Inside Chapter One: The Gray Area Where Truth Meets Fiction

Behind the Writing of Notice of Assignment

What happens when an author pulls back the curtain and breaks down a manuscript line by line? You find out exactly where the fiction stops, and where real life begins.

Today, we are taking you inside the engine room of the creative process. With the debut Cal Brink novella, Notice of Assignment, officially wrapped and marching toward an October release, this episode features an exclusive look at the first two-thirds of Chapter One. But we aren't just doing a table read.

In a special "How I Wrote This" breakdown, Chris dissects the underlying psychology of the opening scene. You’ll hear why he chose to introduce Cal’s moral compass and wife, Shawna, before the protagonist himself, how the financial ghosts of the Great Recession shaped their dynamic, and how real-life memories—from mowing lawns for vinyl records in the Kansas heat to capturing grainy surveillance photos of marital infidelity—directly bled into the ink of this crime thriller.

In this episode, you’ll hear:

• The Marriage Compass: Why a strong protagonist needs an anchor, and how a 24-year marriage provides the blueprint for Cal and Shawna Brink.
• From Sweat to Vinyl: A nostalgic trip down to Bear’s Records at 95th and Antioch, and a young boy’s first raw lesson in capitalism.
• Photos That Accuse: Shifting from the emotional toll of photographing low-light insurance fraud and cheaters to the rewarding business of standard photography.
• Leverage vs. Exposure: Navigating the "same facts, different blood pressure" reality of a high-stakes real estate investment desk.

Key Quote: “I’ve got one lane for true legal. Another lane for fiction. But it all comes from the same place. Me. I'm just telling you how it really was and then letting my imagination run wild with Cal Brink.”

Join the Conversation: We want to know what landed for you in this opening chapter. Head over to CalBrinkFiles.com right now, read the text version, and leave a comment with your thoughts!

Become an Early Reader: Want to keep reading ahead? Visit CalBrink.com today to secure immediate, advance access to the first four chapters of Notice of Assignment before the official fall launch.

New episodes of the Behavioral Detective Podcast release every Wednesday and Sunday.

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:07

Welcome back to the Behavioral Detective. Today we are opening the vault and pulling back the curtain on the creative process. If you've been following along, you know that my debut crime fiction novella, Notice of Assignment, is officially wrapped and in the hands of my editor, heading toward an October release. But today I want to take you inside the engine room. I'm going to let you hear the first two-thirds of chapter one, exactly how it was written in the manuscript, before the editor changes something. But we aren't just doing a table read. As a writer, everything you experience in the real world, every drop of financial stress, every mile-driven, and every dynamic of a long marriage, it all bleeds into the page. So today I'm giving you the fiction and then I'm breaking down the how I wrote this notes line by line. You'll hear where my protagonist Cal Brink stops and where my own life, my upbringing in Manicured, Kansas suburbia, and my 40-year marriage to my wife Marie actually begins. Let's pull up a chair at the closing desk. Here is chapter one of Notice of Assignment, followed by the truth behind the writing. You can find today's reading at calbrinkfiles.com. Friday, august thirteenth, 2010. Are you sure we're doing the right thing? We're just about to sign on a house as an investment. That's a big deal. That was Shauna. Not loud, not dramatic, just steady, which was usually worse. She had every right to ask. For the first time in a long time, life had quit leaning on us with its full weight. The collection calls had stopped. She wasn't standing in the kitchen doing math out loud, trying to figure out whether we had enough for groceries and gas in the same week. We had a little cushion, not real wealth, not security that could survive stupidity, but enough to exhale a little. And there I was about to put some of it at risk. Shauna had always been drawn to the part of me that liked motion. Adventure if you were being generous, recklessness if you weren't. She married a man who believed the next deal might fix everything. After a few rounds of real life, that quality probably looked less romantic than it had at the beginning. I glanced over at her and thought, not for the first time, how strange it is that lust can turn into loyalty if you give it enough years. Her auburn hair got me. Then her laugh, then the smile, then the way she looked at me like I might actually become the guy I kept saying I was going to be. She came from southern Missouri, Ozark Fringe. I came from suburbia. Planned, scrubbed, tiny suburbia, the kind of place Walt Disney later built as a theme park. I started mowing yards when I was ten years old. Those yards were my first lesson in capitalism. Push a mower for an hour in Kansas heat, get paid, bike down to Bears Records, and turn sweat into vinyl. That seemed like a fair system to me. Still does mostly. The title company office had all the usual local pride decor on the walls. Kansas City history and safe frames for safe people. Pendergast, Bush Creek, the Radio Tower. George Bred and Yankee Stadium, frozen forever in that clean swing of his. Even Walt was there, done up in black and white like he'd personally invented Midwestern respectability. I studied the photos while the minute hand on the oversized clock inched forward. They were good pictures, crafted, intentional, the kind made by people who cared about light and composition. Not like the pictures I used to take. Mine had usually been quick and grainy and taken for a reason nobody enjoyed. My photos accused people. Brett hit 305 for his career, I said. Failed plenty and still made the Hall of Fame. Shauna didn't even look at the wall. You're not playing baseball. This is our money. The little money we have. That was Shauna, in one sentence. No wasted motion. She could also see possible consequences that I would never consider. I guess it had something to do with a harder upbringing. Being out there in the middle of nowhere, a 50-minute bus ride to a school in another county. She wasn't wrong. We'd been married for 24 years and only recently gotten to where a bad month didn't automatically become a crisis. I saw leverage. She saw exposure. I saw a chance to move up. She saw a chance to slide backward.

