Embassy Days, Writing Life with Delia Pitts, author of Trouble in Queenstown

People often ask me which aspects of my varied careers in journalism, diplomacy, and academia have served me best in my current foray into crime fiction writing. All contributed plenty, of course. But looking back, I’d say that during eleven years as a diplomat in the United States Foreign Service, I learned quite a few skills that proved valuable for the writing life.

First, a bit of background. I served in U. S. embassies in Nigeria, Mauritania, and Mexico from 1983 to 1994. During that time, I also had Washington, D.C. assignments in the cultural affairs bureaus for Africa and Latin America. My work included supervising American libraries, coordinating educational exchange programs, organizing tours of American experts in journalism, science, and the performing arts. I ran film series, book festivals, art exhibits, election night watch parties, and of course, Fourth of July celebrations hosted by the American embassy.

What do all these diplomatic jobs have in common? Writing. No, you cynics, not fiction. The real, honest-as-we-could-make-it truth. Crafting speeches for the ambassador to welcome a visiting delegation or explain U.S. policy. Drafting comprehensive reports on the education sector or spot pieces on unfolding events in the host country. As a junior officer, I wrote memoranda of conversation for every meeting I attended. I also had to report on every conversation I had with host country nationals or representatives from third countries of special interest such as Russia or China.

Over time, I found that the basis of successful diplomatic writing was simple: listen, listen, and look, then listen some more.

What did I learn?

• Brevity: No one in the embassy or back in Washington wanted to read a verbose report. Those got tossed unceremoniously. So, my job was capturing the intent of a meeting or a contact by noting the key quotes, but also the telling gestures, tone, and historical context. I try to apply this lesson in every fictional scene I write now – get in and get out fast.
• Rhetoric Counts. Differing from cultural to culture, rhetorical styles can be direct for some people, circular or elliptical for others. For many, conveying historical or personal background is paramount. For others “Just the facts, ma’am,” works best.  Today I apply varying rhetorical styles to differentiate among the characters who populate my crime fiction. I use elliptical, history-drenched speech for a Central American immigrant mother to contrast with her American-born daughter and my impatient private investigator.
• Memorize. As a diplomat, I practiced gathering large swaths of conversation without resorting to actual note-taking. This skill was especially useful at dinner parties or receptions where balancing plates and glasses precluded taking written notes. At the end of the evening’s festivities, I would rush home, my head brimming with information. I stayed up late into countless nights typing my reports. This ability to capture dialogue grounds my current fiction writing, though few of my gritty characters speak like suave government officials.
• Voice is Everything. I developed a different set of skills in my role as an embassy speech writer. Each week, the U.S. ambassador might give four or five public addresses of varying lengths and purposes. As a junior officer, I often was tasked with drafting those remarks. This is where I learned to write in a voice other than my own. I had to discard my own style and ego to convey the ambassador’s unique voice: her jokes and personal background; his vocabulary and rhythmical quirks.
• Rewrite/rinse/repeat. There were lots of rewrites for those speeches plus plenty of input from other officers. Short deadlines, cranky bosses. Writing high-visibility speeches was not easy and rarely fun. But those long-ago sessions shaping believable ambassadorial voices gave me skills I tap now to develop the character voices for my own books.

In sum, I learned a lot as a diplomat: collaboration, acceptance of my own limits, understanding of status and rank, and the power of persuasive language. I was surprised at how transferable those early lessons have proven in my latter-day career.  I wouldn’t trade my experiences for the world.

More: Read an Excerpt of Trouble in Queenstown by Delia Pitts

About Trouble in Queenstown by Delia Pitts:

Evander “Vandy” Myrick became a cop to fulfill her father’s expectations. After her world cratered, she became a private eye to satisfy her own. Now she’s back in Queenstown, New Jersey, her childhood home, in search of solace and recovery. It’s a small community of nine thousand souls crammed into twelve square miles, fenced by cornfields, warehouses, pharma labs, and tract housing. As a Black woman, privacy is hard to come by in “Q-Town,” and worth guarding.

For Vandy, that means working plenty of divorce cases. They’re nasty, lucrative, and fun in an unwholesome way. To keep the cash flowing and expand her local contacts, Vandy agrees to take on a new client, the mayor’s nephew, Leo Hannah. Leo wants Vandy to tail his wife to uncover evidence for a divorce suit.

At first the surveillance job seems routine, but Vandy soon realizes there’s trouble beneath the bland surface of the case when a racially charged murder with connections to the Hannah family rocks Q-Town. Fingers point. Clients appear. Opposition to the inquiry hardens. And Vandy’s sight lines begin to blur as her determination to uncover the truth deepens. She’s a minor league PI with few friends and no resources. Logic pegs her chances of solving the case between slim and hell no. But logic isn’t her strong suit. Vandy won’t back off.