Ariel: Iâ??d never heard of Joseph Crater until I read an article about him in The New York Post nine years ago. I didnâ??t know that his disappearance was the biggest missing personâ??s case of the twentieth century or that he was a household name for almost fifty years. It was fascinating. But in all of that, what intrigued me most was his wife Stella, and her strange yearly ritual. Starting on the first anniversary of her husbandâ??s disappearance, she would go to a bar in Greenwich Village and order two drinks. Sheâ??d raise one in salute, â??Good luck, Joe, wherever you are!â?? Then sheâ??d drink it and walk out of the bar, leaving the other untouched on the table. She did this every year for thirty-nine years. After reading that article Stella Crater took up permanent residence in my mind. Iâ??d close my eyes and sheâ??d be there, in that corner booth, a glass of whiskey in her hand, practically daring me to tell her story. So I did.

Ariel: The real Crater mystery is filled with all these fascinating but seemingly disconnected details: mysterious cash-filled envelopes, theater tickets, grand jury investigations, random injuries, missing wills, bribery allegations. I wanted to take all the peripheral details that are often nothing more than footnotes in the historical record and make them integral to the story. But this could only be done when put in contrast with the real people involved: crooked politicians, seedy gangsters, an uncooperative wife, ambitious dancing girls, theater moguls, police officers, nosey reporters. It was all there for the taking but there were gaps. Big questions no one could answer with any certainty, not the least of which is what actually happened to Judge Crater. So I took the details I could verify (hello research you are my drug) and then arranged the blank spaces to fit my own theories. In the end, it became a portrait of what could have happened.

Ariel: Donâ??t be like me. Donâ??t write three different stories centered on the same missing man and then try to weave them together into a cohesive whole. You will feel like youâ??re sewing up a bag of cats. And you will, inevitably, find that one character is easier to write than the others (Ritzi). You will like her best even though you arenâ??t supposed to play favorites. This will do strange things to your moral compass, because you like the mistress best. One of the characters will be cold and elusive and you will have nothing in common with her (Stella). She will scare you a little bit and make you doubt your own ability at every turn. Her name will become an expletive. And then there will be one that surprises you (Maria). She will be both devout and sensual. You will make her do things that cause you unreasonable guilt given her imaginary status. You will lose sleep. In the end she will break your heart.

Ariel: Anywhere. Everywhere. The first flat surface I can find that isnâ??t littered with Legos or used Band Aids. The better question would probably be when do you write (answer: whenever white space shows up on the calendar). Apparently there is this thing called biology. And it WORKS. So thanks to biology I have four children. All of them boys. All of them highly intelligent and off-the-charts active. We call them The Wild Rumpus. And we will not buy nice things until they grow up and leave home. So the when and where of writing is a daily tightrope walk for me. Itâ??s probably not the best way to write books but itâ??s the only way I know how and it seems to be working well so far.