I wrote this shortly after The Hanged Man became an e-book, finding a second life in digital form. It was published by Kensington Books in the mid-90s, the first book I did with editor Kate Duffy. I kept pushing it back and back, and then received an email from David Wilson at Crossroad that on Aprilo 11-12, he would be offering it free. I glanced at the date I had pushed it back to – and there it was, the synchronicity. It was on the dashboard for April 11. So there’s the synchro. And here’s the story:
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As a writer, I’m in awe of novelists who can sustain a character over multiple books and not lose their readers.
J.K. Rowling did it with Harry Potter. Suzanne Collins did it with Katniss in her Hunger Games trilogy, Sue Grafton has done it with Kinsey – who is now up to – what is it? V? W? – well, most of the alphabet. George R.R. Martin has done this not with just one character, but with an entire canvas of characters in Game of Thrones. Philip Pullman achieved it in his Dark Materials trilogy. Jeff Lindsay has done it with his Dexter books. Nora Roberts achieves it with any number of her 100 plus books. John D MacDonald did it with Travis McGee. Rob nailed it with his Native American Will Lansa and with his depictions of Indiana Jones. There are many other writers who have done this, too, but these are the ones who come immediately to mind.
There’s some sort of alchemy that happens between the writer and the character in such series. Boundaries between self and character vanish. The writers’ emotions, worldview, and concerns become those of the character – and vice versa. Now, there are writing instructors and pundits, agents and editors who will tell you this isn’t so, that it’s all about the writers’ talent and dedication and opportunities. While that’s certainly true, it’s not the full story.
Stephen King calls it “dreaming awake.” It’s a state of consciousness that novelists enter into when they are fully plugged in to what they’re writing. An altered state of consciousness, in other words, a kind of creative meditation that produces the unexpected plot twist, the strangeness of a situation or condition, the emotional resonance that captures the reader, for whatever reason. It’s also how synchronicity comes into play, as it did when Edgar Allan Poe wrote his unfinished sea adventure novel, The Narrative of Arthur Conan Pym, which described a fictive event that subsequently happened 47 years later.
In my experience, series characters are not easy to sustain. I did ten books on a married couple, Quin and Mike McCleary, who plied their private eye trade in Miami. By the tenth book, I was so irritated by my agent and editor telling me how the books should be written, that they shouldn’t have any metaphysical stuff at all, that I killed off Mike and intended to bring him back as a ghost. That didn’t happen. I changed publishers – and agents and there was never an 11th book.
I did four books for Ballantine as Alison Drake in a series that featured a single female cop on the fictional island of Tango Key. I liked Aline, I liked her life, the way she thought. I liked that she loved her partner, Kincaid, even though he was gone for long periods of time because he had a nomadic heart. She and that series gave me Tango Key, a fictional island 12 miles west of Key West that I have returned to time and again – in my fiction, in my imagination. I think, if I ever retire, it’s where I’ll live. It’s where I put Mira Morales in the four books after The Hanged Man.
Shaped like a cat’s head with very irregular proportions, Tango Key is a mystery even unto itself. Connected to Key West by a 12-mile bridge, an engineering marvel, the island has hills, cliffs, a history, and a mystical undercurrent that fits who I am. Just about anything is possible on Tango Key. Mira Morales, a single mother, owner of a successful bookstore, a psychic, knows it better than most.
It has taken me a long time to figure which of my characters I would stick through for 26 books, as Grafton will apparently do. And for me, it won’t be Mira. She lives on in her own alternative universe and the reason she does is because Category Five there’s a single paragraph that hurt the book’s sales. It was encompassed in a conversation between Sheppard, Mira’s FBI lover, and Nadine her grandmother, about real life, how the George W Bush administration had taken us to unspeakable places. That was in 2005, when the U.S. was as seriously polarized as it is now.
I remember running across an online review by someone who said, Let’s sink this book, this left-leaning travesty. Or something to that effect, and cited that particular paragraph/conversation in the book. I thought, Huh?
So the series ended a book later, with Cold As Death. I’ve written other novels and books since then, but oddly, seven years later, Mira sticks with me. She steps periodically into my dreams, she crept into Esperanza, she’s my buddy in crazy times. So the other night I played around with ideas for a new novel. I had been proofing The Hanged Man and Black Water, the first two books in the Mira Morales series that Crossroad is bringing out in digital format with a far better cover than what Kensington had. And I suddenly thought Mira might be my Kinsey Milhone, my Harry Potter, my Katniss, my Will Lansa.
And just as suddenly knew I didn’t want to go backward. I love Mira and her world, but s a writer I’ve moved beyond her. Other ideas are simmering. I’ll have to see where it all goes. Even if a novelist lives in complete isolation, he or she is never alone. The characters they have created crowd in, whispering, demanding, cajoling: C’mon, make me real.

















