Clay Stafford talks with David Handler on “Character, Conscience, and Crime”

David Handler interviewed by Clay Stafford

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For Killer Nashville Magazine, I had the pleasure of chatting with David Handler—storyteller, observer, craftsman—to talk about the rhythm of crime fiction, the quiet power of character, and how to say something meaningful without ever preaching. What follows is honest, generous, and full of the kind of wisdom that only comes from doing the work. “David, let’s talk about thematic elements, which are so vital to your work. I grew up in a small town, so your latest book, The Man Who Swore He’d Never Go Home, really resonated with me. It felt different. Your novels often explore issues such as race, privilege, class, and pollution, weaving them seamlessly into the narrative. They never feel like lectures. How do you recommend other writers include meaningful issues in their work without sounding preachy?”

“For me, it starts with writing a lot of drafts. I usually let myself go ahead and write the lecture—get it all out. Then I step back and ask, ‘What do I really need here? What’s boring or extraneous? What moves the story?’ If something slows the momentum, I cut it.”

“So, the line is really about whether it’s boring?”

“That’s one test. But ‘extraneous’ is just as important. I always think like a reader. If my interest dips, something’s wrong. I’m the type who can read one page in a bookstore and know whether I’ll like the book. A lot depends on voice. If it reads like a Netflix screenplay in disguise, I’m out. I’m a fussy reader, which makes me a fussy writer. Pacing is crucial. Especially in crime fiction, you can’t give readers too much time to think, or the illusion might crumble. You have to keep them moving.”

“Like Hitchcock’s famous ‘icebox questions’.”

“Exactly. Hitchcock described those as questions people ask later, like when they’re getting a glass of milk from the fridge at midnight: ‘Wait, why was there a machine gun on that crop duster?’ It didn’t matter in the moment because he kept the story moving. You don’t want to push it too far, but forward momentum matters.”

“Lately, I’ve noticed more books focusing heavily on social issues, sometimes at the expense of story. It could just be what I’m reading, but it feels more common.”

“There was definitely a movement in the crime community a few years ago that leaned that way.”

“What you do differently, though, is include social issues without directing them. Your characters live within the issues. You’re not editorializing; you’re reporting, like a good journalist.”

“That journalism background helps. Whether I was writing criticism, doing profiles, screenplays, or columns, it’s all added up. But honestly, I rely a lot on instinct. After years of hard work, you develop a gut feeling for what belongs on the page.”

“And your tone helps. Some writers come to the page with anger. You bring a sardonic wit.”

“I do, but I don’t consider my books ‘comic mysteries,’ even though some critics label them that way.”

“I wouldn’t call them that either.”

“They have humor—Hoagy’s voice includes sharp observations, and the dialogue can be funny—but I think of them as serious novels. Early in the series, I pushed the humor harder. I was younger, trying to prove I could be funny. But then I took a twenty-year hiatus between the first eight books and the next set. Coming back, I was older, more relaxed. Now I let the voice come naturally. If it feels forced, I cut it. It’s like the difference between a twenty-two-year-old NBA player and a thirty-year-old one. The younger guy’s trying to impress, jump higher, run faster. The older player sees the game better, sets up the team, and plays the long game.”

“There’s a fairness to how you write. One character might view their world as totally normal, while another sees it as broken. You show both perspectives without judgment. That feels like your journalism again.”

“It probably is. I try to keep an open mind. I learn from my characters. One of the central themes in my work, and maybe my outlook on life, is that no one is who they seem to be. We think we know people, but we don’t. You might have friends who seem happy, then suddenly divorce. No one knows the truth of a relationship except the two people in it. I try to dig beneath the image someone presents and find out who they really are. People have layers. Vanity. Flaws. Strengths. And they’re more complicated than we realize. The older I get, the more I see how surprising they can be. I’ve had experiences in show business that would make your jaw drop, people you thought were friends turning on you. But I’ve also seen incredible kindness. For me, it always comes back to the people. The murder is an outgrowth of character and relationship.”

“That’s a powerful point. Social issues do reflect our environment. What advice do you have for writers who want to include them without being heavy-handed?”

“You can always tell when it’s heavy-handed or when a writer did a lot of research and refuses to cut any of it.”

“They throw it all in.”

“Subtlety matters. A little goes a long way. The issue should be organic to the story. Otherwise, it’s a distraction.”

“That’s what I felt reading your work. Pollution, dying towns, underfunded systems. They’re not soapboxes. They’re realities the characters live inside. You’re not explaining the cause of the decay; you’re showing what it’s like to live with it.”

“That’s the goal. Take the brass mill in the new book. One of the characters rarely talks about his father’s past, but the mill was a toxic place. Brass contains lead. The workers got sick. The groundwater was poisoned. It was non-union. Then it all collapsed when cheaper imports arrived from countries without environmental regulations. I’m not giving a ten-page lecture on it, but I want readers to feel it.”

“And we do—because your characters live it. Any advice for new writers?”

“Years ago, when I was doing celebrity profiles, I interviewed one of my childhood idols, Ray Bradbury. I was about twenty-six. I told him I wanted to be a novelist but didn’t know what kind of books to write. I had too many ideas and no direction. He said, ‘Sure you do.’ I asked, ‘I do?’ And he said, ‘Yeah. Write what you love to read.’ I got into the hotel elevator afterward, and I felt like I’d just spoken with the Dalai Lama. ‘Write what you love to read.’ It’s simple, but it changed me. Don’t think about the marketplace. Don’t chase trends. Just write the stories that move you.”

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Clay Stafford is a bestselling writer, filmmaker, and founder of Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference, The Balanced Writer, and Killer Nashville Magazine. Subscribe to his newsletter at https://claystafford.com/.

David Handler is the Edgar Award-winning author of several bestselling mystery series. He began his career as a New York City reporter. In 1988, he published The Man Who Died Laughing, the first of his long-running series starring ghostwriter Stuart Hoag and his faithful basset hound Lulu.

https://davidhandlerbooks.com/