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Jack Carr is a master at writing thrillers. He's a former Navy SEAL turned author who loves books and storytelling.
When he walked in, I told him, "I want you to teach me how you write so visually. You're so good at visually taking the minutiae of combat and violence, writing about weapons in a way that comes to life on the page. How do you actually do that?"
And this is a guy whose method clearly works. He publishes a new novel every year, has built a successful writing business, and Amazon Prime adapted his book, The Terminal List, into an original series starring Chris Pratt.
Transcript
00:00:36 Books that influenced Jack
00:03:50 Turning memories into scenes
00:06:02 The Executive Summary method
00:12:33 There are no writing rules
00:15:21 How to make characters come alive
00:20:03 Writing books vs TV shows
00:22:16 Jack’s writing mantras
00:30:02 Breaking down Jack’s writing
00:33:58 The key to Jack’s research
00:36:20 One notebook per book
00:38:42 The business of selling books
00:42:43 Is it ok to be commercial
00:49:34 How to describe a place that feels alive
00:56:43 Never listen to the odds
00:58:22 What makes good dialogue
01:02:14 What makes his protagonist unique
01:05:57 How to get published
David (00:36-00:46)
As a Navy SEAL, you’ve lived through so much, and you infuse those experiences into your books. What are the advantages and disadvantages of doing that?
Jack (00:46-03:49)
I don’t think there are many disadvantages today. Perhaps there were in the past, but now authenticity resonates much more strongly with consumers. They want to know the person behind the product; it’s not just about the product itself. They want to connect with you and essentially build a relationship.
My mom is a librarian, so I grew up surrounded by books and developed a love of reading. Around ten years old, in fifth grade, I started transitioning from young adult fiction, like Farley Mowat, to the same books my parents were reading. The Hunt for Red October came out that year, and by sixth grade, at age eleven, I was reading all those kinds of books.
I was reading all the masters of the day: Tom Clancy, Nelson DeMille, A.J. Quinnell, J.C. Pollock, Mark Olden, and David Morrell, who created Rambo in 1972’s First Blood. I read all these books during a very impressionable time. There’s something unique about engaging with a passion between ages eight and eighteen, or even ten and twenty; it imprints on your soul differently than if you did the exact same things at thirty or forty.
My point is, I was reading all those books purely from a fan’s perspective. I wasn’t thinking, “I’m going to remember this when I’m older,” or “I’m studying this so I can write later.” Rather, by age ten, certainly by eleven, I knew that after my military career, I would write thrillers—the same kind I was enjoying back then. I had that foundation early on.
Not just books, but film and television—all the power of popular culture, without the distractions kids have today—helped build that foundation. I also read nonfiction simultaneously, devouring anything I could find on warfare, terrorism, insurgencies, and counterinsurgencies. I read anything I thought would help me later in my military career, which I knew was coming.
I planned to test myself in the crucible called BUD/S, Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. All that reading—fiction and nonfiction—combined with the practical application of violence in Iraq and Afghanistan, are experiences I can now tap into.
Now, when I sit down to write, I can recall what it was like to be in an ambush in Baghdad in 2006, or a sniper in Ramadi in 2005 and 2006, or deployed in 2004, or in Afghanistan in 2003. I remember those feelings, and I can apply them to a completely fictional narrative.
For instance, if my character in The Terminal List gets ambushed in Los Angeles, I can recall what it was like to be ambushed in Baghdad. I can then take those feelings and emotions and apply them directly to the narrative, without needing to find someone in that situation, talk to them, interview them, and have those answers filtered.
For me, this has been a distinct advantage. Even if readers don’t know my background, I believe authenticity truly resonates with people today. They recognize it. So, even if they don’t know I was there, they feel like I was, or that my character was, because all those feelings are real and stem from a genuine place.
David (03:50-04:12)
Let’s talk about those ambushes: Los Angeles and Baghdad. As you’re writing a series, take me to the heart of it. When you’re working on a scene or a paragraph, specifically an ambush, where does your brain go? How do you merge the Baghdad ambush with a Los Angeles ambush to bring it to life and make it feel real?
Jack (04:12-04:49)
It’s exactly as you described. I’m writing, and my protagonist, James Reece, shows up in Los Angeles. I need a way for the story to unfold so the reporter he’s with realizes the conspiracy is real, not just in his head. How do I achieve that? There’s an attempt on his life, with her right there.
As I write, it feels very natural. I don’t have to sit there, bring myself back to Baghdad, or force the memory. It’s nothing like that at all; it’s not even close.
Jack (04:50-05:15)
I remember sitting out there, trying to get permission to enter a certain building we weren’t allowed to go into. It was the middle of the night, and I recall feeling frustrated, wondering, “Why can’t we just go into this building? Why can’t we send our Iraqi counterparts in, since they’re a host nation force and not Americans?” Then the entire side of the road lit up on us.
David (05:15-05:27)
What I hear is that you remember the strategy, the exact situation of where you could go and where you couldn’t. I expected you to say, “I remember the heat, I remember the dust.” Instead, you’re focusing on the strategy of the situation. That’s the core element.
Jack (05:27-06:01)
It probably would have been prevented had we been able to act immediately, but because of certain sensitivities around specific sites, we couldn’t act immediately.
I just remember what it was like. I don’t have to bring myself back; I don’t have to meditate, and there are no cold sweats involved. It’s very natural.
It’s just like any experience. If you’re writing about anything—say, if you used to be a car dealer and now you’re writing about someone buying a car in a book—you remember that experience with the customer, the sale, and all the details. You simply bring that into a fictional narrative. It’s the same way, except in this one, bullets are flying. It’s very similar.
David (06:02-06:04)
Tell me about the executive summary that you do.
Jack (06:04-07:34)
I started writing my first book in December 2014. I knew I’d be leaving the military in about a year and a half or two years.
While in the military, I didn’t write; I focused on being the best leader and operator possible. However, I consistently read, as I had my entire life—fiction, nonfiction, studying the enemy, and all those things.
By December 2014, I was no longer deploying guys downrange and was preparing to leave the military. I wrote down six, seven, eight, nine, maybe even ten different ideas, each as a one-page executive summary. Some were two paragraphs, some four, some a page and a half.
I put them all on the kitchen table and looked at them. There was one I particularly wanted to start with: Savage Son, my third novel. In the sixth grade, I read Richard Connell’s short story from the 1920s, Most Dangerous Game. I told myself then that one day I would write a thriller that paid tribute to it, and Savage Son was that story.
However, I knew the characters weren’t developed enough yet to explore those themes fully—the dark side of man through the dynamic of hunter and hunted. I had to build up to it.
So I decided on The Terminal List. It was very clear to me: this was the one. I took that idea. Then I heard Steven Pressfield—who wrote Gates of Fire, The Legend of Bagger Vance, and a series of books on creativity starting with The War of Art—he’s an incredible guy and now a dear friend. I heard him say something that I misinterpreted, something I thought he said. I think it might have been on Rogan.
