Frances Peck reveals, “I write about what I’m afraid of,” as we sit at an iron bistro set for a tête-à-tête on the patio of the West Vancouver Memorial Library exploring the inspiration behind her novel, The Broken Places, on a warm spring day. As Membership Coordinator of the North Shore Writers’ Association, Frances adeptly juggles her responsibilities as both a presenter and organizer for the festival, while carving out a few moments to discuss her upcoming book, Uncontrolled Flight.
Drawing Parallels
Her words echo what Jodi Picoult said at a reading of Sing You Home, March 2011, where two-hundred Picoult devotees packed into the pews at St. Andrew’s-Wesley United Church on Burrard Street in Vancouver. We heard her read from her book about a same-sex couple trying to conceive a child. Jodi’s friend, Ellen Wilber, wrote the music for the songs that accompany the book and did a lovely performance of the songs. During the Q&A, Jodi was asked the inevitable query, Where do you get your ideas for your books?
“They come from the thoughts that keep me up at night,” answered Picoult without hesitation. Perhaps, her answer explains why she is such a popular author and her books so engaging to a general audience, as they delve into what keeps us up at night and what wakes us up at night, those pesky fears.
Birth of The Broken Places
Frances’s response resonates with Jodi’s approach, as The Broken Places stemmed from her “abiding concerns” about earthquakes. Situated as she is in an area susceptible to seismic activity known as the Ring of Fire, which is not just a Johnny Cash song, but also a region around the Pacific Coast prone to quakes, including the North Shore of Vancouver where we sat. Anyone who lives in the lower mainland can relate to the earth-shattering scenario depicted in her captivating book. The book should be sold with a go bag of three days of emergency supplies, because readers are sure to want one, if they don’t already have one after reading her book.
Uncontrolled Flight & the Author’s Fears
Frances clarifies that her new book, Uncontrolled Flight, about a plane crash, wasn’t born out of a fear of flying, contrary to a popular assumption. Instead, it originated from her personal fears because her husband is a private pilot, leaving her to confront the possibility of becoming a widow each time he climbs into the cockpit. Fortunately, this particular fear has never materialized, but she channeled her worries into crafting a tragic tale.
Meticulous Research
Given the attention to detail and in-depth research in The Broken Places, readers can expect a meticulously researched narrative from Peck from several points of view in Uncontrolled Flight. Set in wildfire season in the interior of BC, Frances will no doubt tackle the subject matter in her second book with all the precision as her first novel, including the procedurals of the airplane crash investigation and the disaster’s essence and consequences.
Character Connections
Interestingly, Frances says that Uncontrolled Flight was written before The Broken Places; however, the second novel leap-frogged to publication first. While The Broken Places featured a myriad of characters, from maids to millionaires, Frances says that she found a piece of herself within each character. In contrast, Uncontrolled Flight with three main characters, the pilot, his widow, and a crash investigator, as far as we can know prior to its release, may offer a more intimate story with this smaller cast.
Frances’s personal experience as the spouse of a pilot, will be a deep well for her to draw upon for her protagonists, who all deal with grief after losing someone close them. She says that they, “Reflect more of my feelings about loss and love.” Knowing Frances’s uncanny wit and writing prowess readers will likely be astonished by complexity of the characters and their choices.
Teasing the Plot
It’s revealed in the book description that the firefighter pilot dies at the beginning of Uncontrolled Flight. The promise is to then delve into the aftermath of the crash, exploring themes of grief, shock, widowhood, and the revelation of life-changing secrets. What will the secrets be? At this point this is pure speculation, but did the deceased pilot have drug cartel connections? Were there extra-marital affairs, one of which resulted in a love child? I’m rubbing my hands in anticipation, eagerly awaiting the release of this intriguing book. Here’s an excerpt from the Prologue of the that NeWest Press was kind enough to release to whet our appetite.
As I tore down the highway, leaving the storied gold-rush town of Quesnel behind, the sky thickened, daylight barely leaking through. I’d shut the Tacoma’s windows tight to keep out the soot and burnt air, but it did no good. Even with the AC set to recirculate, the whole cab smelled of it: a forest of century-old fir and pine, giving way tree by tree.
