Category: Clients Crushin’ It

Madison Utley speaks to Tony Pesare following the December release of his second book, Back in the Game. The two discuss how “author” coexists with the many other hats Tony has worn and continues to wear–state trooper, police chief, university dean of justice, prosecutor, actor, writer–as well as what advice he has for other aspiring writers who aren’t quite sure they have the time.   

Q: Tony, talk to me about the motivation behind your disparate personal and professional pursuits. 

A: I’m very goal oriented. If I’m not working towards something, I feel like I’m not accomplishing anything. I also really like to try things without knowing whether I’m going to succeed at them. I’ve been acting for a while but it took a long time for me to now feel comfortable and confident on stage. I worked at learning Italian for two years and it just didn’t click. So I’ve had as many failures as I’ve had successes, but I like to be challenged. I like to stay engaged. 

Q: How did writing come into the picture? Was that always an interest, or was it just one of the many things you’ve tried out and then decided it resonated? 

A: I didn’t do much creative writing in school or anything. I spent 24 years on the state police. Most of my investigative experience over that time came when I was in the intelligence unit which focused on organized crime. We did investigations into the mafia. There was one case with three witnesses we had in protective custody that resulted in the conviction of a major member of organized crime–for a hit, which is rare. I said to myself at the time, “This should be a book.” 

I knew I had two avenues; I could’ve written it as true crime, but that would’ve taken a lot of strict research. I realized that if I did it as fiction instead, I could weave my personal story into it, my journey of growing up in a low income area of Providence and then getting to be a state trooper. That inspiration was my first foray into serious writing. 

When I shared with a friend I was writing a book, he told me that his daughter had written many books and she worked with a guy named Stuart Horwitz. I met with Stuart in Portsmouth, Rhode Island, and when he saw the big binder that contained my first draft he chuckled. He said, “I don’t usually get something this expansive to begin with.” We hit it off right away. I learned from him what the arc of a story should be, and that there should also be an arc within every character. We got the first book out, They Always Win, and it was really successful regionally. It was just a great experience. I knew that if I ever wrote another one, I was going to go back to Stuart. 

Q: So you’re talking here about your first book which came out over 10 years ago. Your second, Back in the Game, was published earlier this month. How was it to get back into long form writing after all that time? 

A: I was the chief of police in Middletown, Rhode Island for 14 years. During that time I took a break from writing and concentrated on my law enforcement career. Besides, the muse was just not coming to me. 

When I started putting this second book together, I was daunted by not having written in a while. My friend who I was talking about it with said, “Why don’t you try something? Promise yourself you’ll write at least one page a day.” So I did. I wrote one. One became ten. For some reason things clicked and it started to flow. I kept at it until it was where I thought it was finished and then that’s when I started working with Stu again. 

This time I spent much more time with him. We delved into many more areas of the work, and spent a lot of time going back and forth. He also connected me to a whole team, like 1106 Design, proofreaders, and beyond. I can’t overstate his helpfulness. 

Q: What would you say to those who have an interest in writing, but who also have entire careers in other spaces and aren’t sure they have it in them to write a full-length book?

A: One of the best books I ever read about writing was by Stephen King. In it he says that “writing is rewriting.” If you want to write, what you need to do is write and rewrite and rewrite. Get disciplined. Build that muscle memory. Then seek out someone who can guide you through the rest of the process, like Stuart. There are a lot of phonies out there so you have to make sure you’re dealing with somebody that’s reputable. If you find that person, that person that you can trust, work with them. 

I’d also say that self-publishing is a great vehicle for many, many people. If your dream is to publish a book, your dream can come true, it just takes a lot of hard work. 

Q: What’s next in the pipeline for you?

A: I’m now in the marketing and promotion stage with book two. That’s a lot of work. Last time, with my first book, I really enjoyed going to bookstores. That was my favorite thing. Reading a chapter or giving a little presentation about organized crime or writing and then signing books afterwards. So it’s hard work but there are really fun parts too.

I’ve also already started in on the third book of the series, which is great, but I’ve also been joking that I really just want to work with Stuart again. We truly do have a good time together. 

Madison Utley speaks to debut author Minelle Mahtani following the publication of her memoir, May It Have A Happy Ending, by Penguin Random House Canada. The two discuss how Minelle gave herself permission to think creatively, what that enabled for her writing, and what she recommends for staving off the post-big-writing-project blues.   

Q: When did creative writing become part of your journey, and how does that coexist with your academic self? 