David (07:34-07:35)
I forget.
Jack (07:35-08:38)
He said he had a single word that would guide the theme of his novels. He’d write it on a yellow sticky note and put it next to his typewriter—I think he was referring to older books, before word processors and computers. That was my takeaway.
A single word, a theme to keep him on track. So I put down “Revenge,” and then I added “Revenge without Constraint.” That became the theme to guide my writing process.
Years later, when we became friends, he told me that wasn’t quite the story. What he actually said was that a playwright in New York would have a couple of sentences explaining the theme of his play, which he’d keep next to his typewriter. For some reason, I don’t know how I linked it to Steven Pressfield and “one word,” but I did, and it was very helpful.
So, right from the start, I had those few words: “Revenge without Constraint.” I also had a title, The Terminal List, right away, and that one-page executive summary. That was the beginning, and I’ve approached all my books the same way since.
David (08:38-08:42)
What does the executive summary contain? Is it like the back of a book?
Jack (08:42-09:43)
It’s like the back of a paperback or the inside cover of a hardcover, but longer. David Morrell does something similar; he writes himself a letter. Mine isn’t a letter, but the idea is the same.
I write this one-page summary and ask myself, “Is this concept worth the next year or year and a half of my life?”
If the answer is yes, I read it again and ask, “If someone were to read something similar on the front flap of a hardcover or the back of a paperback—perhaps pulling a book off the shelf at Hudson News as they walk to their plane—would that be enough for them to want to invest time they’ll never get back?” Is this story intriguing enough for someone to spend time they know they’ll never recover?
If the answer is yes or probably, then that’s the story. I take that one-page executive summary, build it into an outline, and then turn that outline into the narrative.
That’s been my process from the very beginning, and it seems to work for me. I think everyone will have a different approach, but this one has been effective for me.
David (09:43-10:03)
The first line of the preface reads: “This is a novel of revenge. The Terminal List explores what could happen when an apex predator, a warrior at the top of his game, is thrown into a situation from which there is no return.” Is that the kind of thing you see in the executive summary? Does it evolve over time as you’re writing the book?
Jack (10:03-10:38)
No, the executive summary is essentially discarded in favor of the outline. The outline then evolves as I develop ideas and determine what will happen in each section. Primarily, my books are in three parts, though one or two might have four or even five.
I like having a prologue, an epilogue, and a preface where I set up the premise, as I did with that line. For my fourth book, The Devil’s Hand, I started including an author’s note at the end. I was receiving so many questions about what elements in the book were real and what wasn’t, so I began explaining some of that there.
David (10:39-10:40)
What’s good about three parts?
Jack (10:40-11:13)
There’s something about a three-part play or a television show that resonates with people. My books naturally fall into three acts, though not all of them do. As I mentioned, one or two are a little different.
But three acts, or three parts, seems to work well for me. This is likely because most of the books I read growing up had a similar structure. It imprinted on me at an early age.
David (11:14-12:53)
When you think of school, what comes to mind? For me, it was lectures, homework, and sitting at a desk. The worst part is it doesn’t even work. Fifty-four percent of Americans read below a sixth-grade level. That’s over half of Americans. We need something new.
That’s why I’m excited to have Alpha School as the flagship sponsor for How I Write. At Alpha, you complete all your academics in only two hours per day. This allows you to spend the rest of the day learning life skills like launching a business, writing a musical, or giving a TED talk. These are the kinds of things that make you a capable and well-rounded person.
It’s working. They have academics figured out; Alpha classes test in the top one percent nationally. More than ninety percent of Alpha students say they love school now.
I used to live in Austin, where Alpha School started, and I was consistently blown away by what was happening there. I personally mentored a bunch of Alpha students, and what stood out was how much the team believes in the potential of kids—far more than I ever experienced in school. Alpha’s approach and its current success make it the most talked-about K-12 school in the world right now. It’s also where I want to send my kids to school one day. If you want to learn more, go to goalphaschool.howiwrite.
If you were to review one of your own books, just before sending it off to the publisher, would you use a checklist? Would it include items like suspense, thrilling plot points, humor, or good characters? What would those 35 checklist items be? What must be present for you to feel proud of a book?
Jack (12:53-13:57)
I don’t approach it like that. For me, it’s all about the story.
I never consider chapter length—whether short or long—or what might be more palatable to readers these days. I don’t wonder if a particular phrasing will alienate anyone. I also never think, “Someone said this about the last book, so I should probably take that advice.” It’s simply all about the story.
If it’s purely about the story, I don’t make concessions like, “People only like short chapters now,” or “I need shorter sentences because Hemingway did it, or because people dislike long sentences.” None of that. It’s solely about the story.
If I put my heart and soul into it, I feel I’m honoring the readership that trusts me with their time. As I’ve said before, they’re never getting that back, so I take that very seriously.
It’s entirely about the story. I don’t have a checklist. I trust the process that works for me. Of course, I’m always evolving, seeking ways to be more effective or efficient. But that approach seems to work well for me thus far, and I simply make it all about the story.
David (13:58-14:02)
From the executive summary, you then move to an outline. What is that outline like?
Jack (14:02-15:21)
The outline is subjective from my perspective. I’ll get it to a point where I’m happy with it. I know there are gaps, but I don’t want to spend a month figuring out one particular gap. Over the course of the year, as I write, I’ll resolve those.
This isn’t a firefight in Iraq or Afghanistan where I have to make a split-second decision affecting everyone around me. I can sleep on it. I never let myself get held up by a gap, a problem, or something I can’t solve in the outline; I know I’ll have time to address it.
If I reach a point where I know how the prologue will start and what I’m setting up, that the first part will introduce new characters and the problem set, and the middle part will have X, Y, or Z, then I’ll sprint to the finish with the third part and wrap up the epilogue. The epilogue needs to provide enough resolution for the reader so they aren’t left with a cliffhanger—unless that’s the intent or I’m introducing something new. It’s about honoring the time they’ve invested in this story.
The art of it is similar to the art of leadership; you can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know when there’s enough resolution. You also know that most people will want the next book because of specific plot points or character developments. That’s how I approach it, and I love every part of that process.
David (15:21-15:33)
How do you approach the development of a story and its characters over time? Specifically, how do you allow a character to develop, evolve, change, and grow across multiple books, while also maintaining consistency from one book to the next?
Jack (15:34-16:51)
Many authors maintain character Bibles where descriptions are readily available. This prevents having to search through multiple books for character details. Currently, I keep all my books with me while writing, but I still have to physically locate the information in a specific book.
This is my tenth book overall, though it’s a new series. One of those ten is non-fiction, leaving eight in the James and Tom Reese, now Terminalist series. After one or two more books in this series, I’ll need to create a Bible to ensure consistency and avoid glaring errors like incorrect names.
