Contemporary author Fran Hawthorne joins me today to chat about her new novel, I Meant to Tell You.
Bio:
Fran Hawthorne has been writing novels since she was probably four years old, although she was sidetracked for several decades by journalism. During that award-winning detour, she wrote eight nonfiction books, mainly about consumer activism, the drug industry, and the financial world. She’s also been an editor or regular contributor for The New York Times, Business Week, Fortune, and many other publications. But Fran never abandoned her true love: Her debut novel, The Heirs, was published in 2018 and now I Meant to Tell You is out in the world.
Welcome Fran. Please tell us about your current release.
When Miranda Isaacs’s fiancé, Russ Steinmann, is being vetted for his dream job in the U.S. attorney’s office, the couple joke about whether Miranda’s parents’ history as antiwar activists in the Sixties might jeopardize Russ’s security clearance. But as it turns out, the real threat emerges after Russ’s future employer discovers that Miranda was arrested for felony kidnapping seven years earlier – an arrest she’d never bothered to tell Russ about.
Miranda tries to explain that she was only helping her best friend, in the midst of a nasty divorce and custody battle, take her daughter to visit her parents in Israel. Russ doesn’t see it quite as innocently. The repercussions of this “helping hand” will unravel three families’ long-held secrets.
What inspired you to write this book?
This began as a four-generation saga, told in reverse chronological order. I was intrigued with the way family stories can get warped over time, like the classic game of “Telephone.” But after I’d written the two sections that take place most recently in time, I realized that their stories were so rich that they needed a book of their own (with some hints back to the two prior generations). Maybe someday I’ll return to those older generations for a prequel!
Excerpt I Meant to Tell You:
PROLOGUE
April 13, 1996; Interstate 495 en route to Washington Dulles International Airport
In her yellow car seat behind Miranda, Tali danced her soft stuffed fox on its two rear legs and sang loudly in a mix of Hebrew and English: “Here comes the sun. Here comes ha-shemesh.”
Ronit, in the passenger seat up front, screwed and unscrewed the cap of her water bottle. Shut. Open.
Miranda lifted her hand off the steering wheel to wave backwards at Tali, and the car swerved briefly. “Hey, over there,” Miranda called.
“Hey, up there.” Tali giggled.
Turning partly around, Ronit also waved. Then she checked her watch.
The guardrails on I-495 glided by like ribbons unfurling. Rain slapped the windshield in front of Miranda as the sky darkened and they crossed the Potomac River from Maryland into Virginia.
Glancing toward Ronit, Miranda mouthed: Are you okay?
Ronit leaned forward and fiddled with the radio, until Celine Dion’s clear soprano abruptly drowned out any other sound. “For every dream you made come true/For all the love I found –” Before the line was finished, Ronit stabbed the button for a different station. Very softly, her mouth barely an inch from Miranda’s ear, she whispered, “It will be fine after we land in Tel Aviv. I’ll call Tim from my parents’ apartment.”
“He’s going to be furious.”
A minivan was slicing into their lane directly in front of them. Raggedly, Miranda moved leftward; the car just behind her in that lane immediately honked. “Sorry. Sorry,” she mumbled.
“I have spent six years –” Ronit’s voice rose; Miranda quickly put a finger on her own lips, nodding toward Tali. “I have spent six years,” Ronit repeated more quietly, “doing what Tim wants so he won’t be furious.”
“I know.”
“I made the coffee too strong. I made it too weak. I put Tali to bed too early. I put her to bed too late.”
“I know.”
“He cut up my driver’s license, Miranda! He canceled my credit cards! He said he makes all the money, so he’ll decide how I spend it.”
“He’s crazy.”
“If I don’t go now, before he figures out somehow to block Tali’s passport…” Ronit crossed her arms on the dashboard. “I’m sorry I’m bringing you into my mess.”
“It’s okay. That’s what friends are for.”
“I just need my family, for a while. I need my mother.”
Tali had fallen asleep, her head resting against the side of her car seat, her dark curls squished underneath her cheek.
Washington Dulles International Airport, five miles, a sign said.
The faded air freshener, swinging from the rearview mirror, reeked of sickly-sweet pine.
The radio announced a spring sale at Sears.
The windshield wipers smeared water.
The car behind them honked.
Ronit checked her watch again.
The asphalt underneath their red Toyota rolled away at seventy miles an hour.
What exciting story are you working on next?
I’ve got two novels pushing each other for space in my brain. For now, I’m focusing on the story about a mother whose daughter abruptly refuses to have anything to do with her, starting at age 18, and the mother’s desperate search to understand why.
When did you first consider yourself a writer?
Even before I could form letters, I was “writing” books. I simply knew that I would spend my life writing novels. I never, however, expected that I’d also write nonfiction. In college, a roommate suggested that I try out for the student newspaper; I scoffed at first, but then, I figured, oh why not…
Do you write full-time? If so, what’s your work day like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?
I write full-time – freelance projects as well as my novels – but of course that doesn’t fill my time. For instance, I take Hebrew and French classes two days a week, and I volunteer as a junior-level docent at a historical museum. I don’t have a fixed “fiction-writing time,” because I can’t concentrate on something as all-consuming as my novels until I’ve gotten my chores out of the way. (Or is that an excuse?)
What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?
I act out the characters’ actions, as much as possible. (Well, not the entire car accident in my debut novel.)
As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
A novelist. Really. Oh, I hoped to also be an actress and a U.S. senator, but I guess you only get one career wish in life.
Anything additional you want to share with the readers?
The day that I held an actual copy of my first published novel in my hands will always be a magical memory. Readers, thank you for reading, and best of luck with your own dreams.