Q:So how did writing your second novel differ from the first? Did you feel that good old second book pressure?
A:I’d have to say it was a very different experience for a number of reasons. I had about two decades to write The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living, and I wrote this new book in roughly three and a half years, slow by industry standards but pretty good for a dilettante with a day job. Also there’s the fact that I’ve actually been through the entire publishing process. The first time around, I had no idea what to expect and was just happy to see my book in print and on the shelf at the Patrick County Library. Now, knowing what’s coming, I can’t help but hold my breath and cross my fingers and worry about this and that–it’s a different feeling in many respects. Finally, most folks don’t like to admit it, but I read every review of Many Aspects, good, bad and in-between. I’m fortunate most were charitable, but even the harsh ones usually contained something worthwhile, and a couple pointed out shortcomings that, in retrospect, seem obvious and easily correctable. This whole notion that some especially bright readers are going to be sifting through your pages keeps you on your toes while you’re writing and reminds you that it’s probably not a good idea to get sloppy or cut corners. Last time, as far as I knew, my only audience was my former law
partner, a couple of old friends and the guy at the copy center.
Q:What was the genesis for Plain Heathen Mischief?
A:One of the big plot strands for Plain Heathen Mischief comes from an actual case I heard, a slick, clever flim-flam that caused two civil juries to deadlock before the plaintiff finally convinced a third jury he was entitled to a fat verdict and walked away with money he didn’t deserve. I’m not sure I should say more than that, and the lawyer in me makes me add a disclaimer here: This fellow won his case, and it is merely my opinion that he hoodwinked a jury. He was vindicated in court, and my take on the case could be totally wrong. Obviously, I just used the skeleton from this scam, the basic grift as I understood it, then translated it into a different, more elaborate context.
Q:Lawyer Sa’ad X Sa’ad, one of the shadiest cats in this novel, has a wall of gumball/candy machines in his Las Vegas office. He says, “The machines are my metaphor for the justice system.” How so?
A:The rest of the quote states, “if you have enough money to put in, sooner or later you’ll get out what you’re after.” Unfortunately, to some extent the metaphor holds true in the world of jurisprudence–cash makes a difference. It’s one of the smaller themes in the book, but in the long run, deep pockets will transcend everything else–race, gender, status or family connections. I’m not saying the justice system is corrupt per se, or that there aren’t a lot of excellent legal-aid lawyers and public defenders. (In fact, I’d feel comfortable with my local PD representing me.) When it’s allowed to do its job, the trial process is a
remarkable instrument. It’s simply that money can buy endless, frustrating delays, force settlements with under-funded adversaries, and discourage many people before they really ever get started. The bottom line is that financial wherewithal won’t always overcome the truth or guarantee a particular outcome, but a significant bankroll in the right–or perhaps “wrong” is a better choice–hands can sure do some damage.
Q:This novel follows Joel King, a preacher who has fallen from grace and gotten himself into some pretty bad legal and ethical trouble. What made you want to explore the trials of a man of the cloth?
A:I thought it would be interesting to place a decent, honest minister in difficult circumstances and see what happened, how far he would yield or bend or stray. Plain Heathen Mischief isn’t about a charlatan ripping off senior citizens or a cad out for an easy buck. Joel King is a devout man facing hard choices, and he’s tossed in with two con-men whose racket might not strike many people as altogether bad. It becomes very easy to compromise and rationalize when you’re broke or down on your luck, and that’s what bedevils Joel throughout the book. And if that theme isn’t to your liking, one of my friends mentioned that this novel is a primer on insurance fraud, the kind of thing my mother said shouldn’t see the light of day because it’ll just give people bad ideas and a blueprint as to how to break the law.
Q:Joel seems to be a bit of a modern day Job–tested by trial after trial. Did you have Job in mind at all while creating Joel?
A:Job certainly crossed my mind, yes. Joel, though, like most of us, doesn’t quite have Job’s faith, nor is Joel completely blameless for his circumstances as the Bible suggests Job was.
Q:Joel does some pretty heavy wrestling with faith, morality and what it takes to be a preacher. In the end he reflects, “I’m secure because I’ve walked through the valley, not because I’ve done an exegesis on the Book of Nahum or touched the parchment pages of some original manuscript…” He finds, as his sister Sophie says, “It’s a lot easier to preach it than to live it.” Why do you think it takes so many mistakes for Joel to arrive at that realization?