While eye color seems minor, it can be significant for protagonists. I believe the description of a protagonist’s eyes, and even those of supporting characters, is very important.
I enjoy getting to know my characters. I’m familiar with James Reese, Chris Walker from this book, and Jared Stanton, the FBI agent in this new book. However, when I start a new James Reese book, I don’t know the other characters because he usually eliminates everyone from the previous installment.
I have to create new characters for each book. I know their roles, such as the head of the KGB or an assassin. I understand the part they play in the story, but I don’t truly know them until they interact through dialogue within the book.
David (16:52-16:56)
The conversations and events reveal your characters to you.
Jack (16:57-18:14)
Yes, as I said, I know their function and how they advance the plot, but I don’t truly know them. It’s like knowing someone’s job or having a general idea of them, but not truly understanding them until you sit down for a conversation over a beer or coffee.
I get to know my characters through conversation, which is a very natural way to learn about someone. I enjoy this process, and it yields a lot for me.
When naming characters, each name must be distinct. This can be particularly challenging with Russian names, as they cannot sound or look too similar. Given how many people listen to audiobooks, names must not rhyme or appear alike, even if spelled differently.
Differentiation is necessary not only through their speech patterns or backgrounds but also by the visual and auditory qualities of their names. I enjoy this aspect of writing.
Sometimes I’ll use a placeholder name for a character, intending to change it later. I might even use a friend’s name temporarily. Once I know the character by that placeholder name, it becomes very difficult to change.
Often, I won’t, because I’ve spent a year developing the character with that specific name. If the name works and doesn’t conflict with other names in the book in terms of sound or appearance, it stays. Ultimately, it’s fun for me to develop these characters through conversation.
David (18:14-18:16)
You mentioned the eyes. Why are they so important?
Jack (18:16-20:02)
I suspect it comes from the books I read growing up and other authors. Of course, eyes are also considered the gateway to the soul. Beyond that, it’s about finding a unique way to describe features, instead of just saying “brown hair.”
How can I describe it better? Perhaps there’s a hint of ash on the sides, or it could be likened to a field of wheat. If the eyes are green, how can I describe them uniquely? “Emerald” is overused; I try to describe them using external comparisons.
It’s important for a main character to have recognizable attributes and physical descriptions. However, I avoid over-describing. If you depict a room with white walls, a fireplace, and a Hemingway-esque starkness, you’ve provided specifics.
When I mention white walls, a fireplace, and a Hemingway star, those are specific details. Yet, every reader will draw upon their personal experiences to envision what a fireplace, white walls, or bookshelves look like.
Often, this approach is beneficial because readers typically associate these descriptions with positive memories, such as a fireplace from their childhood, a beloved bookshelf, or a preferred shade of white. Each interpretation will be unique.
Over-describing risks preventing the reader from investing their own life experiences into the narrative. As I write, I oscillate between detailed and less detailed descriptions.
If I’ve described something in great detail in one chapter, I’ll aim for less detail in the next, allowing the reader to contribute their personal life experience to the story.
David (20:03-20:14)
How does character portrayal differ when working on the Amazon series versus writing the book? What do you feel you gain from video, and what do you gain from a book?
Jack (20:14-22:15)
It’s a completely different medium. I really like writing the novels because it’s just on me; whether someone loves it or hates it, there’s no one else to blame. Even my publisher and editor give no advice on where to go next or what I did. They don’t even ask me what I’m doing, which is great. It’s 100% complete creative control.
Amazon, not so much. Every single word goes up to the top for notes and then all the way back down. All of those notes have to be incorporated. It’s a group, a team effort. Hundreds of people are involved; there were 350 people on set and in the writing phase.
The writing evolves as we go because an actor comes in and brings something to the written word that you didn’t expect when you were sitting in a nice, air-conditioned room writing. It’s like a military plan: you develop it in a comfortable room, but when you get it out there on the battlefield, it’s different. The enemy gets a vote.
In that first series, Taylor Kitsch, who plays Ben Edwards, improved the character significantly. Even in the writers’ room, the character was much better than in my book. When Taylor showed up on set, what he brought to it — empathy and compassion that didn’t really exist in the book version — was just amazing. That’s why we got a spin-off called Dark Wolf, which came out last August. It was fantastic.
We wouldn’t have had that without the writers’ room doing what they did, and without Taylor Kitsch bringing what he brought to it. It’s definitely a team sport. For us, it helps that we evolve as we go and the actors ad-lib. Some productions don’t allow that; you have to say exactly what’s on the page, just get there, say your lines, and move on. Ours isn’t like that. We want the actors to know these characters, to become these characters, to bring their life experience to them, and to elevate their performance and the show through that. So, they are very different mediums.
David (22:16-22:26)
Do you have mantras that you come back to as you’re writing, things that keep you on track?
Jack (22:27-23:15)
Yes, there is one: “Give yourself permission to write a bad chapter.” I like that one. Give yourself permission to write a bad sentence, a bad chapter, or even a bad book, and then go back and make it great. Just get it out there.
Many people get stalled, for example, with an outline. If I stopped to figure out how a character would get out of a cave in China, I could spend a week stewing over it. That’s a wasted week. Just keep going and get through the outline. When you start writing, you will figure it out; you’re smart enough.
The idea is to give yourself permission and avoid getting stuck. If you write the first line of a book and think, “That’s not a great line; it’s not as good as X, Y, or Z,” you might start comparing yourself or overthinking it. Instead, move on. Get that sentence out there and keep going. You can always go back and change it later. Just get it out there.
David (23:16-23:36)
I was on a walk with a friend yesterday, and he asked, “You’ve done all these interviews; what have you learned about writing?” I paused, realizing that you just need to sit down and write.
Jack (23:37-23:37)
Do the job.
David (23:37-23:50)
You need to do the job. You can always revise, and you’ll revise extensively. Ultimately, every good writer requires a level of sweat and discipline.
Jack (23:50-25:37)
You have to sit down and do it. Steven Pressfield, in his book Turning Pro, talks about this. He says you’re a professional, so you sit down and write. A dentist doesn’t get dentist’s block, and a truck driver doesn’t get truck driver’s block. You are a professional.
The most important part is thinking of yourself as a professional. If you want to be a writer, it’s not a hobby; it’s a profession, like the profession of arms. I think there’s a distinct difference between a profession and a career. I never thought of myself as having a career as a soldier or special operator; it was always a profession of arms.
There are people who view it as a career. Anton Meyer’s fantastic book, Once An Eagle, explores this theme, the difference between a profession and a career. I consider writing a profession as well. I’ve never had a career in anything; I’ve always had a profession, and I believe there’s a difference there. Be a professional, sit down, and do the job.
The danger today is that there’s so much advice on writing, so many rabbit holes you can go down. You can study how to do something — not just writing, but anything — forever. You can study how to do something and make everyone else rich by buying their books on how to do it.
