Amy Gutman worked as a reporter and a lawyer before pursuing her love of fiction full-time. In this special interview, she talks about her books, quitting her job and even offers advice for writers.
The Anniversary tells the story of three women who cross paths with a serial killer -- his girlfriend, his lawyer, and the writer who penned a best-seller about him--and how these encounters affect their later lives. Where did you get the idea for this book?
The seed of the idea came from The Phantom Prince, a slender out-of-print memoir written by serial killer Ted Bundy’s one-time girlfriend. I was fascinated by the level of denial it took to stay in this relationship. At the same time, I understood it. I thought back to times that I myself had struggled to ignore signs that a man I loved had serious flaws, to pretend that the danger signs just weren’t there. To me, the serial killer girlfriend story became an archetypal story of denial--an example of just how far women may go to hold onto a relationship. I didn’t want to judge the character. What intrigued me were the similarities between her and many women I know, between her and me.
Another source of inspiration was a crime scene photograph I saw at a forensics conference. The slide showed a young woman whose arms had been slit down the backs from wrist to upper arm. At least that’s the image I recall. The wounds had apparently been inflicted post-mortem and were not the cause of death. After the presentation, I asked the medical examiner who’d shown the slide why he thought the killer had made those cuts. He just shook his head,”I have no idea,” he responded. For some reason the image stayed with me. I came up with my own explanation, which appears in The Anniversary.
Your first book, Equivocal Death, is set in a large law firm in New York and has as its protagonist a young woman who recently graduated from Harvard Law School. You, too, graduated from Harvard Law School and practiced in a large Manhattan firm. Is the book autobiographical?
Kate Paine and I are alike in a lot of ways but I certainly wouldn’t say that she’s me. I’m happy to say that no partners have been killed during my tenure at any of the firms where I’ve worked. Kate’s also younger than I am. I’m blondish; she’s a brunette. I’d say that Kate and her bohemian friend Tara both represent parts of me. In one scene, defending her job to Tara, Kate says that the eighty-hour work weeks give structure to her life. Incredulous her friend responds, “Kate slavery structured people’s time. I don’t see that as a point in its favor.” This exchange mirrors an internal dialogue I’d often have with myself while considering my options.
As for the fictional firm of Samson & Mills--S&M, for short--I did do my best to capture the spirit of the New York mega-firm as experienced by young associates, and judging by the response of former colleagues, I succeeded in large measure. Life really was that bad! We really slept under our desks! Some of my one-time colleagues actually suggested that Kate has too much free time. (Gimme a break, I said, the girl’s boss was murdered. Don’t you think they might give her a few days off?) Many of the stories that appear in Equivocal Death--the stapler-throwing partner, the associate who drops dead during a late-night conference call--are actual stories that I’ve heard from lawyer friends at various firms in Manhattan. They’re sort of like urban myths. Are they true? Who knows. But the fact that they’re told over and over says something about how those who tell them live.
What gave you the strength and confidence to quit your job and follow your dream of writing a book?
I just really, really wanted to do it. And I was really, really sick of my job. If I’d been any happier practicing law, it might have been a tougher decision. But I was burnt-out, exhausted and depressed. I’d been thinking about the book that became Equivocal Death for a couple of years--at one point, I’d actually cut back to part-time work so that I’d have time to write. Then, after about nine months, my doubts got the better of me. I hadn’t gotten as much written as I thought that I should have, and I was running out of money. I went back to work full-time for a year. The second time around, I quit cold turkey.
Everyone says “Don’t quit your day job.” Well, that’s exactly what I did. And--for me--it turned out to be the right decision. It gave me the mental space I needed to (a) clear out my brain and (b) focus on writing a novel. I told myself that it didn’t matter if my book was published: The goal was just to finish it. In retrospect that was an important decision. It took at least some of the pressure off. Which isn’t to say it wasn’t still incredibly stressful. In fact, it still is. Advances and royalties simply don’t come in with the regularity of a paycheck. Even when you feel like you’re flying high, it can be very hard to budget.
I recently came across the following quote by best-selling writer Tom Clancy: “Success is a finished book, a stack of pages each of which is filled with words. If you reach that point, you have won a victory over yourself no less impressive than sailing single-handed around the world.” I really believe that. If your plan is to quit your job to write then sell your book, I’d think twice. But if your goal is to quit your job and simply write the book, well, that’s something you have a measure of control over. It may be worth a shot. And who knows, you may sell it after all. I stand as living proof that it does, sometimes, happen, though I’m the first to say there’s a tremendous amount of luck involved.
Many best-selling writers--including John Grisham--had a lot of trouble selling their first efforts. Some never did. One of my friends, the mystery writer K.J.A. Wishnia, finally gave up and self-published his novel. The book for which he’d failed to find a commercial publisher went on to become an Edgar nominee (the Edgar awards are the premier award in mystery-suspense fiction), and that recognition led to a contract with a major press. You certainly can’t count on luck like this, but write a good book, and it may happen.
