WHAT WE'RE WRITING: Hank has breaking news, a sneak peek, and an experiment!

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: A sneak peek at my new book below! But first, breaking news. First, I have been named Guest of Honor at next year’s Malice Domestic convention. SO AMAZING! (Julia and Rhys were this year’s and the year before, and can you imagine that powerhouse duo at the podium this year? So now, they will be able to tell me the secret handshake.) I am still floating.

Second: My new book THE HOUSE GUEST has a cover! YAY! And it will be revealed on Wednesday. So watch for it! All the Reds shepherded me through the decision, of course, and I am incredibly thrilled. If you want to help me reveal it, just email me at Hank@HankPhillippiRyan.com and I will give you all the deets.

Also: Do NOT buy HER PERFECT LIFE. Seriously. I mean–not yet. It’s going on sale for a pittance on May 10. And you will hear about it, you can be sure. So get ready to click the buy button.

And! THE HOUSE GUEST advance review copies are being printed right now. Yay. (Gilly Macmillan, who read a bound manuscript, just called it “propulsive, smart, twisty, and impossible to predict”” and “A thriller-lover’s treat!” So, again, yay.)

So the whole thing has been a process, and the other day I looked back at several versions of the manuscript for THE HOUSE GUEST. I keep every day's version, maybe that’s silly, but it’s truly instructive. If you compare the versions, you can really see the thought process, the emergence of character, the appearance of theme and motivation.

So here's an experiment.  First, here's the version of page one that existed in May, 2021. Essentially a year ago.

Then, after that, the current version. Which probably won’t change.

What can you tell about the differences? What do you think?

Version from May 2021

Chapter 1

Ailsa swirled the icy olives in her martini, thinking about division. She stared through the chilled glass at the lighted bottles lined up on the shiny aluminum bar shelves in front of her. Division, as in divorce. Not only the obvious division, hers from Bill, but the division of their property. On her side of the ledger, she was supposed get the mortgage-free Weston house (but not the Osterville cottage), the jewelry, two of the important paintings, gym membership for life, and some other stuff. Money, certainly. The lawyers were discussing it, she’d been told. She jiggled the fragments of disappearing ice. Discussing.

What did Bill get? Besides everything else, he got the friends.

All the friends. Ailsa felt her shoulders sag, calculating the parts of her life now grouped on his side of the ledger. She understood, she did, it was difficult when a couple split. Allegiances were tested. Loyalties strained. She jabbed at the closest green olive with the little plastic stick. She’d have thought some of them, some of the friends at least, would’ve stuck with her.

The music from the speakers in each corner of the Vermillion Hotel’s earnestly chic dark-paneled bar floated down over her, some unrecognizable jazz, all piano and promises, muffling conversations and filling the silences. A couple sat at one end of the bar, knee to knee. On vacation, on business, clandestine. Impossible to tell. At the other end, a sport-coated man, tie loosened, used one finger to fish the maraschino cherry out of his brown drink, popped it into his mouth, and licked his fingers before he went back to scrolling the phone in front of him. 


Written January 2022

Chapter 1

Alyssa swirled the icy olives in her martini, thinking about division. She stared through her chilled glass to the mirrored shelves of multi-colored bottles in front of her at the hotel bar. Division, as in divorce.  Not only the physical division, hers from Bill, but thinking about what would happen after the lawyers finished. They’d already created a ledger of their lives together, then started the financial division. Which would be followed by the devastating subtraction.

Bill had subtracted her from his life, that was easy math. With a lift of his chin and a slam of the front door and a squeal of Mercedes brakes. She’d asked him why he was leaving her, begged to know, yearned to understand. But Bill always got what he wanted, no explanation offered or obligatory. She had done nothing wrong. Zero. That’s what baffled her. Terrified her.

She jiggled the fragments of disappearing ice. Division. The Weston house. The Osterville cottage. The jewelry. Her jewelry. The first editions. The important paintings. Club membership. The silver. Money. The lawyers, human calculators who cared nothing about her, would discuss and divide and then, Bill Macallen would win. Bill always won.

All she’d done for the past eight years was addition. She’d added to their lives, added to their social sphere, organizing and planning as “Bill’s wife,” fulfilling her job to make him comfortable and enviable and the image of benevolent success. She’d more than accepted it, she’d embraced it, and all that came with it. And then, this.

