In 2011, my friend Marianne Scholl invited me to join her for an all day writer workshop called Write Here, Write Now! held at the Rainier Valley Cultural Center and orchestrated by members of Seattle7Writers—a non-profit founded by Seattle area authors, including Garth Stein (Art of Racing in the Rain) and Jennie Shortridge (When She Flew). At the time, Marianne was the publisher and editor of Seattle Woman Magazine, and I’d met her through a mutual friend when I’d recently joined their book club that had formed ten years before and is still going strong today.

I loved the concept of Write Here, Write Now! Approximately 100 writers gathered in a drafty great-room in an old creaky building and maniacally wrote for forty-five minutes a pop until given a ten minute break. Then, before the timer was set again, there’d be a mini-lesson by a published author (many of whose books I’d read). This went on until and after lunch (provided) and ended around 4:30. When the final buzzer jolted us out of our trances, an audible exhale of happily-exhausted sighs prompted a collective burst of laughter. We’d made it through the day! And we had proof on the page! We’d spent an entire day writing! A fantastic feeling indeed!

During registration, as an added bonus, we were to choose one of several themes for a 12 minute one-on-one session with an author. Did we want a scene read aloud from our play? Did we want to discuss story ideas? Did we want help with plot holes? It was entirely up to us.

Ultimately, I ended up in the Confessional…

For a while, I’d been dealing with feelings of inadequacy after sharing my work in a brutal critique class that nearly derailed my dream of becoming a published author. Being new to writing after a career in accounting (something I did quite well), I didn’t know how to process differing feedback from emphatic critics. As happens with many writers, I suffered from what I now know is “imposter syndrome.”

What made me think I could ever learn how to be a good enough writer for anyone to want to read my stuff? News Flash: this feeling has yet to go away completely and probably never will.

At WHWN, when my name was called for my one-on-one session, I entered a long, narrow hallway, at the end of which I found Kevin O’Brien (who’s at least six foot two) sitting in a tiny chair. To illustrate his wicked sense of humor, he was dressed as a priest!

”Don’t let this outfit throw you,” I remember him reassuring me. “The last guy dropped the F-bomb left and right.”

I’ve been a huge fan of his ever since, but to be honest, I’m not one to reach for thrillers, such as those written by Kevin O’Brien, because they scare the hell out of me. But, I rarely miss his book launches, because they’re always a blast! If Kevin weren’t a writer, he could make a living as a standup comedian. He doesn’t read excerpts from his novels, which let’s face it, is the dullest, albeit most expected element of an author event. Instead, he regales us with stories of when he worked as an inspector for the railroad in Chicago, how he names some of his victims, why he writes in the middle of the night, and what he was told during a visit to a fortuneteller. (If you want answers to these mysteries, you’ll need to attend one of his events or follow him on social media.)

For our 2024 book club picks, my month was May. I chose The Enemy at Home by Kevin O’Brien and asked him to join us for the discussion at my house. To my delight, he agreed and the weather cooperated for an outdoor oasis! During his visit, I noted a rare gift of his. He’s capable of enrapturing an entire audience, yet still convince individuals that he’s speaking directly to them. What a sight to behold! And by the end of the evening, he’d won hearts and added dedicated readers to his fan base!

Review: The Enemy at Home is NYT’s best selling author Kevin O’Brien’s 23rd novel (counting one that is out of print). To avoid any risk of spoilers, here’s the jacket blurb from Amazon:

1943, Seattle. While raging war reshapes the landscape of Europe, its impact is felt thousands of miles away too. Before the war, Nora Kinney was one of countless housewives and mothers in her comfortable Capitol Hill neighborhood. Now, with her doctor husband stationed in North Africa, Nora feels compelled to do more than tend her victory garden or help with scrap metal drives . . .

At the Boeing B-17 plant, Nora learns to wield a heavy riveting gun amid the deafening noise of the assembly line—a real-life counterpart to “Rosie the Riveter” in the recruitment posters. Yet while the country desperately needs their help, not everyone is happy about “all these women” taking over men’s jobs. Nora worries that she is neglecting her children, especially her withdrawn teenage son. But amid this turmoil, a sinister tragedy occurs: One of Nora’s coworkers is found strangled in her apartment, dressed in an apron, with a lipstick smile smeared on her face.

It’s the beginning of a terrifying pattern, as women war-plant workers like Nora are targeted throughout Seattle and murdered in the same ritualistic manner. And eclipsing Nora’s fear for her safety is her secret, growing conviction that she and the killer are connected—and that the haven that was her home has become her own personal battlefield . . .

This book is a page-turner! No doubt about it! Besides the thriller aspect, which is compelling and frightening enough for those who enjoy the genre, we as readers feel the weight of utter unfairness. Americans who weren’t “white, male, and straight” were often treated abominably, despite their valuable contributions to the war efforts. And, being reminded of this while reading The Enemy at Home, one can’t help but question nostalgic musings from those who wish to return to “the good old days.”

Kevin O’Brien is a gifted storyteller, but more importantly to me, he is a kind man. I’m truly lucky to’ve met him in 2011. And, I look forward to reading his next thriller, despite knowing I’ll suffer the consequences of a few sleepless nights.