Ultimately, whatever that thing is, in my case, writing, you have to sit down and write. I read On Writing by Stephen King, The Successful Novelist by David Morrell, and all of Steven Pressfield’s creativity books that were available when I started. They’re all fantastic and can be read in about an hour. After that, it was time to write. I had to sit down and do it.
David (25:38-25:40)
What did you learn from David Morrell?
Jack (25:40-25:42)
As a fan, I...
David (25:42-25:45)
Part of his books, not his “how-to” book.
Jack (25:45-26:06)
His books, Brotherhood of the Rose, Fraternity of the Stone, and League of Night and Fog, were pivotal. In the 80s, he took the best of U.S. spy fiction, like the Ludlum-type books of the era, and the best of U.K. spy fiction, such as Le Carré’s work. He combined those influences to create something new, moving the genre forward.
David (26:06-26:08)
Why do you use the words “move the genre forward”?
Jack (26:08-27:49)
If you’re not moving it forward, you’re essentially just retelling what others have done in your own words. Certain books have genuinely moved the genre forward. The short story I mentioned earlier, “The Most Dangerous Game,” did this, as did “Rogue Male,” written on the eve of World War II in 1939. Other classics include “First Blood,” “The Spy Who Came In from the Cold,” “Casino Royale,” “Brotherhood of the Rose,” and Vince Flynn’s “Term Limits.”
Such works are rare, appearing perhaps every five, ten, or fifteen years. You can identify books that truly broke new ground; they didn’t just tell another spy story. They were different for some reason, doing something a little bit unique, even if only by a degree. They moved the genre forward instead of just recreating what had already been done.
My goal is always for the next book to be better than the current one, and for every TV show I work on, like the SEAL Teams, to surpass the last. I strive to be a better leader and operator today than I was yesterday. As an author, I aim for continuous improvement. Personally, I want to be a better citizen, husband, and father. For me, it’s always about betterment.
I believe readers expect this. They trust that I’ll deliver not just the same, but something better. As we move through life, we should apply past lessons to current problems – that’s wisdom. We should be constantly improving in our professions. You don’t aim for a worse time in your next 10K run; you want to shave off a second or two. Similarly, I want the next book to be better. It’s all about constant improvement for me.
David (27:49-27:59)
Moving the genre forward implies a deep knowledge of it. My assumption, then, is that you must understand its past to move the genre forward.
Jack (27:59-28:46)
Yes, you absolutely must know the history of your genre. It’s extremely beneficial. I’m always shocked when I meet authors who don’t know their genre’s history. It’s critical.
You need to know what came before so you can build upon it, be aware of it, and honor those who essentially opened the door for you. It makes sense to know the history of whatever you’re doing, whatever your profession is.
In the military, this is paramount. You must learn from the past, because if you don’t, people will die; those lessons will be learned again in blood. While perhaps not as dire in all professions, many require serious historical awareness. I simply take that same mindset and apply it to writing.
David (28:47-28:59)
As you craft stories, are you consciously thinking about making them thrilling, suspenseful, or gripping? Or do you have an intuitive sense that naturally leads to a great story?
Jack (29:00-29:36)
I don’t think about those specific elements; I focus on the story itself. They are naturally integrated into the process.
I rely on my one-page executive summary and the central theme to keep me on track. For instance, the theme of this first book is “revenge without constraint.” This doesn’t mean everything has to be directly tied to it, but everything must be either directly or indirectly connected. The indirect connection allows for a great story, guided by the theme, not beholden to it.
David (29:36-29:39)
Why is theme so important to be guided by?
Jack (29:39-29:50)
For me, it keeps me on track. Otherwise, I might be writing along, suddenly have an idea for the story, chase it, realize it doesn’t work, and have to backtrack.
David (29:50-29:50)
What if this?
Jack (29:50-30:01)
Then I have to say, “No, bring it back.” It keeps me on track. While it might not work for everyone, I find it extremely beneficial. I still write my theme down on a yellow sticky note.
David (30:02-30:07)
I want to discuss your descriptive style. I’ve printed out the beginning of Chapter Three from the book.
Jack (30:07-30:08)
Ah, nice.
David (30:08-30:10)
Would you like to discuss it, or would you prefer to read it?
Jack (30:10-30:33)
This might be one of my favorite chapters. In True Believer, Cry Havoc, and Red Sky Morning, there are usually one or two chapters that really stand out to me in each book. Most people might expect those to be battle sequences or explosions, but oftentimes they’re just conversations. This particular chapter is a conversation.
David (30:33-30:41)
I want people to listen for the level of detail and texture in the writing. Afterward, I’d like to discuss how you achieve that.
Jack (30:41-30:42)
Right here, Reese observed:
David (30:42-30:43)
Yes, sir.
Jack (30:43-31:35)
Reese observed the trail of dust as the faded mustard-colored 1970 FJ40 Land Cruiser descended toward the cabin. He stood on the front porch to welcome his guest, the matriarch and quite possibly the toughest member of the Hastings clan: Rafe’s mom, Caroline.
She stepped from the vehicle, a wide-brimmed felt hat with a grosgrain band and a feather shading her face. A red bandana protected her neck from the sun. Now in her mid-sixties, she appreciated her mother’s insistence on such precautions under the African sun—habits Caroline had passed along to her daughters.
This description reveals much about her. We learn she is from Africa, glimpse her mother’s influence, and understand a bit about her history. Without explicitly stating she was beautiful, it suggests she is a beautiful woman in her sixties who takes care of herself. Yet, she is also rugged, evidenced by her vehicle and location.
David (31:36-31:41)
Tell me about what objects can do to bring a character to life.
Jack (31:41-31:50)
I approach it the same way. When someone drives up in a car, my first question is, what are they driving? It tells you a lot about who they are.
David (31:50-31:51)
An FJ40 Land Cruiser.
Jack (31:51-33:37)
The FJ40 is actually one of my own Land Cruisers. I appreciate the 70s era models—I have a 1978 FJ40, which I love. However, I mostly drive an FJ62, like James Reese in The Terminal List, and the 80 Series, a 90s era Land Cruiser. I’m a huge Land Cruiser fan.
Let’s talk about weaponry. If I see someone step into a gun store, for example, they might be wearing jeans, a leather belt, a leather holster, and carrying a cocked-and-locked 1911. They might have a recognizable emblem on their hat and specific sunglasses. That immediately reveals a lot about them.
Another person, perhaps younger, might be in flip-flops, jeans, and a T-shirt with a particular graphic. That tells me something different. Maybe a different kind of hat, Gator sunglasses, or tattoos down their arms. These details are indicators. A nylon belt, Kydex holster, and a striker-fired pistol. All these elements speak to their era, their training. They tell a story about the person, even if I only see them for less than a second.
I apply the same principle in my books. Ian Fleming also did this; perhaps he was one of the first to truly describe products in books, like the items James Bond used. These details helped define the character.
