Notes on an Execution

by Danya Kukafka

You lift your thumb to the light, examine it close. In that same fingerprint, it is inarguable and insistent: the faint, mouse-like tick of your own pulse.

When I first started writing this novel, Ansel's perspective was written in the third person. "He lifts his thumb to the light, examines it close." I asked myself a lot of questions about why we love serial killers so much, what interests us about them. I suspect we are curious how their minds work because we want to know how people become evil. Of course, I don't have an answer to this question, but I decided to switch to second person to bring the reader closer to Ansel's mind: you are the serial killer. It's a challenging concept, of course, but that made writing this novel so much more interesting for me!

The farmhouse sat at the top of a hill. Even in the dark it looked lopsided, leaning precariously to the left.

These images were inspired by my time living in upstate New York, and driving through gorgeous, rural stretches of Vermont. The grass, the colors, the old homes in variosus states of disrepair. It felt so atmospheric. Have you ever visited a place that feels like it has its own personality?

You will leave your Theory here.

I did a lot of research about serial killers' manifestos. Oftentimes, these documents are just a way for bad men to self-mythologize, to make themselves feel important.

Tupper Lake, New York, had one crumbling church, a small boxy library, a gas station. A smattering of houses, surrounding a foggy lake.

I visited Tupper Lake, New York, many times for research-- the atmosphere of this town really called to me. There were some lovely women working in the town's museum who showed me old photos from centuries before, who lived and breathed this town's history. I couldn't get enough of it.

You braked. You opened the door. You stepped onto the gravel.

This novel intentionally leaves most depictions of the actual murders off the page. For me, the human emotion around the concept of crime is much more interesting than the blood and gore we so often see.

Hazel’s real self was not this bathroom ghost. Her real self had cheeks blushing pink beneath scorching bulb lights, hair sprayed back into a slick, glossy bun. She wore long black lashes, glued sticky to her eyelids. Her collarbone jutted out beneath the straps of a corset that tapered down into a custom-designed tutu, glitter dabbed subtly along the ridge of her chest, engineered to reflect the stage lights with a turn or a leap. For a precious moment, Hazel was no longer leaning against the damp sink. Instead, she was following the sound of the orchestra into the velvet wings, as the instruments hummed the opening notes of Swan Lake. The smell, like elastic and rosin. She was rolling onto her pointe shoes, reveling in the ethereal stretch of her hamstring. The audience hushed, alert, awaiting her arrival. She was caught in that long, agonizing moment, before she stepped into the gold.

I was a ballet dancer as a child. Ballet always makes an appearance in my novels!

Everyone tells me I’m too nice, Shawna whispered that night, as she dragged a trembling hand across her mouth.

Shawna's character is based loosely on a real person named Joyce Mitchell, a correctional officer who helped two men escape from a prison in upstate New York in 2015. This quote came directly from an interview she gave, and it struck me as incredibly powerful.

And then she was gone. An ambulance screamed past as Saffy stood abandoned, her cigarette flaking ash onto the sidewalk.

I edited and re-wrote this scene so many times. It was surreal to have these characters from different worlds finally interacting, and this moment is so important for their characters and the story, I wanted to get it just right.

By the time Lavender slipped back into the valley, the sun had risen entirely, bathing the hills in a milky orange glow.

It was so satisfying to bring Lavender back, after seeing her only as a teenager. It felt so freeing for me to imagine how her life evolves, how she continues to survive. Were you surprised to see her again?

There is no sky. There is no grass. There is no getting out.

As I was plotting the arc of this novel, it seemed crucial that Ansel believes, for the first half, that he will escape. This moment is huge for him-- he's not special. He will have to face his own actions, after all. Until this point, I don't think he has genuinely considered this possibility.

Your last and only Girl.

Fun fact: the final sentences of Ansel's chapters almost always nod to the women whose chapters will follow.

Saffy knew how to solve a mystery.

I spent five years writing this novel, and for the first four, this chapter was the only one told from Blue's perspective. It never quite worked-- I couldn't get Blue's voice right, and the sequence of events didn't add up. I spent months and late nights literally crying over this chapter, until my editor suggested I give it to Saffy instead. This is one of my favorite chapters in the book now. For me, it really breaks Saffy open.

She knew violence, from the lifetime she had spent chasing it—she knew how it lingered, how it stained. Violence always left a fingerprint.

This is one of my favorite lines.

She had known from a young age that everyone had darkness inside—some just controlled it better than others. Very few people believed that they were bad, and this was the scariest part. Human nature could be so hideous, but it persisted in this ugliness by insisting it was good.

I see many of you have highlighted this passage, and I'm so glad it struck you. The moment I wrote this paragraph felt like one of those rare, beautiful writing epiphanies, like I was touching something bigger than myself, bigger than the story. It's worth all the work, all the years of editing and revising, for just one of these moments.

Blue, you say. She came.

I'm curious-- what does Blue, as a character, represent for you?

The cookies were proof, breathing in the void of Saffy’s memory: Ansel Packer was capable of feeling sorry.

The callback to their childhoods felt so vital to me. Ansel and Saffy come from the same place, with the same wounds. She carries just as much trauma as Ansel does, but Saffy chooses a very different life. Do you think our choices are borne of nature, nurture, or both?

Blue, a girl with freckled cheeks. Blue, a name in vivid color. Blue, a feeling not quite sorrow—a blooming like grief, with its petals curled open.

Putting these two characters in a scene together felt like the ultimate catharsis.

Will you come with me? Blue had asked. The answer was easy. No.

Do you think it's important for Blue to attend the execution? Why or why not?

It is now.

This is one of the only scenes that made it, in concept, from the first draft of this novel to the last. But it changed drastically on the structural and sentence levels along the way.

Here is how Izzy Sanchez would like to be remembered:

I wrote this scene on a sunny Sunday afternoon in Seattle. My partner and I had just come home from brunch with friends, and the image of the sailboat randomly came to me. I sat down in my office, and typed it out; this scene has remained intact from the first draft, nearly word for word. It opened so many intellectual doors for me. It allowed the Girls, finally, to have a say.