SPEAKER_00 5:31

And that's marriage. Same facts. Different blood pressure. Now let's go behind the writing. When I wrote, Are you sure you're doing the right thing?

SPEAKER_01 5:46

We're just about to sign on a house as an investment. That's a big deal. That was Shauna. Not loud, not dramatic, just steady, which was usually worse. I made a conscious decision to not start with a protagonist, Cal Brink. I started with his conscious, his compass, his wife, Shauna Brink. Throughout the novella, we will learn how Cal thinks. But Shauna is his compass. She will have great influence and insight. Now let's discuss these four short paragraphs. She had every right to ask. For the first time in a long time, life had quit leaning on us with its full weight. The collection calls had stopped. She wasn't standing in the kitchen doing math out loud, trying to figure out whether we had enough for groceries and gas in the same week. We had a little cushion, not real wealth, not security that could survive stupidity, but enough to exhale a little. And there I was about to put some of it at risk. Shauna had always been drawn to the part of me that liked motion. Adventure if you were being generous, recklessness if you weren't. She married a man who believed the next deal might fix everything. And after a few rounds of real life, that quality probably looked a little less romantic than it had in the beginning. My comments about those four paragraphs are throughout this debut novella you will find a gray area where truth meets fiction. I'm not shy about saying that our story, my wife and me, is written throughout this book. The Great Recession caused a lot of financial stress across our nation. Couples broke up. We got closer. Maybe it's because for the type of real estate I was specializing in, real estate investing and property management, the Great Recession turned into a boon. Well, at least after an initial painful drop of real estate sales income to the tune of thirty percent or more. Continuing with our story, I glanced over at her and thought, not for the first time, how strange it is that lust can turn into loyalty if you give it enough years. Her auburn hair got me first, then her laugh, then her smile, then the way she looked at me like I might actually become the guy I kept saying I was going to be. She came from southern Missouri, Ozark Fringe. I came from suburbia, planned, scrubbed, tiny suburbia, the kind of place Walt Disney later built as a theme park. My comments? That's the origin story for my wife and me. I met her in my house. I came home and there was a party going on. It was college. This wasn't unusual. She was dancing with some guy and I was smitten. When I met her, she was attending a university about 15 miles from where I was attending the University of Kansas. Or at least I was enrolled there. Her home was down in the Ozarks area about an hour's drive east of Springfield, Missouri. I grew up in Ovalon Park, Kansas, curated and manicured. And that line where I say, how strange it is that lust can turn into loyalty if you give it enough years? I want to be clear that this is our marriage. The physicality of love is real and a very good thing. It's also true that the chemical attraction needs something more, a glue, if you will. Respect, common interest, and two people feeling a personal responsibility are the ingredients that form that glue. Continuing, my first lesson in capitalism, push a mower for an hour in Kansas heat, get paid, bike down to Bears Records, and turn sweat into vinyl. That seemed like a fair system to me. Still does, mostly. I started young. My first income came from delivering the Ovaland Park Sun newspaper. The system went that I delivered the paper on the doorsteps of my neighborhood for free. Then I'd go door to door once a month and try to collect. I got to keep a portion of what I collected. Then, at about 10, I'd use our family's lawnmower and my dad's gas and went door to door asking if I could mow their lawn for whatever they'd pay. Turns out five dollars was the usual amount. Then I'd make my way down to a record store at 95th in Antioch using my bicycle. When I returned, I'd have a new record album for five dollars by whatever band caught my attention. The Beach Boys, Ario Speedwagon, Rolling Stones. The record shop also had all these really pretty glass pipes and cylindrical gadgets. At ten to twelve years old, I didn't really understand. I was there