I do something similar with my characters because it’s natural for me to observe what someone is wearing, using, or driving. These details tell me a story about them without even needing a conversation. I replicate this in my books because many readers—firefighters, police officers, military personnel—also understand these subtle cues. When you come from that world, there are small indicators that tell a complete story.
David (33:37-33:39)
Bond always had the Vesper Martini.
Jack (33:39-33:51)
He did in the films, but in the books, he actually has a few different preferences. He likes beer and champagne. While a Vesper Martini appears, he drinks many other things in the books.
David (33:51-33:55)
You can tell a lot about somebody just based on the kind of martini they order and how they order it.
Jack (33:55-33:58)
And the Vesper Martini is not a great Martini.
David (33:58-34:00)
Tell me about the Vickers Guides for describing things.
Jack (34:00-34:11)
They’re my first stop. Vickers Guides are produced by Larry Vickers, a former Delta Force operative, and James Rupley, who takes amazing photos.
David (34:11-34:26)
The photography is awesome. Regarding the guides, I pulled some titles: Early Years of the AR15, 1911 Handgun Variants, and one that traces the history of SIG handgun and submachine gun development.
Jack (34:27-35:46)
The photos are incredibly detailed. I can examine those photos because, while I prefer to have the actual firearm I’m describing, that’s often not possible. So those guides are my first stop. If I’m describing something, I want to make sure that it speaks to the character.
There are so many AK variants out there. If I want to describe a specific AK variant that makes sense for a character, like in The Devil’s Hand, my fourth book, there are great photos of an Iraqi variant, distinctive through its markings and stock.
I can look at those photos, describe the weapon, and integrate it into the book. For example, a particular AK variant appears near the end of The Devil’s Hand. After writing the description, I send those paragraphs to James Rupley, who reviews them. He’s been photographing these items for so long for the Vickers Guides that he can offer pointers or let me know if I’ve made any errors. He’s one of my beta readers, whom I thank in the back of all my books.
Those guides are fantastic. I don’t think I’m breaking any news, but I believe they’ve already announced Watches of Espionage. A Watches of Espionage book is coming out soon. He took photos of my early 80s Sea-Dweller watch, and I wrote a short story about it that will be included. The book focuses on military watches and those worn by intelligence professionals.
David (35:46-35:47)
What makes a military watch different?
Jack (35:47-36:19)
It’s all about specific unit watches by era. For example, this Tudor from 1968, which I have right here, comes into play in my last book. I also have a Rolex Submariner from 1968. The Sea-Dweller is my personal watch that I write about in this book.
My point was that James Rupley takes these photos. He photographed the watch, using the same high-quality techniques he employs for the Vickers Guides of weapons. He’s now doing the same for this Watches of Espionage coffee table book, which will be out in the next year or two. It’s pretty cool.
David (36:20-36:21)
Tell me about your notebooks.
Jack (36:22-36:23)
Each book gets a notebook.
David (36:23-36:24)
Each book gets a notebook.
Jack (36:24-36:25)
Each book gets a notebook.
David (36:25-36:28)
What’s in that notebook? How often do you fill it in? Do you travel with it?
Jack (36:28-38:41)
Yes, I travel with it. For my recent trip to Vietnam, someone gave me a gift that was clearly stamped with a U.S. government agency’s insignia. Even though Vietnam’s economy is capitalist, I didn’t want to risk secondary screening upon entering the communist country because of that stamp.
So, I had my wife buy me little Mead notebooks, like the ones we used in grade school. I took a bunch with me on that trip, and now those have become the notebooks for my current book, James Reece number eight. That one will hopefully be out around this time next year. I really need to get back to writing it.
Every book gets its own notebook. I use it at night, or when an idea strikes, or if I’m on a plane without my computer. It’s a place where I can take notes, think, write things out, scratch them out, or sketch — anything related solely to that specific book.
Once I finish a book, that notebook goes into a drawer, and I start fresh with a new one.
I do the same with computers; I get a new one for every book. I’m sure there are more cost-effective ways, but for me, it feels like starting fresh. This way, I’m not distracted by files or notes from previous books.
I have a computer dedicated solely to writing. My business computer handles emails and other tasks. The writing computer doesn’t have any of those email addresses or pop-ups. It connects to the internet only for Word updates.
I even have a separate email address, known only to me, just for that computer. This allows me to send myself notes without sifting through junk mail. If I send myself a good idea, I know exactly where it is; there’s nothing else in that inbox except notes about the next book.
I try to minimize distractions and interruptions. That’s the key. I don’t need a specific view or anything else; I can write anywhere as long as there are no distractions. That’s hard to come by with three kids, a dog, a wife, and constant chaos. It’s fun, though.
David (38:42-39:00)
You seem very deliberate about separating the business side of writing from the actual writing. You often emphasize that your job is to write books, even though other aspects like social media and podcasts exist. How do you go about maintaining that separation?
Jack (39:00-39:31)
There’s a lot of gray area, largely due to all the distractions available today. We’re essentially up against the most powerful tech companies in history. Their algorithms deter people from reading or engaging in deep thought, either by enraging them or by precisely tailoring content they know you’ll consume.
They know exactly what to send me—watches and Land Cruisers. They know what to feed every individual person on the planet.
David (39:31-39:35)
We’re all at war with some attention adversary.
Jack (39:35-40:52)
Right. When I was a kid, part of writing’s allure was the idea that I could live in the mountains, write a book, send it to New York, and then start the next one, maybe doing one morning show, and that would be it. My vision was simple: no employees, no one really above me, just a solo pursuit.
I’m very introverted by nature; I had to teach myself to be extroverted in the SEAL teams to ensure I was heard. I’d rather just read and write.
However, just as you must adapt on the battlefield and not fight the last war, I realized when I entered publishing that this isn’t 1985. As much as I’d love it to be, it’s not. I needed to adapt to a changing environment.
What did that mean? I needed to engage with and build an audience. I essentially approached it like it was 1977, and I was building a computer in my garage. I was creating the product, and then I had to tell people why they needed it.
So, I had to be the CEO, CFO, and CMO. If there were social media managers back then, I would have had to do all those things as one person. Now I have some help, but for the first five to seven years, it was just me and my wife handling the merch line.
David (40:53-40:56)
Those are your gear lists. They’re sweet lists.
Jack (40:56-41:46)
I create gear lists for each book, and also for holidays like Christmas or Father’s Day. These are ways to add value to people’s lives throughout the year, at no cost to them.
When a new book is released, you’ve already built a relationship with someone who listens to your podcast. Podcasts like this are powerful because each listener feels like the third person in the conversation, and there are many people who feel that way.
That’s why podcasts are so popular, and I believe it’s why audiobooks are the fastest-growing segment of publishing. When people hear a podcast like this, it’s very natural for them to then get an audiobook. They’re consuming a book through the same medium they learned about it.