I need a break, he’d told her that day. She pictured that moment, a month ago now, could almost smell him, a seductive mixture of leathery orange-green aftershave and personal power. Bill talking down to her, literally and figuratively, wearing one of his pale blue shirts, elegant yellow tie all loose and careless, khaki pants and loafers. A break! As if his life with her was a video he could casually put on pause while he did other things. What things?


HANK: So again, Reds and readers, what can you tell about the differences? What do you think?

Don’t forget to email me for the cover reveal! And stand by for the wonderful sale on Her Perfect Life.

What We're Writing: The Score is Outline-1 Hank-0

First, yes, this has been a crazy week for "the book that is."  

 I spent last Monday night at the Brookline Booksmith virtual launch of  HER PERFECT LIFE life, and I have to tell you it was transformative.  There were 346 people!

 And so much love and joy that I was in tears much of the time. Thank you all who came, and thank you all who bought books, and I honestly have never had such a fantastic event. 

Below I am signing the pre-orders in the Booksmith's empty basement, and of course I put my mask back on right after the photo.

The wonderful reviews keep coming, including the Providence Journal saying "Her perfect life is as close to perfect as a psychological thriller can be." Which, I have to say, made my Monday.

(If you have not purchased HER PERFECT LIFE, this is the one time I will say to you. Please do :-) No pressure. It is just my career. Click here.

 A star from Kirkus and a star from Publishers Weekly and my endless endless gratitude. If you want a copy signed personally to you, I can tell you how. Just mention it in the comments.)

But of course, in my world of spinning plates, I am also trying to finish "the book that is to be," and I will tell you that the deadline for it is October 6.  (Ha. Ha.)

And here's the crazy thing that happened along the way.

So, you know me, a card-carrying pantser, or as George RR Martin described it, a gardener. He says some authors are architects, that they build the structure of their novels, and then weave and plaster their story onto that scaffolding. A plotter. Other authors, he says, are gardeners, who have a seed, and plant it, and cultivate it, and then watch their story grow. You know this. 

Anyway, for 13 books, I have been an inveterate gardener. I have no idea what comes next, you all know this, too, and so far, that has worked well for me. 

But one day, back in, maybe February, I was thinking about my new book, book 14, and suddenly, the whole thing appeared to me. WHAT?? 

I sat down with a notebook and a pencil, yes pencil, and wrote out four pages of outline. Beginning middle end. Everything! Everything that happened.  AN OUTLINE.

It took about half an hour.

Wow, I thought, this is awesome. This is sensational. This is the best thing that has ever happened to anyone in anyone’s conceivable entire life. 

I was ecstatic. I thought wow, why didn’t anyone ever tell me about this! And of course they have, Jeffrey Deaver has spent years trying to convince me to write an outline, and although it worked for him, I never quite believed it. 

But there it was,  four soon-typed pages revealing the entire story. EVEN THE END. I HAVE NEVER KNOWN AN END. Amazing. 

So I sat at my computer, gloriously happy, and started banging it out. What happens next, the question that always filled me with fear, this time it was a snap! I just looked at my pieces of paper, (which I bought a magnet board to display), and it told me what happen next. Incredible. 

I got to about 60,000 words. And slammed hard into the wall. It just wasn’t working. It just wasn’t working! People were doing things for no reason, they were saying things that were ridiculous, they were behaving  in insane ways, and I just sat and stared at it. What had happened to my beautiful story?

Time passed, and I stared at the page. I asked myself all the questions I always ask when I am stuck: what would really happen, what would someone really do, what time is it. I asked myself all those things. And nothing was working.

And time was going by.

Time. Was. Going. By.

I finally called my editor and said hey, wanna look at my manuscript? I’m about two-thirds finished with the rough draft, and I’m not quite sure of where this is going, can you just look at it and see where I may have hit some quicksand?

She read it in a day, maybe two, and we chatted. She said: this is a great story, really good, but it’s only the story. “There’s not enough…thinking,” she said.

Then she paused and said: I don’t mean a bunch of internal dialogue, but this is all plot and no depth. 

And I said yeah, but by word count I’m about  60 percent of the way through, but by the story arc, this should be almost finished. Is that why I can’t figure out what to do?

And she said: absolutely. Go back and open this up.

And, reds and readers, that is exactly what I am doing.