A: I’ve always been interested in writing, but I didn’t know if I could give myself permission to think creatively. There was a lot of pressure on me to become a doctor or a lawyer–the trope of the immigrant kid. I started writing when I was 11 or 12, just scratching things out in my journal, but I didn’t really mature into that until after my mom died. That’s when I started thinking about the possibilities of the creative voice. I also ran a radio show for a time that was mostly me interviewing authors about their books. That helped me think more critically about the potential and the promise of using one’s voice. The discipline of having to write a script every day also gave me the opportunity to refine and finesse my writing. All of those things worked together to give me the permission to write a book eventually. 

Q: Did you expect that permission to express yourself creatively to culminate in your memoir? Or were you open as to what that bigger project might be?

A: Just after my mom died I got asked by my alma mater, Dalhousie, to come and talk to first year students. When I started preparing for that, it became a talk about all the ways I had experienced failure in my life. That piece seemed to really resonate with people. We don’t talk about failure; it’s often kept private. So I was really curious about the opportunities that come from speaking about vulnerability and failure and loss and grief–things that are taboo subjects. That paper morphed into the memoir. Don’t get me wrong; the memoir took me four years to write. But the genesis was that speech, and giving myself permission to speak publicly about failure. I was also lucky to have many writing angels along the way who offered a lot of support.

Q: Talk to me about the process of editing your manuscript. As far as I understand, you worked with both Stuart and the editor provided through your publishing house on the book?

A: And a few other people too, yes. I applied to almost every single writing program I could get my hands on, in terms of workshops and retreats. I also did so much reading about how to write books that proved really helpful. Bringing Stuart into the process was complete serendipity. I spent a lot of time thinking about the scaffolding of my memoir. When I typed “book architecture” into Google, up came Stuart’s name. My relationship with him was really useful; he taught me a lot about arc and making sure there was propulsion in the story, which is often very difficult when it comes to grief because grief is nonlinear. Also, Stuart is extraordinarily honest in ways that we don’t often get the opportunity to receive. That’s one of his great gifts, and it was very helpful. 

Q: Did you feel a definite sense of having reached completion with the manuscript, or was that a hard call to make?

A: I only knew it was done when my editor told me it was done. I could have worked on it for another year. Sometimes I wish I had–but not really. I knew it was time to let it go. Making that decision takes a certain kind of maturity, and calls for trusting that you’re going to write more after that. You know this is not going to be the end all, be all of your existence. In order to let something more beautiful come into the world, you have to make way. That’s what I meditated on. Plus, I’m already working on my next project. That was the best advice I got. The minute you hand in your manuscript, start working on your next book. 

Q: Did you already have a clear sense of what you wanted your next project to be? Or did you simply launch yourself into the exploration of the possibilities?

A: Yes, I knew what I wanted to do when I finished my memoir. Who knows? Maybe it’ll come to nothing. I’m just going to have fun with it. I really do think you need to launch yourself into your next project as soon as you wrap up your last one. Nobody tells you about the silence between when you submit and the book launch. You just don’t know how your book is going to be received. 

Q: What advice do you have for other writers?

A: I think the thing I wish I had done more is trust my intuition and my instincts. So I’d say: pay attention to what you pay attention to. I think that’s really important. And then that’s what you have to write about. 

Madison Utley speaks to Lois Kelly following the release of her book, Slow Loss: A Memoir of Marriage Undone by Disease, about the emotional and intellectual impact of transitioning from business to personal material, the reader responses she has gotten so far, and what a commitment to the daily practice of writing has brought–and will continue to bring–to her creative life. 

MU: To start, can you walk me through your overall writing journey?

LK: From a young age, I wanted to be a journalist. I started writing for Boston area newspapers when I was 15. I would report on obituaries, weddings, and human interest stories. Those I especially loved because I could ask people questions and learn different things. I loved the concept of writing as exploration like that. Curiosity is really what drives me. 

My business books that I wrote first were an exploration of trends I was seeing, trying to understand: why is that happening?. Then again, much later on, my memoir is me exploring what I was going through and trying to use my journalism skills to document it, with some sense of compassion and curiosity. 

I sort of lost my way with writing for many years. I got into the corporate world and I wrote speeches for CEOs and I did public relations and marketing; I was good at it and it helped me make a living, but that was such unfulfilling writing for me. When I would get an idea about a book, that was so satisfying. Like a meal where you just don’t want to leave the table because everything is so good. Whereas the business writing in the corporate world was like necessary sustenance. It wasn’t feasting.  