By the time I made it to the runway, just before eight, the day was brewing up hot and dry, like every July day so far of this record-breaking year in this corner of the British Columbia Interior. A handful of pilots and mechanics milled around, doing precious little from what I could see, mostly burning off nervous energy before we got the signal to go. In front of the fire centre—centre a fancy term for two Atco trailers yoked together by a rough front porch—three guys from the ground crew sprawled in the shade, scarfing down coffees and fistfuls of Timbits. Crazy bastards. Every minute they’re not humping loads of protective gear and hoses and pulaskis up the slopes, they’re stuffing their faces, and even then some of them lose weight. No wonder, trying to keep up with the fire’s punishing pace.
I saw him as soon as I parked the truck. Off to one side near the tarmac, head tilted skyward, still as a photo, taking it all in. Rafe Mackie, whose air tanker I’d soon guide in for a drop. Oddly for the most genial pilot on our team of cranky loners, he stood by himself. His hulking frame, slimmer than usual now that we were a couple of months into the season, cast an exaggerated shadow against the dingy vinyl siding of the maintenance shed. He stood motionless, like he was anchored there, staring up. My chest hitched a little seeing him that way, huge and alone. A solitary giant surveying an empty sky.
I downed the last of my coffee, stepped into the smoky heat, and jogged over, willing my body to wake the rest of the way up. At first Rafe didn’t see me, gazing as he was into the smoke-tinged blue, but when I called his name he turned. I waited for the broad grin that said you were the best thing he’d seen all day, except for maybe his wife on the lucky mornings he opened his eyes at home. It didn’t come.
“What’s with you? Didn’t get your Wheaties this morning?”
One corner of his mouth pulled up, unconvincingly. “Nah. Tired. Didn’t sleep worth shit.”
“Yeah. Same here.”
Was it a look in my eye, or the way I hitched up my jeans? Who knows, but like that he was on to me. “Young Will. Don’t tell me you had company.”
I ducked my head. “Might’ve.”
“Jumpin’ Jesus, boy. You’re gonna wear it off you keep at it like that.” He shook his shaggy head. “Gonna get yourself in trouble one day.”
“Nah. I’m always protected.”
“That’s not the kind of trouble I’m talking about.” He trailed off, scanning the sky again. He was there but not there, it seemed, his mind on something else. Probably the intense day we had ahead.
“I’m always a hundred percent upfront,” I said. “They know it’s just for fun, no getting serious. Not till I’m an old guy like you.” I elbowed him, hoping to provoke the grin.
He frowned. Something was eating him for sure, but it was too good a morning to go digging into anyone’s bad mood. Whether it was the afterglow of long-legged Gracie or the certainty that we were going to tame this fucking fire, I was pumped and ready to roll. So we compared notes on what lay ahead: the wind, the weather, which direction the fire was headed, and our aircraft, which despite their advanced age and peculiarities we loved like the memory of our first girlfriends. Rafe still seemed out of sorts—nothing major, just a few beats behind. Lost in his thoughts maybe. Or, like he said, tired. We were all tired. But when it came time he clapped my shoulder twice for good luck, our decade-long ritual before every flight, his broad hand as powerful as always.
“Gonna treat us to a bull’s eye today?” I asked.
“Ah, William. You’re the finest kind.” Seeing my puzzled expression, he shrugged. “Something my father used to say.” He hesitated and I thought there’d be more, but instead—finally—he grinned. It was like the sun breaking. It told me everything would be fine.
Uncontrolled Flight, Prologue, Frances Peck
As someone who did private pilot training myself, I’m drooling as I wait to get my hands on Frances’s new book to be released in September. The cover has the same hazy dreamy quality as The Broken Places does. The blending effect perhaps symbolic of how boundaries and intentions can be unclear when it comes to human behaviour under dire stress, especially when tested by the worst circumstances that nature has to throw at us, like earthquakes and raging forest fires.
What will Frances concoct next for readers? A monster avalanche smothering a ski resort? A landslide that dwarves the Frank Slide in Alberta? An ark-inducing flood that mercilessly takes with it homes, barns, cattle, horses, farm equipment, and hapless ranchers?
No one is safe when Frances Peck experiences her “low-level anxieties”, but for now it’s the start of the day and we’re ready to get at it.
About Frances Peck
Frances Peck’s debut novel, The Broken Places, NeWest Press, April 1, 2022, is praised by readers and reviewers. The Globe and Mail named it a best book of 2022, and it’s been shortlisted for the 2023 Rakuten Kobo Emerging Writer Prize. Her new novel, Uncontrolled Flight, will be released in September 2023, NeWest Press.
