becoming a monster—or one could see it that way. I chose to see it as an unparalleled opportunity.
Friends and family took pity. “Another revision? Do you really have to? Are you sure it isn’t good enough already?”
But I reassured them. I felt lucky to get this chance. I was learning. And of course, I was continuing to do all the other things I’ve mentioned above. Reading deeply. Analyzing. Plus following my favorite authors on social media. Attending their book talks online. Paying attention.
A published novelist and literary nonprofit co-founder who’d lost lots of connections, especially after moving abroad, I’d recently complained to an editor that I had “zero social capital.” On that day, I was referring to a professional network situated within publishing, but in truth I wasn’t pining for useful acquaintances. I wanted more writer friends. Real ones. People who wrote, shared, risked, submitted, published or tried to, and then started all over again.
I stopped making excuses and found two new online writing groups to join. I opened myself to feedback. I met new people who taught me lots—and not just about writing. Why hadn’t I reached out before?
In between rounds of revision, I also started writing two other novels. No reason to wait around for one project to pan out. There’s always the next idea and the one after that.
If this all sounds like a ton of work, it was. Joyful work, which—finally—did result in a publishing contract for the Central American thriller.
As the deal was being negotiated, on a recent summer day—trust me, that contract took as long to finalize as every other part of this journey—I scrolled back through my photos and was reminded of where I’d been, three years earlier: on that rocky beach, reading Lisa Jewell, gazing across the silky blue water, wishing for a new home and a new life, dipping my toe into a new genre.
With lots of help, I’d done it. But none of it would have happened without a plan, and that plan was not to become an overnight success but to learn and to create, in a series of steps, some as small as creating a new reading log, finding a new writing podcast, or sending out a new query.
Of course, it would still take another year-plus to have a cover and ARCs and all that good stuff. Look at this beauty, due out in less than four months!
WRITE WHAT YOU WANT TO WRITE
The learning continues as I write my next suspense novel, which is, in some ways, harder to do than the last one. I think there’s a “sophomore novelist” thing that happens even when you’ve written more than a few books, every time you jump genres.
In the last two years, I’ve also written a non-suspense novel (literary historical fiction about a famous poet with some speculative bits).
I facetiously used the term re-brand in my subtitle—apologies for using that terrible word, Naomi Klein! And I suppose I should address the question of whether I worried about leaving my old “brand” behind. Truthfully, I didn’t. I was having too much fun. And when I came back to historical fiction again, it was because that was the container I needed for the next story burning up my brain.
But I suppose now, with trade reviews imminent, I do wonder. Will the same reviewers who were so incredibly kind about my early books, many of them rooted in deep research and about important stuff like classical music, behaviorism, colonialism, and Nazis, scoff at this latest one? I suppose they might!
When the feedback starts rolling in, followed by the royalty statements (which are never as gratifying as we’d like), I hope I can still remember that day on the beach, when I didn’t care about external rewards and only wanted two things: to find a beautiful home and have fun learning to write psychological suspense.
I could say that stars aligned, granting me those two wishes, but that fails to acknowledge my own agency and pesky character flaws. Luck was involved, and contrariness, and financial recklessness, too. Plus patience. I wish you all of those things.
P.S. Feel free to ask Caitlin or me anything about how we crashed the gates of suspense-dom. As you can tell…um…we like talking about it.
Andromeda Romano-Lax’s sixth novel, THE DEEPEST LAKE, which you can preorder here or here, is the story of a mother investigating the disappearance of her daughter at a luxurious writing retreat in Central America. It will be published by Soho Crime on May 7, 2024.
I'm so looking forward to reading this! And I took a lot of comfort in how you described your revision process. I've done several major rewrites since signing with my agent a year and a half-ish ago, and while it's been for the best, it has totally felt like a crash course in writing suspense. I have friends who are like, "Aren't you sick of revising it? Isn't it good enough yet?" Just over here trusting the process! It's nice to hear about other writers having a similar kind of experience.
I loved reading this. And I agree--studying via reading and writing (fail fast--yes yes yes!) is the way to do it. Thank you for sharing your journey.