MU: Can you talk to me about the differences you’ve felt between business and personal writing, having done so much of both? 

LK: About 14 years ago I wrote a book called Be the Noodle about how to be a compassionate, courageous, crazy good caregiver. It was a sweet, little book that people still love. That was my first personal work. It was somewhat difficult because you’re exposing yourself. To write anything good, you must be vulnerable. That was frightening. I didn’t feel so comfortable with that, yet I knew if I didn’t fully show up, then it wouldn’t be interesting writing. The story would be dull and the character might be unlikable.

Buddhist monk Thích Nhất Hạnh once said, “How you live is your message to the world.” Much of my writing is about being courageous, resilient, and realistically optimistic, even in dark times. That is my message. (But please, no toxic positivity!)

MU: What led you to seek editorial help with your memoir, and what do you feel like was gained from looping Stuart in? 

LK: That wise, experienced, outside perspective is absolutely fundamental for making something as good as it can be. When you’re writing, you get so close to the material you can no longer see. If you want it to be really good, you need a great editor. And to me, if I’m going to do something, I’m going to make it the best it can be. I want it to be a gift to the reader. 

I remember the first thing I said to Stuart: “You need to tell me if this manuscript is something that was good for my own self healing or if there is a book in it. And please be frank with me.” I had been in a writer’s group for four years by that point and I had seen that some things we write are for our own healing or growth and development, and not necessarily something to be shared. I would have been fine if Stuart said it read like a self healing exercise. Through writing it I got to a much better place, so that was fantastic in and of itself. I was just so close to it and there was so much trauma and change and wildness, that Stuart telling me it was a book and helping me go from there was really valuable. 

MU: What kind of reader responses have you gotten thus far?

LK: The memoir has been out for just a few weeks, so it’s early days, but people are saying it’s stunning, it’s heartbreaking, it’s full of love, it’s hopeful, and that the dark humor grounds it. The feedback has been really beautiful. I almost cried when one woman wrote to me: “No one gets what this is really like. This is a gift to the legions of unrecognized caregivers.” It invited us to have a really interesting conversation about ourselves and our suffering and how dealing with this has shaped us. I’m hoping the book invites people to have much more honest conversations with others in their lives–even with their doctors who sometimes are very good clinically but maybe don’t fully understand the emotional impacts of long diseases on patients and their loved ones. 

There are all these people out there who are bettering the world in big, obvious ways–like neurosurgeons–whom I so admire. I hope that with my writing, I better the world in at least a teeny, tiny way. 

MU: I ask this understanding your memoir hasn’t even been out for a month yet, so forgive me, but do you have any idea what’s next for your writing?

LK: I’ve been writing these essays where I’m looking at business things again but writing about them in a fun new way. They’re about what I’ve learned, what I wish I had done better when I was an inexperienced, insecure manager. I don’t know where they’re going, but it’s really fun to write them–and to write them outside of any business style, much more creatively than I’ve done that kind of writing before. Sometimes it’s just fun to write without having any expectations at all and then after a while, you begin to see something to explore in a more disciplined, organized way. Every book I’ve done, that’s how it’s started: Maybe there’s something here, I’m going to let the ideas grow and then we’ll see. 

MU: Do you have any advice you’d like to share with other writers?

LK: The first thing is to write every day. It’s such a fun practice, but it’s also a discipline just like running or yoga. You write if you want to be a writer. I have a group on Zoom and we meet for an hour every day; we start with 10 minutes of meditation and then there’s a prompt if you want, but you can take it or leave it. Writing daily is so satisfying, and I’m becoming a better writer for it. After a while you start to see a pattern, you begin to get these little pearls, and you’re like: “Oh, that’s what’s going on here.” You’re not going to use them all, but you begin to get some great material. It’s habit and routine, yes, but it’s also fun and light and easy versus ugh, I have to sit down and get this done. It’s a safe place to experiment and play. Having a community supporting that is really helpful and holds you accountable too. 

The second thing, and I have to credit Stuart for this, is that I’m not a traditional writer. Some writing in my memoir skews poetic and then some chapters are more traditional prose. The pace of the reading, the energy of it, works for me. I asked Stuart, “Can I do this with a kind of mixed style, outside of what a classic literary memoir is?” Stuart said to me, “You can do anything you want.” It was the greatest advice I got. It built my confidence and it liberated me. And it makes sense too because, when you look at it, the traditional ways of doing anything are being shaken up. There are fundamentals of storytelling, of course, but how you deliver it should be outside of formulas. So as Stuart told me, I’d in turn urge other writers not to be imprisoned by formulas. 

