HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN - FROM DEBUT TO AGATHA NOMINATION
by Sibylle Barrasso
Hank Phillippi Ryan has wired herself with hidden cameras, chased down criminals, and confronted corrupt
politicians. She's won 24 Emmys for investigative reporting. "But," she says, "I've never faced a challenge like getting my first novel published."
She writes the Charlotte McNally Mysteries, about a 46-year-old investigative TV reporter in Boston. She insists it's not about herself, "I'm older than that." Charlie McNally is married to her job and wonders what will happen when the camera doesn't love her anymore. The premise for her debut novel PRIME TIME: Charlie finds secret messages in computer spam.
For months and months, Hank thought she and her husband would be the only ones ever to read PRIME TIME. "I would crane my neck to see the mailbox as we would head up the driveway, home from work," she says. "And every day, every day, there would be that self-addressed brown envelope announcing that yet another agent had said no. Finally, I thought it was just not going to happen. One day, in tears, I said to my husband, 'Is Charlie McNally going to die? Is no one ever going to meet her?"
politicians. She's won 24 Emmys for investigative reporting. "But," she says, "I've never faced a challenge like getting my first novel published." She writes the Charlotte McNally Mysteries, about a 46-year-old investigative TV reporter in Boston. She insists it's not about herself, "I'm older than that." Charlie McNally is married to her job and wonders what will happen when the camera doesn't love her anymore. The premise for her debut novel PRIME TIME: Charlie finds secret messages in computer spam.
For months and months, Hank thought she and her husband would be the only ones ever to read PRIME TIME. "I would crane my neck to see the mailbox as we would head up the driveway, home from work," she says. "And every day, every day, there would be that self-addressed brown envelope announcing that yet another agent had said no. Finally, I thought it was just not going to happen. One day, in tears, I said to my husband, 'Is Charlie McNally going to die? Is no one ever going to meet her?"
Soon
after, one agent loved it, then another. But then it didn't sell. "My
agent and I were were flying, thrilled, when the first rejection came
in. It said, 'We couldn't turn the pages fast enough, but we just
bought a reporter book by a reporter.' So we thought, fine. This is
going to be no problem."
Hank and her agent figured it was just a matter of time before someone said yes. "But," she says, "it was a lot more time than was comfortable. Everyone was saying, thanks, we love it, we love the Spam plot. And then they'd have some reason to reject it. It was too romantic, it wasn't romantic enough."
Fast forward--through her sale, the publication, the best-seller list--to one recent Monday evening. Hank came home from work, having spent the afternoon climbing on tankers for a story on dangerous trucks. She hit the message button on the answering machine.
"As the voice spooled out, I felt tears coming to my eyes. I literally felt my brain reorganizing itself to handle the words it could understand but not fully grasp. 'This is Louise Leftwich, from Malice Domestic,' the voice began. I remember trying to convince myself--you know how quickly your thoughts can race--that she was going to ask me to be on a panel. Or that my Malice registration was faulty. Or something. Then she said 'I'd like to talk to you about your book PRIME TIME.' "
"And then I knew. I'd been nominated for an Agatha. All those stamped-self addresses envelopes, you know? All those no's. All worth it. And, as it turns out, I could have learned about the Agatha nomination sooner. Louise had notified me by email. But, because the universe loves irony, it had been caught in my spam filter!"
Hank and her agent figured it was just a matter of time before someone said yes. "But," she says, "it was a lot more time than was comfortable. Everyone was saying, thanks, we love it, we love the Spam plot. And then they'd have some reason to reject it. It was too romantic, it wasn't romantic enough."
Fast forward--through her sale, the publication, the best-seller list--to one recent Monday evening. Hank came home from work, having spent the afternoon climbing on tankers for a story on dangerous trucks. She hit the message button on the answering machine.
"As the voice spooled out, I felt tears coming to my eyes. I literally felt my brain reorganizing itself to handle the words it could understand but not fully grasp. 'This is Louise Leftwich, from Malice Domestic,' the voice began. I remember trying to convince myself--you know how quickly your thoughts can race--that she was going to ask me to be on a panel. Or that my Malice registration was faulty. Or something. Then she said 'I'd like to talk to you about your book PRIME TIME.' "
"And then I knew. I'd been nominated for an Agatha. All those stamped-self addresses envelopes, you know? All those no's. All worth it. And, as it turns out, I could have learned about the Agatha nomination sooner. Louise had notified me by email. But, because the universe loves irony, it had been caught in my spam filter!"