 Turns out, I knew how to make an outline, hilariously, but I did not know how to use it! 

Now, I am closing in on the ending, sort of, and don't know what it it, and it's NOT THE ONE IN THE OUTLINE, but at least I know what the book is about. More than story, it is about the characters. And gardening.

Yes yes, I obviously already knew this. It just took a minute to come back to me.

Book 14, underway.

And book 13, HER PERFECT

LIFE, is now happily in the world, thanks to all of you, and I am floating! (LOOK, Zibby Owens (gasp!) chose it as a top read for fall!) 

What do you think about what my editor told me? 

HER PERFECT LIFE--AND A PERFECT LAUNCH!

Jenn McKinlay: It goes without saying that the Reds are each other's biggest fans! So I am just over the moon, ecstatic, and positively thrilled to announce our Hank's latest book HER PERFECT LIFE will be released into the wild TOMORROW!!!

This book has already started to buzz hard with starred reviews from Kirkus and Publisher's Weekly and was declared “A spectacular thriller” in a rave review from Library Journal! It's Hank's second pandemic launch and the publisher says it's her “Most personal book yet.” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

BUY NOW!!!

HER PERFECT LIFE

It’s about sisters, betrayal, guilt, fame, and revenge. Everyone knows television reporter Lily Atwood, and that may be her biggest problem. She has fame, fortune, and beloved daughter; and her devoted fans have even given her a hashtag: #PerfectLily.  But Lily also has one life-changing dark secret—and if anyone finds out, she fears her career and happiness are over.  Problem is: how do you keep a secret when you’re always in the spotlight? And when an anonymous source begins to tell Lily secrets about Lily’s  own life --she learns the spotlight may be the most dangerous place of all. 

There is a BIG launch party tonight so don't miss out! 

Register here:  https://bit.ly/HPLLaunch 

If you can’t come, boo, but Hank can still sign and personalize a book for you! Just click on the link. 

We all have questions for Hank--and we know you will, too! YAY, Hank--and we know this will be fabulous. Scroll down for the questions--and Hank's insightful answers.

JENN McKINLAY: Congratulations, Hank! This is so thrilling (intended)! We Reds have been fortunate enough to be a tiny bit in the loop during your writing process, and I have to ask is your protagonist television reporter Lily Atwood based on someone(s) that you’ve met during your own illustrious career as a reporter or was she inspired by something else? What was the spark that inspired her story? 

HANK: Oh, thank you! I am overwhelmed and nervous, just saying.  But I know exactly where this story came from.

  

When I worked in Atlanta, in the 80s, I was anchoring the weekend news. I came home after the eleven PM news one night, around midnight or even later, and my house was surrounded by police cars. Someone had broken into my house. The police caught him, and he confessed to them that he had chosen my house to break into--because he knew I was live on television, and not home!  Isn’t that chilling?

Because he knew where I was, he knew where I wasn’t. That understanding of the deep vulnerability of being a television reporter haunted me. And that was the beginning of the story.

And led to the irony in the title.

HALLIE EPHRON: Your titles always have multiple meanings and shades of meaning that reveal themselves to the reader. A case in point: “perfect” paired with “life”? Did the title come to you as you were writing, or did you start with the title and spin a story from there.

HANK: Oh, great question, dear Hallie!  In this book, the title did not emerge until about the middle of writing it. It was initially titled “The Next Caller” because one of the key elements is that an investigative reporter, who gets a lot of news tips from sources, gets a call from an anonymous person who appears to know some secrets about the reporter herself! 

 I thought it would be fascinating to turn the tables--to have someone whose life revolves, in a way, around telling secrets--begin to understand how it feels like to be in the spotlight. 

She has such a perfect public image that her fans have hashtagged her #PerfectLily. But soon she knows her seemingly-perfect life is about to be ruined. And that the spotlight may be the most dangerous place of all.

And once I thought the phrase “Her perfect life..” 

I thought--OH! Of COURSE.

LUCY BURDETTE: Yes big congratulations on everything Hank! Jenn stole my question about your spark, but here’s another one. You’ve talked about not plotting ahead while you’re writing. How much do you know when you start out? Do you use any turning points or character sketches or any kind of structure?

HANK: NO IDEA. Nothing. I know there would be a celebrated reporter who had a dark scary secret. What was it? NO idea! 