Madison Utley speaks to astrologer, intuitive, and first-time author Juliana Teal about the catharsis of telling her story through her book, Flying to Freedom, how she tempered the heaviness of the abuse that she endured with honoring the ways in which she healed, and the good that sharing her words has already done in the world. 

MU: I’d love to hear about your motivation to tell your story, and your choice to do so in the form of a book.

JT: Since I was a child, I’ve loved to write. My early school experiences were not good, but even back then my teachers couldn’t deny that I was a natural writer. For a long time I didn’t have the self-confidence to share what I wrote, so I’d keep it to myself, but it was around a decade ago that I realized I wanted to tell my story. I thought a book would be the best format because I was hoping to reach other survivors and loved ones of survivors in order to provide healing and education around what I’d experienced.

MU: I’m sure that natural aptitude helped give you the confidence to decide on a book, something that many people find to be a very intimidating thing. 

JT: That has to be true in ways, but it didn’t feel daunting to me. I felt an internal pressure to tell my story. Once I started writing, I could not stop. For several years, I was writing literally every single day. I was so motivated. I could not not write. Sometimes I’d feel stuck as I tried to figure out how to say something but then I’d wake up at 1am or 2am with an idea. I would get out of bed and turn on my computer to get it down as soon as possible. 

MU: At what point in that content generating process did it occur to you to bring in an assisting hand–and how did you go about doing that?

JT: I had finished about half or three-quarters of my manuscript, but I wasn’t feeling fully satisfied with what I had. I was happy with my writing, but I had material about three distinct things and I knew I needed to figure out how to tie them together better. I wanted a developmental editor to help unify what was feeling too choppy to me. I approached someone who, in her area, is pretty well known. I told her what my book was about and she agreed to be my editor, without even seeing my writing. We exchanged lengthy emails where she asked me a lot of questions about my writing experience. She finally told me to send her my manuscript. Three weeks later, she wrote me a brutal email. She said that no one wants to read about abuse and that I should toss out my whole manuscript. I was crushed. When I finally calmed down, though, I realized her words were not at all constructive criticism, but really just cruel, and I fired her. 

After that, I thought: All right, Universe, I can’t find an editor. You’re not sending anyone to me. Maybe I should not do this. But then a client happened to mention an editor she really wanted to work with herself. She shared about how kind and intelligent he was and I found myself asking, “What’s his name?” Instead of researching Stuart to see who he was and what his qualifications were, as I normally would do, I went by gut feeling and I called him. It was a great fit from the start. He had me send a sample of my manuscript and having seen my writing, he became my editor. When we worked together he’d make it clear, “You know how to write already. I’m not teaching you how to write, but how about expanding on this? What if we put that there?” He really believed in my abilities and my book, which helped heal a lot of the pain left by the other editor. 

MU: There is heavy, hard material that is a necessary part of telling your story. How did you embrace communicating the fullness of what you had to share without alienating your readers?

JT: My mission when I wrote my book was to make it as easy on the reader as possible. I knew I had to tell the truth of the ritual abuse I experienced, but also I knew my story is mostly about healing. There are five parts to my book, and the abuse is only discussed outright in part three. The other sections contain material that is healing and hopeful and expansive, which works to balance the heaviness of part three. I’ve been getting the most amazing, beautiful feedback from readers–better than I ever imagined. People have told me that my voice has made it possible to read even the difficult parts without feeling traumatized. I’ve also had feedback from people who have been abused themselves and they’ve said my story has really helped them, which is everything I could have hoped for.  

MU: What have you found to be the most difficult part of this process, and how did you overcome it?

JT: It’s interesting because people’s assumption is that emotionally, this book must have been hard to write, but it really wasn’t. I’m so enamored by the writing process that even as I wrote the difficult sections, I’d ask myself, “Hm, how can I phrase this? How can I creatively talk about this hard thing?” There were places where Stuart asked me to expand and those moments could be challenging, because I wasn’t just reporting on something, I was diving into what I felt inside. When I’d read certain sections out loud to friends, that would be difficult as well, and make me teary, but overall the process was easier than I think a lot of people would expect. 

That said, sharing the book and the vulnerability that goes along with that I have found to be very difficult. I was open about what happened to me. But I pushed through that fear by sending love to myself, by reminding my child self that I’m safe and I’m doing this for a greater cause. This isn’t about me. I’ve never been in this for money or for fame; it’s about helping other people who may have experienced a similar trauma. Remembering that is incredibly empowering.