So, unless you’re an outlier, like a Fifty Shades of Gray or a Twilight, you’re going to have to put in the work on the...
David (41:46-41:49)
business side. Or, you can go start writing those sorts of books. Maybe that’s our future.
Jack (41:50-42:43)
Perhaps I might give it a shot at some point. Who knows? It’s a different audience.
You have to do those things today because there are so many distractions: video games you can play for weeks on end, every movie and TV show ever made available at the touch of a button on multiple devices, and all the social media platforms that keep us addicted all day long, preventing us from reading a book. Unless you’re an outlier, you need to engage in other activities to build an audience. That’s why I dedicate a lot of effort to those areas.
I consider myself very entrepreneurial. While I don’t think I’m particularly good at business, I excel on the entrepreneurial side of things. I can adapt quickly, analyze a situation, and determine how to move faster than the competition. I apply this approach to publishing.
David (42:43-43:25)
I once spoke with Lee Child and really admired how unapologetically commercial he is. He views writing as a way to turn a profit. His philosophy is, “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, did the tree really fall?” For him, if no one reads your work, its quality is irrelevant; people need to actually engage with it.
I admire the conviction he has in that idea. Considering yourself as both an artist and a business person, where do you fall on that spectrum? Or do you even perceive such a spectrum?
Jack (43:25-44:43)
Today, that commercial aspect is necessary, far more so than in the past. Previously, you might have written a book and let someone else handle the rest, but I don’t believe that’s possible anymore. I appreciate how Lee Child articulated that.
The distinction between literary and commercial fiction is interesting, but I don’t dwell on it, certainly not daily. For me, it’s all about the story. I don’t expect to win awards, and that’s fine.
I see the sales numbers climbing and the audience growing, which means I’m creating new readers. At my book signings, people often tell me they’ve never read a book not assigned in school. Then they discovered The Terminal List, Cry Havoc, or Targeted Beirut, and fell in love with reading for the first time.
They’ll say, “Here’s my son; he’s in eighth grade, about to start high school. Please sign this book for him, too. He’s a reader now, and we talk about your books together.” I hear this story at every single stop. Creating new readers feels like a mission, and I love hearing these stories. I believe society will be much better off, and individuals who put down their phones and pick up a book will lead richer, fuller lives.
David (44:44-44:49)
How has writing a TV series changed you as a writer?
Jack (44:50-45:56)
It changed me in ways I didn’t initially realize. Now, it’s simply part of my experience, just like any other life event.
I believe readers might first recognize its influence in In the Blood, book five, because I wrote that after a full year immersed in the TV show experience. There are more flashbacks to the father in that book, and I recall more of that element being in the original script for the show, even if it didn’t all make it to screen. I think some of that script work might have influenced my writing.
However, I don’t consciously think about how to write for television translation, as I know that will always be a different process. It always has to be about the story.
For example, Fleming later gave Bond a Scottish background because of Sean Connery. While I haven’t experienced such a dramatic change, I hope that working on one medium makes me better at the other, and vice versa.
David (45:56-45:59)
What did Fleming do so well with the James Bond novels?
Jack (45:59-47:44)
Fleming wrote exceptionally well. People often minimize his writing, thinking only of the movies and dismissing them as purely commercial. Literary circles, in particular, tend to turn up their noses. However, when you revisit those books, they are extremely well-written.
Here’s some free advice for Amazon, now that they have the franchise: to avoid constant comparisons to the Daniel Craig era — which will inevitably happen with a contemporary Bond film — they should adapt them as period pieces.
The first book was written in the early ‘50s. Bond is a World War II veteran who drives a 1930s Bentley Blower. By making it a period piece, you move Bond out of the contemporary realm.
Adapt the books more closely to how they were written, not just using their titles as the films mostly did. Making them period pieces is, I believe, the way to reinvent the series and avoid endless comparisons to Craig’s Bond. It’s a solid approach. Fleming described everything down to the Rolex — he didn’t give the exact model, but many pictures show him wearing an Explorer, which was likely Bond’s. He detailed the vehicles, aftershave, and drinks. They are fun, quick reads that captivated many, creating the spy craze of the sixties, primarily through the books. The films, of course, then poured gasoline on that fire.
David (47:44-47:47)
What do you think made James Bond such a rocking character?
Jack (47:47-49:34)
He was unapologetic, a blunt instrument. They brought a bit of that back with the Craig films.
The time in which they were written is fascinating. The British Empire was in decline, no longer the empire it once was. Bond became that last hope, the final vestige of the Empire. He took on that mantle moving forward, as the sun, of course, set on the British Empire.
I’m a big fan. I recently went to London with my wife on a Bond, Fleming, and Le Carré-inspired trip in February. There was a stage play of The Spy Who Came in from the Cold in London, and a Le Carré exhibit at Oxford, which overlapped perfectly with our schedule.
We stayed in a hotel with some Bond history, and I enjoyed a martini at Duke’s, as I mentioned earlier. We then went up to Oxford for the Le Carré exhibit and saw The Spy Who Came in from the Cold stage play. It was a fantastic trip.
The concierge, a fan, recognized me right away. We even had a Bentley drive us around London, which was fun. I’m a big fan of these stories. Understanding the history of the genre is important.
My seventh novel, Red Sky Morning, is my 007th novel, a nod to Fleming and his creation, James Bond.
David (49:34-49:46)
You excel at creating a sense of place. How do you go about bringing the geography to life—the actual locations where your stories unfold? How do you think about doing that?
Jack (49:47-51:07)
My original idea was to visit at least one of the key locations for each book, spending a week or two there. However, for the first book, I was still in the military and couldn’t travel. So, I drew upon places I had already visited, such as Iraq and Afghanistan.
For the second, I traveled to Mozambique, knowing it would be a crucial part of the story. Then, for True Believer, I incorporated other locations I’d already experienced, like Ukraine and Morocco, which made geographical sense for the narrative.
For the third, the Kamchatka Peninsula in Russia was vital, so I went there. Then COVID hit just before the fourth book. Fortunately, that story was primarily domestically focused, allowing me to again describe places I already knew.
My goal, once COVID restrictions lifted, was to resume visiting at least one location I describe in each book. But for book number five, a significant part takes place in Israel, and COVID was still prevalent. It was extremely difficult to enter or exit Israel, even for citizens, as they had strict lockdowns.
I focused entirely on research. I sent the manuscript to a family in Israel, and three generations read it for me. They got back to me, saying, “We cannot believe you haven’t been to Israel; you’ve described it so accurately.”
David (51:07-51:08)
How did you describe Israel?
Jack (51:08-51:12)
By reading books, looking at photos, and studying maps.
David (51:12-51:17)
What specific elements are you looking for? Colors? What do you try to bring out?
Jack (51:17-51:18)
I don’t think there’s any one thing.
David (51:18-51:30)
I feel this is something you’re incredibly good at, but you don’t even realize it. Every time I ask you, you say you don’t know, yet 30 minutes ago you were describing something so vividly. How do you do it?
