ALMA KATSU: When I
was an analyst at CIA, many of my coworkers thought about sitting down one day
and writing a spy novel. Obviously, few did. (Even I didn’t: my first novel, The Taker, is historical with a supernatural
element and had nothing to do with my intelligence career.)
But one
analyst had penned a spoof of The
Hunt for Red October
as if it had been written in the rigid style taught to analysts in the
Directorate of Intelligence. I wish I could show it to you—I’ve been told that
a copy is floating around the Internet, but I couldn’t find it—because it perfectly
illustrates the difference between being a spy in real life and being one in a
novel. Needless to say, it made real intelligence analysts laugh so hard they
blew Coke through their noses when they read it.
I worked
in intelligence for nearly thirty years, splitting my time between the National
Security Agency (known
to you civilians as “the super-secret National Security Agency”) and CIA.
Thirty years is a long time to do anything, long enough to ingrain the many
quirks and peculiarities of the intelligence business into my DNA. (For
instance, I find I must
correct the inaccurate statement I made above, though it is a common
misconception: technically, intelligence professionals are not “spies.” The
people they recruit to give up secrets are spies.)
I was
midway through my career as an analyst when I decided to return to writing
fiction, something I’d abandoned once I started at NSA, as being a published
writer is pretty much incompatible with working in intelligence. When literary
agents found out about my day job, they’d invariably encourage me to write a
spy novel. “You could show what it’s really like,” they’d say, and I took them
at their word.
So I
wrote a spy novel. It was a lot of work. I wanted to pick the right
international conflict, one that I found interesting and I thought Americans
should know more about. I wanted it to be accurate: my professional reputation
was on the line.
I showed
it to agents. To say they were underwhelmed is putting it kindly. I remember
one telling me pointedly, “No one wants to read about someone doing their job.”
Of
course, many writers are perfectly able to write great thrillers based on their
day job: bookshelves are crammed with novels written by doctors, lawyers,
police officers, pathologists, detectives, military personnel, police, you name
it. For me, the decision not to write spy thrillers came down to this: it
wasn’t fun. To me, writing is a means to be somewhere I want to be, with
characters I want to be around—an escape. Writing spy novels kept me tethered
to my workaday world, and it wasn’t rejuvenating.
Writing The
Taker was fun, in that
peculiar way we have of deriving enjoyment from mastering a difficult task. It
took ten years to get it right, but it is a book I am proud of (Booklist chose it as one of the top ten debuts of
last year, so my pride feels a little justified). The Reckoning was less fun to write, if I’m honest,
because of the pressure that comes with writing your second book. Oddly enough,
the reviews are better than the ones for The Taker, so maybe all that neurotic polishing
paid off.
Will I
write a spy novel? Someday, maybe. For now, my editors have asked that I stick
to writing more books like The Taker. But stay tuned: I haven’t ruled it out.
Alma Katsu’s novels have been
compared to Anne Rice’s Interview With The
Vampire and Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander:
historicals with romantic and supernatural elements, but with a unique
character all their own. For more information on Alma’s books, visit her
website at http://www.almakatsu.com. She’s giving away a NOOK tablet ($199 value) to celebrate
The Reckoning’s release; the contest is open until June 30 and you can find
details at http://www.almakatsu.com/contest.php