 I did have an image of a college freshman, a girl, who comes home for the holidays, and seems sad, and her mom finds her notebook, which has a calendar with the days crossed off.  And I thought--is she counting the days until something? Or after something? 

And that’s all I had.  (And that’s on page one, so no spoilers. ;-0) 

Lily’s seven-year-old daughter Rowen was a huge surprise to me. And she was a joy to write--mischievous, funny, confident, articulate, polite--and she pushes Lily a bit. And Lily pushes right back. And they are wonderful together. Until..what if that spotlight shines on little Rowen?  

(And oh, thank you, Lucy!)

RHYS BOWEN:  Many congrats on the new book, Hank. My question: do you become emotionally involved with your heroine? Identify with her? Or can you remain detached as you do in your job?

HANK: Thank you! Hmm. I BECOME her, as I write.  It’s almost like method acting. I know when I’m  writing Lily, I have good posture, and my brain presents Lily words, and I know what she wants, and her secrets, and I make her decisions. When I write Greer Whitfield, the ambitious/brilliant/complicated producer, my eyes narrow a bit, and Greer phrases come out. . And for college girl Cassie, well, I can’t talk about that. (HER PERFECT LIFE takes place in the past and the present.)  

But I DO identify with Lily’s concern for her personal life in a public arena. People who watch her on television think they KNOW her--she’s in their living rooms every night!--and they think they’re her friend. How dangerous is that? And Lily is an investigative reporter, like I am. She does a lot of good--but someone’s scheme is thwarted in every story she does--so she’s made a lot of enemies. And, like my burglar, they know where she lives.  

DEBORAH CROMBIE: It is such a fabulous cover, Hank! Everytime I see it I have to just gaze at it for a moment. Were you pleased with it? Is that how you imagined Lily? Did the cover design go through many iterations? 

HANK: Oh, totally totally totally. Thank you, dear Debs!  I GASPED when I saw this. And yes, we went through many iterations. I kept saying: elegant, classic, Mona Lisa, Grace Kelly, luminous,  mysterious, sophisticated. And then wow. Designer Katie Klimowicz at Forge hit a grand slam home run. Even the paper stock is incredible. (And here’s a secret--in the original version, her eyes are blue. I asked for green. And poof! Green.)

 

 JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: After these great questions, I'm afraid anything I might ask about HER PERFECT LIFE will slide into spoiler territory! So I'm going to ask about launching a BIG book in Fall '21 - you're doing a mix of Facebook Live, streaming, podcasting - and of course, you're still blogging here and at Career Authors and highlighting other authors with First Chapter Fun and The Back Room. Just typing that makes me want to lie down with a cold compress. How do you manage such a packed schedule and how - since I've seen this many times - do you keep delivering 100% at every event?

HANK: (Please don't make a list like that! It is a lot, but it's a lot of fabulous. xoxoo) Truly, I adore it, and it's part of the crazy-wonderful life as an author. And these days, all the more necessary to stay connected. And aw, thank you for the wonderful links!

And we all have packed schedules, right? But remember was it--Willie Mays? Someone like that? Who was asked: "Why do you always play the best you can in every game?" And he said: "Because there might be a little boy in the stands who's never seen me before."

Right?

And speaking of schedules:

All right, Readers, it's your turn to put Hank in the hot seat! What do you want to know about HER PERFECT LIFE? 

What We're Writing: Hank Gives A Sneak Peek at HER PERFECT LIFE

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Well, yikes. Will ya look at that cover? I have never seen such a gorgeous thing, and I will pause, now while you swoon.  (Thank you, designer Katie Klim!)

So. HER PERFECT LIFE is now in copy-edits, and at the proofreader, while I fuss and fidget and wonder what career-ending errors it includes.

This tiny tiny bit is NOT the beginning. It is not chapter two. More I cannot say. But it does give you main character (Lilly Atwood), her world, her conflict, and...several secrets to the entire story.

It doesn't come out until September 14, SO far away and so soon at the same time.  And that's why I feel fine about letting you read this snippet. By the time the book comes out, you'll have forgotten it. 

from HER PERECT LIFE

They’d gone through a rough patch, a few years ago, when Rowe had started asking about her father. Lily hadn’t been ready to discuss it, and, stalling, had successfully skirted the issue. But an insistently curious woman in the produce section of the grocery store had stolen Lily’s control over that.

