I could possibly pass for an American. I wear American clothes. I drive a Chev. I chew gum. I follow American football. Only the deception crashes to the floor when I open my mouth. I’m an Aussie - Australian. Fair dinkum, mate (which means ‘I ain’t lyin’, buddy,’ in my local lingo).
So what am I doing writing thrillers with the American voice of a Special Agent in the USAF Office of Special Investigations?
Could be because Australia is the de-facto 51st state of the Union. Or maybe it’s because I grew up on a diet of American TV, American movies, American music, American magazines and American authors.
Or maybe because in a past life I was Chuck Yeager (Oh, right. He’s not dead yet. Okay - then some other war hero pilot guy).
Whatever, I have this voice in my head, which sounds American, is a little rude at times, doesn’t get on well with authority, and is a long way from being politically correct.
What seems to happen is that if I don’t put this voice down on paper, it comes out my mouth, which can be embarrassing for my wife, especially at dinner parties.
So I write it all down, and what comes out is part crime, part action, part political thriller, told in the first person by a character who is sometimes a little like watching a road accident in progress. The things he says and does sometimes make me blush.
And I don’t blush easy.