Jack (51:30-51:54)
A lot of it depends on what comes up. For instance, with Cry Havoc, set in Vietnam in 1968, I really wanted to visit before the book published, even if it was close to the end. I hoped to incorporate specific sights and smells into the editing process.
I didn’t have the chance then. However, I just returned from Vietnam last week and will incorporate what I learned into the next novel.
David (51:54-51:56)
Do you write this stuff down in your notebook?
Jack (51:56-51:59)
I write notes in a notebook or send myself emails—a combination of both.
David (51:59-52:01)
What kinds of things do you write down?
Jack (52:02-53:58)
I walked through an alley where all sorts of seafood, like fish, sat in small bowls for people to buy. Some were dead, some alive. Only one cat stood out in the alley – not what you’d typically expect. I saw no dogs at all.
An eel slipped out of its bowl, slithering on the street like a snake. A woman calmly picked it up and placed it back into the bowl, which it was clearly going to escape from again. That incident truly stood out.
As I walked further, something else struck me: the absence of flies. It was strange; there were no flies anywhere. Small details like that – the lack of flies – are what I notice. That observation will somehow make it into a future Tom Reese Vietnam novel. I emailed myself the detail as soon as I left the alley.
When describing a place like Israel, it involves reading books, studying photos, looking at maps, and then drawing inspiration from those. Now that I think about it, it’s often whatever I notice in those photos, or about a map – for instance, how close something is to a border.
I like little details, such as a McDonald’s in Israel. It’s like the “Royale with Cheese” scene in Pulp Fiction. I find it interesting that they’re stopping at a McDonald’s, an American institution. I wondered what they offered, so I looked up the menu. I then wrote a passage about a McDonald’s in Israel, highlighting how different it is from one in the United States.
This adds flavor to the story, a detail that people who have visited Israel will appreciate. Those who haven’t been there will think, “Of course McDonald’s is different there; they have X, Y, or Z.” You can describe the food, and James Reese can either love or hate it, or whatever the situation calls for. Ultimately, it brings a little color to the narrative.
David (53:58-54:39)
When I’m a trillionaire, I want a giant map room in my house with a thousand maps. I’ll show you. If you go to the top of the stairs right here, there’s a 3D map of California you can rub your hand on. There’s a company called Mirway that makes these beautiful 3D maps. They’re so good, they cost a few hundred dollars, and I want so many of them.
I’m with you. Geography dictates the world in such a fundamental way. There’s something about maps and seeing how they change over time that reveals so much about the world.
Jack (54:39-56:05)
Absolutely. When I was writing Cry Havoc, my Vietnam book, if you’d walked into my office, you would have thought I was preparing to invade North Vietnam. I had weapons, knives, and multiple Seiko watches from the era, as certain models are associated with special operations in 1960s and 70s Vietnam.
I also had 1960s maps on the wall to transport myself back in time. I even had a large dictionary from the sixties. I surrounded myself with period items, including 1960s National Geographic magazines depicting Army Special Forces soldiers in rice paddies. I did everything I could to immerse myself in 1968, and maps were a key part of that.
I displayed multiple maps, taping or magnetizing them to whiteboards. This allowed me to quickly reference details, such as how a specific name was spelled in 1968. Contemporary research is much faster than researching 1968. When writing a story, characters can only draw on their experience up to that time. You can’t apply 50 years of hindsight to their conversations; it simply wouldn’t ring true. They only have 20, 50, or 70 years of life experience, depending on their age, and their perspective is limited to the world as it was then.
This process took much longer than I anticipated. However, surrounding myself with maps of the era was extremely helpful.
David (56:05-56:39)
When I was a kid, my dad would always ask, “Who wants to sit in the front seat?” It would be my sister or me; we both loved riding shotgun. There was one rule: my dad kept a stack of AAA maps up front. If you sat shotgun—which felt like the Holy Grail—you had to navigate.
As a kid, I’d be navigating. I’m sure my dad knew where we were going, but he’d say, “David, the family is relying on you.” I’d study the big AAA map and direct him: “We need to pull over here, pull over there.” I’m definitely going to do that with Mikey.
Jack (56:39-56:43)
Nice. That teaches a lot of skill, so you should definitely do it with him.
David (56:43-56:46)
Tell me about this idea of “never pay attention to the odds.”
Jack (56:46-56:56)
I don’t know if I got that from Star Wars, from Han Solo saying “Never tell me the odds” as he flies into the asteroid field in Empire Strikes Back.
David (56:56-56:57)
That’s where that’s from.
Jack (56:57-57:43)
My version is “don’t pay attention to the odds,” not the Star Wars line. It means don’t listen when people love to tell you how hard something is to achieve. I don’t know why, but I’ve simply noticed this over the years.
If you tell someone you want to be a New York Times bestselling author, they’ll often say, “Do you know how hard it is to get published? It’s one in ten thousand.” But someone did it. It’s the same with BUD/S. “Do you know how hard it is to be a Navy SEAL? What’s your backup plan?” People often give you a look that says, “You’ll grow out of it. When the weight of the world crushes down and you realize how hard it is, you’ll get a regular job.”
For me, it’s about never paying attention. People love to tell you the odds, so just ignore them. I always do.
David (57:43-58:02)
What is the idea? The idea is that when you’re truly dedicated to something, something you deeply desire, it will be challenging. Significant achievements are hard-won. So, you tell yourself, “No, go get after it. Pursue it. People will give you advice, but ignore them.” Is that what you’re saying?
Jack (58:02-58:18)
If it were easy, everyone would do it. But somebody did it. Someone made it to the top of the New York Times bestseller list. All those books I read growing up proudly displayed “Number One New York Times Bestselling Author.” All those books I read about SEAL teams confirmed that someone made it through BUD/S. Someone accomplished these things, and I can too.
David (58:19-58:19)
Why not me?
Jack (58:19-58:22)
There’s no reason why not.
David (58:22-58:24)
What have you learned about writing good dialogue?
Jack (58:25-59:10)
I think writing dialogue came pretty naturally. I love doing it; it’s probably my favorite part.
Usually, I’ll provide a little exposition on a character’s background, then dive into dialogue. I set up the scene and then immerse myself in a conversation. Often, I don’t have a specific goal for that conversation. My aim is to get to know these characters better. I can always edit it down later. It’s a process of conversation and discovery.
It all probably stems from reading books as I grew up. I write conversations that I imagine these characters would have, and that are interesting to me as the author. That’s what makes it fun. Obviously, I’m not going to write something that bores me. It’s simply enjoyable to do.
David (59:11-59:16)
How do you edit dialogue differently from the more expository sections?
Jack (59:17-59:48)
Sometimes I look for repetition. In a longer series of dialogue, I might have some repetitive phrases because I’m free-flowing, just writing the conversation rapidly. Then I’ll notice, “That sounds very similar. It’s repetitive. I already made this point five sentences up the page or on the previous page.” So, I’ll take it out or morph it.