A:All the time, I see smart, well-intentioned people who stumble or slip or backslide or break a promise on the way to better things. It’s a fact of life, and I wanted this book to accurately track that kind of struggle. Awareness and equilibrium, in my opinion, don’t come in lightning bolts or garish neon epiphanies when you’re strung out in your basement searching for the little dab of cocaine you hid last week. It’s all more subtle,
incremental, gradual. As a judge I see relapses and inexplicable choices every day, even from the people who are truly trying. For someone like Joel, an out-of-work minister who isn’t particularly worldly, it takes a fair amount of trial and error and hot-stove touching before he finally gets his life in order.
Q:This is a novel about faith in the modern world. A world that has Joel feeling “flat weary of people taking shots at us for addressing tough issues and actually believing in something other than smart-mouth skepticism.” Do you think in this day and age, faith and skepticism can find some kind of harmony?
A:In the end, one will necessarily have to trump the other, and that tension is at the heart of virtually every religion. When confronted with a still-born baby or a spouse killed by a drunk driver or a cancer-stricken six-year-old, we all ultimately ask “Why?” Sometimes I sit in court or pick up a newspaper and can only shake my head. It’s almost impossible to satisfactorily account for uninvited tragedy, and no matter how you come at it, the whole scheme of things can often seem random and merciless. When we receive what we perceive to be a stone-solid, undeserved screwing, we’re either going to make the leap of faith and buy into religion, or abandon it and become cynical. As someone who’s had his share of worldly ass-kickings but still chooses to believe, I guess I like my minister’s explanation as well as any I’ve heard: “Look,” he says to me, “you certainly wouldn’t want to count on a Creator so simple that even you could figure out his majesty.”
Q:Plain Heathen Mischief travels from Roanoke, Virginia, to Las Vegas, to Missoula, Montana. Why did you choose to set the novel in these cities? Are these places especially close to your heart?
A:Roanoke, Virginia is one of my favorite cities–friendly, classy and full of charm. Missoula, Montana has the best trout fishing in the country, if not the world. And Las Vegas is a city that comes as billed, with all the glitz, decadence, gambling and rococo excesses you’d expect. As for the last two places, it’s hard to beat a three-in-the-morning blackjack at the Golden Nugget or a day of fly-fishing on the Bitterroot.
Q:Your novel takes on, among many things, perjury, bribery, theft, crooked cops and people who get away with murder. Doesn’t speak too highly of our justice system. Are these things you’ve seen first hand?
A:The court system is flooded with lies, cons, scams, flip-flops, zigzags and pitifully dumb excuses. For instance, several years ago a defendant–with look-you-in-the-eye-earnestness–told twelve jurors that he had confessed to sodomizing a young boy so the child wouldn’t be charged with making a false report to the police. That was an especially nice touch; this cad was so concerned about the kid who’d reported him that he didn’t want to get the victim in trouble by contradicting his story. Then there’s the daily appearance of the “two dudes” defense and all its variants: “Really, this TV is stolen? Hey, I got it from two dudes–one was named Harold and the other was this guy from South Carolina they call ‘Ace.’ Never seen them before that day, ain’t seen them since.” People lie all the time; they lie to get money or property or an extra twenty dollars shaved from a child support payment. That doesn’t mean, though, that the system itself is broken or corrupt. Most judges I know–in fact every judge I know–is honest and decent. All things given, I think we do a good job of wading through all the bogs and swearing contests to get a satisfactory outcome.
Q:How did you come to be one of the youngest circuit court judges in the history of the commonwealth of Virginia and what made you decide to turn your talents to
writing?
A:Judges in Virginia are appointed by the legislate based on the recommendations of local bar groups. Inasmuch as I got the gig, it’s probably no surprise to anyone that I think we have a good system. You’re nominated by the people who are going to have to live with you, who’ve worked with you, and who’ve broken bread with you at the diner around the corner from the courthouse. Then you’re questioned and scrutinized by the general assembly. The idea of popularly elected judges strikes me as ludicrous and unworkable–I mean, what platform do you run on? Elect me and I’ll abolish The Bill of Rights? More dollars for plaintiffs with soft-tissue injuries only chiropractors can identify? And what do you do when the lawyer who gave you ten grand shows up in your court? As for my age relative to my job–I started on the bench when I was thirty-three–it’s just one of those things that happened. I wish I had a better story to tell about it, but I don’t.
To answer the other part of your question, I started writing in college, and I have the rejection letters to prove it. One editor wrote back and told me that my writing gave her vertigo; I still have that one. When I became a judge, I’d already written several chapters of Mobile Home Living.
Q:A young judge with curly dark haired makes a very brief appearance in this novel. Hmmm…
A:Nah, I’m now a middle-age judge with short graying hair.
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