An idea was born. 

One of the questions

I’m often asked is, “How did you come up with the idea for this book?” My books

are fairly plot-driven, and Every Time I

Think of You was no different. I could see the opening scene in my head

like a movie so I knew what the inciting incident – in other words, the event

that would send the main characters’ lives in another direction – would be. But

in this case, my opening scene was the result of not only plot, but also a

character. I have wanted to write a book where the main character was a crime

reporter for a while now. I tend to gravitate toward heroes who are regular

guys, and I wanted to see what would happen when I put this particular hero

into various situations (and a little hot water). What would he do? How would

he react? What, exactly, was he made of?

However, if main

character Brooks McClain was going to be a crime reporter, that meant I had to

come up with a crime (which ultimately, I’d have to solve). I’ve never written

a book with a mystery or suspense element before, but I wasn’t going to let a

little thing like that get in the way of telling this story. I’ve said time and

time again that I never want to be an author who writes the same book over and

over, but with that motto comes challenges. I have to deal with the discomfort

that comes from tackling something different than I’ve done before, and often

this means learning new things.

I have a love/hate

relationship with research. I keep telling myself I’m going to write a book

that doesn’t require as much research, and then I write a book that requires extensive research. I should really

start listening to myself! Some of the things I did in the name of research for

Every Time I Think of You included

taking a four-hour firearms safety course and learning how to load and shoot a

gun, which was something I didn’t have any experience with.

I also studied ALS,

also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, by reading memoirs and poring over

countless websites dedicated to the disease. Although the timing of the recent

ALS ice bucket challenge is merely a coincidence, it makes me happy to know

that this devastating illness is receiving such an outpouring of support from

the general public.

I studied addiction,

specifically methamphetamine addiction. What I learned was heart-wrenching,

eye-opening, and often tragic. In total, I read six memoirs about addiction and

read countless online articles. I watched a fascinating Frontline documentary from

PBS about methamphetamine addiction and its effects on law enforcement and the

community.

I reached out to a

criminal defense attorney in California so that I could gain an understanding of

that state’s legal processes, and I spent several hours in person and on the

phone with my cousin Jack, who is a detective with the Des Moines Police

Department. Jack was instrumental in explaining the outcomes of all the

different scenarios I proposed (naturally, I named the detective character

after him). I interviewed three different crime reporters (who all told me

slightly different things), and one of them saved me from a potentially

embarrassing gaffe. In Every Time I Think

of You, I include an actual newspaper article written by Brooks McClain. Newspaper

reporters use the Associated Press

Stylebook to ensure that their articles are written correctly whereas The Chicago Manual of Style is the go-to

guide for fiction writers. The crime reporter who proofed my article had me make

a small tweak so that it was correct in form.

I spoke to a nurse,

to make sure I got the details of Daisy’s DiStefano’s work schedule correct.

There were less significant things I needed the answers to, such as what kind

of jewelry a nurse would be permitted to wear to work and what floor she might

work on if she were involved with a particular patient.

In addition to the

factual research necessary to write this story, I also had to choose the path

I’d take to solve the crime. I learned that there were a few different ways I

could handle this: One, I could write the story in such a way that the reader

would probably not know who committed

the crime until the very end. Two, I could choose the slightly-less-suspenseful

route and let the reader be privy to clues that would allow them to guess the

identity of the perpetrator much earlier. That way, I could let the focus of

the story rest on how the person

would be brought to justice. I chose option two because I felt it would lend

emotional resonance and depth to the story.

Now that I knew how I’d tell the story, I needed to concentrate

on the characters. I usually have a pretty good outline in place before I sit

down to start writing. This method doesn’t work for everyone, but for me it

helps to have a roadmap of sorts so that I don’t waste too much time writing

myself into corners. This is not a spoiler because you know from the blurb that

the book deals with the aftermath of the death of Daisy’s beloved grandmother.

However, once I was about a fourth of the way through the first draft, I

realized that the character I’d chosen to

commit the crime didn’t actually do it.

I fought it for a

while, but the more I got to know these characters, the more I realized my

inner muse was right. This person couldn’t have done it.

Delete, delete,

delete, delete. Sigh.

The real perpetrator

had a motive, but it was subtle and at first I couldn’t see it. And the person

who I’d originally intended to commit the crime was actually somewhat responsible. But it will be up

to the reader to draw their own conclusions about what transpired that evening

in Daisy’s grandmother’s apartment, because the opening chapter of the book is

narrated by Daisy’s three-year-old son, who has a very limited ability to

explain it. I actually first wrote this opening chapter from the point-of-view

of Daisy’s grandmother, Pauline. It gave the book a much darker tone than I

wanted so I scrapped it and decided to let Elliott take the reins.