for the records that were sold below value. I'd learn a lot more about this later. Our story continues. The title company office had all the usual local pride decor on the walls, Kansas City history and safe frames for safe people. Pendergast, Bush Creek, the Radio Tower, George Bread in Yankee Stadium, frozen forever in that clean swing of his. Even Walt was there, done up in black and white like he'd personally invented Midwestern respectability. I studied the photos while the minute hand on the oversized clock inched forward. They were good pictures, crafted, intentional, the kind made by people who cared about light and composition. Not like the pictures I used to take. Mine had usually been quick and grainy and taken for a reason nobody enjoyed. My photos accused people. My comments are that title companies have closing offices that celebrate the local community. That's their deal. They are facilitating the people getting their slice of the American dream. The pictures are less personal and more like marketing for the city you are about to spend your life in. In truth, my life as an investigator included learning how to take pictures of people doing things they maybe shouldn't be doing from long distances and often in low light. I got pretty good at it. Even made a photography business out of it for a while. Selling pictures of athletic accomplishments or families with smiles was more emotionally rewarding than photographing cheaters, either insurance or marriage infidelity. This line I purposely placed in my novella. Brett hit 305 for his career, I said, failed plenty and still made the Hall of Fame. Here's why I included that. I still think what George Brett did in Kansas City is vastly underappreciated in the baseball world. And he stayed one of us. Try that in the modern game of baseball. Money, sex, and power are the vices that destroy businesses, marriages, and now our enjoyment of sports. The modern day story of sports is its own crime fiction novella waiting for the right author. We continue with our story. Shauna didn't even look at the wall. You're not playing baseball. This is our money, the little money we have. Again, that was Shauna in one sentence, no wasted motion. She could also see possible consequences that I would never consider. I guess it had something to do with a harder upbringing. Being out there in the middle of nowhere, a fifty minute bus ride to a school in another county. She wasn't wrong. We'd been married for twenty four years and only recently gotten to where a bad month didn't automatically become a crisis. I saw leverage. She saw exposure. I saw a chance to move up. She saw a chance to slide backward. And in real life, they say opposites attract. In my real life, my wife is more safety oriented. She likes security. I have mostly been more adventurous, more reckless, you decide. If something caught my fancy, professionally speaking, I would chase it down. Especially in my younger days. My wife said it was because I couldn't hold a job. I framed it as I was too young to sit in a cube my whole life. That wasn't going to work for me. I would always count on me. Sometimes that didn't work. Mostly in the first half of our marriage it didn't work. She stood by me. That's a special lady. And the last line of today's discussion, that's marriage. Same facts, different blood pressure. If you've been married for more than a day, I don't need to explain this sentence. If you've been married for more than a day, that sentence doesn't need an explanation. Writing this book has been an exercise in running wild with a fictional character like Cal Brink while anchoring his soul in the real, hard-earned lessons I picked up in the trenches of real estate, investigation, and life. It's a gray area where truth meets the page, and I'm having a heck of a time sharing it with you. Next Wednesday, we're going right back into the manuscript with another micro story and another deep dive into the behind-the-scenes reality that inspired it. I want to know what landed for you today. Head over to calbrinkfiles.com and leave a comment with your thoughts on chapter one. And if you want to read ahead and get the first four chapters of Notice Assignment delivered right to your inbox today, go to calbrink.com and sign up to become an early reader. Until Sundays drop, keep your eyes open, value the loyalty in your corner, and stay sharp. You've been listening to the Behavioral Detective.