I don’t edit as I’m writing. I get the entire conversation out first, then I’ll go back, read it again, tighten it up, and then move on.
David (59:49-59:50)
Do you work with an editor?
Jack (59:50-60:41)
Not until the very end. I send it to Simon & Schuster then. Before that, I send it to five trusted friends—not literary agents, but personal friends. I get something different from each of them.
For the first book, I sent it to about 20, maybe even 25 people. I told myself that if only two, three, or maybe four people had the same comment, I might not make the change, given how many people reviewed it. But if five, six, seven, or eight people mentioned something, then I would re-evaluate it.
That was the only book I sent to 25 people. Now I have a core group of five. James Ripley, who does the Vickers Guides and takes those photos, is one. Two of the five are attorneys, and for some reason, attorneys are exceptional at finding details. They’re very good at it.
David (60:41-60:43)
Attorneys are some of the best readers in the world.
Jack (60:43-60:47)
They take their red pens out and give me feedback.
David (60:47-60:53)
It’s incredible how many people in the thriller world were attorneys before becoming writers.
Jack (60:53-60:57)
That’s interesting. Grisham and Turow, obviously, but there are others as well.
David (60:57-61:06)
Being a lawyer teaches you to read, teaches you how to write, provides knowledge from various areas, and gives you an understanding of history.
Jack (61:06-62:13)
Yes, they’re certainly great editors.
After getting feedback from my friends, I’ll take what rings true to me. Sometimes I discard suggestions, but often they find things that make me exclaim, “Oh my gosh, how did you find that? Incredible!” Then I make those changes.
Next, I send it to Emily Bestler, my editor in New York. She goes through it with a red pen. Her edits typically involve feedback like, “Describe this for someone who wasn’t in the military for 20 years.” Or, “I know you think you’re revealing this twist early, but that’s only because you’ve been intimately involved with this creation for the last year and a half. No other reader will pick up on it, so leave one or two more hints.” I’ll then go back in and incorporate those suggestions.
These are primarily the two types of edits I receive. We go back and forth a couple of times as I keep refining it, tightening it up, and making it the best it can possibly be. Then, I reach the final review stage, knowing that any mistake will be immortalized. I often find a few more errors because I’m psychologically aware it’s going to the printer. Then it’s off, and I move on to the next project.
David (62:14-62:23)
As we begin to wrap up, I wanted to ask you about the Japanese concept of Bushido. We’ll discuss that, and then I have one more question.
Jack (62:24-64:40)
It was junior high, or certainly by high school. I had a book that I somehow misplaced along the way—very odd for me; it might still be in my mom’s attic somewhere. I found a copy again because its core idea was ingrained in my brain, though it’s not my original from those early days.
These samurai would go into battle thinking they were already dead, which made them more effective and efficient warriors. I wondered how to bring that concept to a modern-day warrior—someone with contemporary skill sets who is also a student of warfare. That’s why I gave him the crossed tomahawks, specifically the Winkler tomahawk, an ancient weapon made with modern techniques, reflecting his status as a student of war.
I see myself as a student; I approach everything with a learner’s mindset, always learning. I was a student on my last day in the military, and I remain a student in my current endeavors.
I gave him that tomahawk because I wanted him to go into battle thinking he was already dead, just like those samurai I read about in junior high or high school from that book. I remember one particular coffee table-style book; it was beautiful, filled with images of Japanese samurai armor, swords, and more.
Growing up, I’d hear voiceovers in movies declare the protagonist had nothing left to lose, but I always thought, “He could still die!” I wondered how to make this character, like the ancient samurai, truly believe he was already dead.
That’s when I conceived of him having drugs tested on him. This wasn’t unprecedented; the Church Hearings of the 1970s revealed that the CIA had previously tested drugs on college students, prisoners, mental institution patients, and military personnel.
I thought, “What if this drug, tested on him, is going to kill him?” Now he’s already dead, truly with nothing left to lose, able to go into battle already dead. That’s how I approached that aspect of the character.
David (64:41-64:57)
That makes me think of premise. When you’re considering a new book and you find an idea like that, what types of ideas resonate with you? What do you wait for? Is it like a running back, waiting for an opening before you advance? What analogy would you use for developing the premise of a new book or story?
Jack (64:57-65:56)
You mean finding the theme? Sometimes I know it before I even start, like with The Terminal List. Other times, it comes to me quickly, or an initial idea might shift a bit.
That happened with Savage Son, from the chapter we just read—Chapter Three. Initially, it explored “the dark side of man through the dynamic of hunter and hunted,” similar to Richard Connell’s The Most Dangerous Game.
However, it truly morphed into a theme of forgiveness. That theme emerged in Chapter Three, during a conversation where James Reece receives profound lessons from Caroline Hastings about the importance of forgiveness and learning to move forward and live again.
That was a powerful paragraph, and I distinctly remember writing it. While I usually have the theme from the beginning, sometimes it shifts.
David (65:57-66:16)
Last question. If I came to you and said, “Jack, I want to do what you’ve done,” what advice would you offer? Specifically, how would you advise me to approach the writing process? Imagine I’m your college student, and you’re structuring a semester to teach me everything you’ve learned. How would you design that curriculum?
Jack (66:16-68:08)
I would actually love to do that at some point. I keep a strategic, living document that tracks what I’ve done and what I still want to achieve. The “what I want to do” section primarily focuses on improving now that I’ve achieved my initial goals: writing a book, becoming a number one New York Times bestselling author, and getting a project adapted for television or film.
One aspiration on that list is, someday—perhaps in 10 or 15 years, but it’s fine if it doesn’t happen—to teach a semester-long course. I’d structure it so that students, by the end, even if they don’t have a full book, would have the initial sections completed: an outline, an executive summary, a theme, and a title, setting them well on their way.
That would be pretty cool. Regarding advice, I always emphasize that what worked for me might not work for everyone, but it’s what I’ve found effective.
So, take what’s useful, discard what’s useless, and most importantly, sit down and write. You must sit down and write. I can offer advice, but you already know the core: ditch your phone, turn off your email, and write uninterrupted for a set number of hours every day until you complete a book. Then, go back and make it great. The key is to get it done.
When it comes to agents and the publishing side, there are conferences available, like ThrillerFest in New York, where you can find an agent through “agent speed dating.” You’ll have two or three minutes with each agent, and over a session, you might meet 20 agents. I know three people who found their agents and got published that way.
But you have to attend these events—Bouchercon, ThrillerFest—and your book must be the absolute best you can make it. Only then should you start considering those other aspects.
David (68:08-68:10)
Jack Carr, great to meet you.
Jack (68:10-68:11)
Thanks so much for having me. This is awesome.
David (68:11-68:12)
Of course.
Jack (68:12-68:12)
Take care.