There is also one final

plot thread that I chose not to tie up with a big red ribbon. Initially I wrote

a paragraph that would have explained why

a certain character made the choice that he did, but then I realized it wasn’t

necessary. Readers are smart and book discussions are extra fun when there’s a

bit of speculation involved.

I’m not an especially

fast or prolific writer, and that’s fine with me. Between the research and the

actual writing time, this book took fourteen months to complete, and there were

times I wanted to pull my hair out. I’d told my husband there were a couple of

twists I was hoping to pull off, but wasn’t sure I knew how to accomplish them.

I told several people that writing this book made my brain hurt (but one of the readers who received an advance copy told me she kept saying to herself as she read it, “This book

is so smart!”). When I hear feedback like that, it tells me that everything I

did in the name of Every Time I Think of

You was worth it.

I hope you enjoy

Brooks and Daisy’s story.

 EXCERPT

I glanced at my

watch. “I need to get going.” I stood and Daisy followed me toward the door.

“Don’t hesitate to call the police for any reason. Pay close attention to your

surroundings. Keep your door locked. Don’t ever open it without the chain on.”

I paused, once again struck by how alone she seemed. Was anyone watching out

for her? “Listen, I don’t mean for this to sound as sexist as it’s going to,

but is there a guy around?”

Rarely did I ask such

a personal question, especially when the answer was absolutely none of my business.

And I’ll admit to

being more than just professionally curious as I waited for her answer.

“There was, but not

anymore,” she said. “It’s just Elliott and me. We’ll be okay. When someone

knocks, I look through the peephole. If I don’t recognize the person, I leave

the chain on when I open the door. I also bought a gun.”

She said that last

part with such nonchalance that it took me a second to process it.

“You what?”

I probably said it with a little more force than I should have.

She looked taken

aback. “Shane helped me pick it out.”

I was speechless.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t—”

“Look like the type

of person who would own a gun?”

It was hard to argue

with that statement when it was exactly

what I was going to say. “Yes.”

“I didn’t buy the gun

because I wanted to. Frankly, I would rather not own one. They scare me,” she

said. “But I bought one anyway because the thought of looking something evil

right in the eye and knowing that I’m more than likely going to come out on the

losing end of it terrifies me. The fear that I’ll be assaulted, or raped and

left for dead, or worse yet, that someone will try to harm my child, is the

reason I have this gun. That’s the type I am.”

I saw her then,

really saw her. Five foot seven, maybe, but small-boned. She was wearing a

fitted V-neck T-shirt that emphasized her slight build. I could see the

prominent ridge of her collarbone and the deep hollow at the base of her throat

that I suddenly couldn’t stop looking at. She’d be no match for anyone. If she

wanted a gun, I was hardly in a position to tell her she couldn’t have one.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I was out of line. It’s really none of my business what you do.”

“It’s okay. Pam

reacted the same way you did. But I’m doing everything I can to be a

responsible gun owner. I’ve signed up for the safety class so I can learn how

to handle the gun. How to shoot it. I’ll apply for the permit as soon as I have

my certificate. I’ll go to the shooting range, and I’ll practice.”

Taking her to the

shooting range was something I could do to help her. It would also give me a

chance to spend time with her, which was something that was becoming more

appealing by the minute. I could feel the boundary between witness and reporter

starting to blur, but I really didn’t care. It had been a while since a woman

had sparked my interest the way Daisy had. “You don’t have to justify anything

to me. It sounds like you’re doing everything right,” I said. “I’ll let you

know if I hear anything on the case.”

“I would really appreciate

that.”

Elliott put down his

coloring book and ambled across the room.

Daisy lifted him into

her arms. “You look tired, buddy. Are you ready for your nap?”

“I’m not tired,”

Elliott said, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, my mistake,”

Daisy said, smiling at him. “I think we’ll try a nap anyway, just in case.” She

looked at me. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“It was no problem.

I’ll see you soon.”

As I stepped into the

hallway she said, “Brooks?”

I turned around.

“Yes?”

“Maybe I’m reading

this wrong, but you seem to genuinely care about my safety, and I want you to

know that I appreciate it. I need all the help I can get.”

I met her gaze and

held it for a moment. “You aren’t reading it wrong at all. Take care, Daisy.”

She smiled and it

illuminated her face, making every feature even prettier. She closed the door,

and I made my way down the hall.

It was true that I

cared about Daisy’s safety. Maybe Scott DiStefano had never abused or neglected

Elliott, but Daisy’s decision to arm herself made me wonder what he’d done to her.

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