 “And this must be Rowen,” the woman had said, reaching out to the little girl, almost touching her, until Lily had inched the shopping cart between them. 

 The woman—black yoga pants and a shabby-chic leather jacket, stylish crimped hair and careful lip gloss—had looked Rowen up and down, assessing. “I’ve heard all about you on Facebook, Rowen,” she said.

 She’d started digging into a black leather tote bag, and Lily had felt her own heart constrict when the woman pulled out a cell phone.

 “I love penguins, too. Do you and your mother visit them at the aquarium? Can I take a selfie with you two? Right here by all these beautiful apples?” 

 No no no, Lily thought. She never put Rowe’s photo on social media, not a recognizable one at least, but once used a shot from behind showing Ro’s sandy hair in a penguin-ribboned ponytail. BG loves penguins, Lily had captioned. She called Rowen “BG” online, for baby girl, and never used her name. How did this woman know it? Easy enough, Lily supposed. It was impossible to keep anything secret.

 Lily had wanted to yank the penguin ribbon out of Rowe’s hair, right there in front of the Granny Smiths and the Honeycrisps, and spin her cart away. But the public Lily had to be approachable, relatable, engaging. One wrong word in the Star Market and the internet could turn Lily from beloved icon to full-of-herself-bitch. Social media loved a falling star. 

 “Oh, I’m so flattered, thank you, but how about you and me? Just the two of us?” Lily had stopped the selfie train in its tracks. “But not my--” 

 “Of course,” the woman said, the warmth leaving her voice in just those two words. She stashed her phone away with an unnecessarily dramatic gesture. “Far be it from me to intrude on your precious--”

 “So kind of you, I so appreciate it,” Lily had said, as sincerely as she could, then turned her cart deliberately, telegraphing her intention to continue down the aisle. “Happy shopping!” 

 “Why do we never hear about Rowen’s father, Lily?” 

 In the beat of silence that followed, Rowen had curled a finger into a belt loop of Lily’s jeans, and tucked herself in behind her mother. Rowen, then not even four feet tall, had left no space between the two of them. 

 “Oh, gosh, I beg your pardon?” Lily tried not to react, tried not to grab a Granny Smith and lob it at the woman’s smug face. “I’m not sure why’d you’d ask me that?”

 “You media,” the woman had sneered, suddenly a viper. “You think you’re above it all.” She pivoted her cart, then pivoted it back. “Better ask your mother about him, Rowen,” she’d said. 

 And then, the wheels of her cart rattling, she bustled away. 

 “Attention shoppers,” a fuzzy voice on the public address system had boomed through the store. “In our famous cheese section right now, a demonstration of all the different kinds of Parmesan….” 

Rowen had not budged.

 Around them, shoppers pushed their rackety metal carts, a display of Meyer lemons tumbled to the ground as a toddler wailed, the fragrance of fresh cilantro and parsley, of ripening cantaloupes and pungent spring onions surrounding them, just another Saturday in the grocery. Except to Rowen and Lily, now side by side at a moment in their lives that Lily had planned for. She had. 

But not now, not today. Not in the grocery store.

 Rowen had asked of course, since about the time she’d turned four: Why don’t I have a daddy? And Lily had been ready for that. You do have a daddy, she’d assured the little girl, and I love him very much, but he lives far away, and I love you enough for both of us. That had satisfied Rowen; or seemed to. 

But then the grocery store viper struck. “Mumma?” the girl’s almost-green eyes had welled, widening, as they looked into Lily’s matching ones. 

Lily had stooped, dropping herself to Ro’s height. “What honey?” 

Lily knew Rowen would ask—her daughter was whipsmart, with a memory like a computer. Lily had learned not to make promises she couldn’t keep. And negotiation was less and less successful. 

"Why did the lady ask about my father?” Rowen whispered.

 Lily felt like bursting into tears. “Why do you think, honey?”

HANK: So, there you have it. HER PERFECT LIFE. And, you know, in that one half a scene is the whole book. I'm just not going to tell you the rest of it. You'll have to read it on your own. No pressure, you all. Just my career.

Please mark it as to-read on BookBub and Goodreads, okay? And sign up for my newsletter for a chance to get an advance review copy. Scroll up and look at that cover again! Whoa.

And darling reds and readers, cross every finger you've got. What do you think?