“The public is too stupid to understand us,” they would say.

I hated that attitude. To me, entertainment was a transaction. You do it, they watch it, then it exists. Like a Zen question: If you put on a show and nobody comes, have you in fact put on a show at all?

So for me, the audience mattered from the start. Which helped me thrive in television. And along the way, I discovered I was the audience. We were generally doing quality mass-market entertainment, but even so, some guys were conscious of slumming. Not me.

G. K. Chesterton once said of Charles Dickens, “Dickens didn’t write what people wanted. Dickens wanted what people wanted.” I would never compare myself to Charles Dickens, but I know exactly what Chesterton meant.

So, at thirty-nine years of age, after maybe thirty-five years of conscious experience, I sat down and opened the first of my three legal pads on my dining room table and lined up my pencil and sharpener and eraser and… thought some more, and came up with three specific conclusions.

First: Character is king. There are probably fewer than six books every century remembered specifically for their plots. People remember characters. Same with television. Who remembers the Lone Ranger? Everybody. Who remembers any actual Lone Ranger story lines? Nobody.

So my lead character had to carry the whole weight… and there was a lot of weight to carry. Remember, I was broke and out of work.

Second conclusion: If you can see a bandwagon, it’s too late to get on. I think the person who said that to me was talking about investment issues-as if I had anything to invest-but it seemed an excellent motto for entertainment as well. It’s a crowded field. Why do what everyone else is doing?

So I was going to have to do something a little different. It seemed to me that the mystery series that were then well under way-and most that were just starting out-were, when carefully analyzed, soap operas. (Which to me is not a derogatory term… Soap opera is an incredibly powerful narrative engine, and soap operas had put food on my table for eighteen years. Lots of it, and high quality.) Lead characters were primus inter pares in a repertory cast, locations were fixed and significant, employment was fixed and significant. In other words, series heroes had partners, friends, jobs, apartments, favorite bars, favorite restaurants, neighbors, family, even dogs and cats. They jogged, worked out, had pastimes. They had bills to pay and issues to resolve.

If you can see a bandwagon, it’s too late to get on. I was going to have to avoid all that stuff.

But, the third conclusion, and the most confounding: You can’t design a character too specifically. I knew in my bones that to think too carefully would produce a laundry list of imagined qualities and virtues and would result in a flat, boring, cardboard character. I would be consulting a mental checklist: “I need to satisfy this demographic… check… and please these people… check… ” until I had a guy with all the spark and life beaten out of him. So I quite self-consciously pushed that thirty-five-year-old soup of ideas and influences into the distant background and decided to relax and see what would come along.

Jack Reacher came along.

I was interested in dislocation and alienation, and I had noticed that people who have spent their lives in the military have trouble adjusting to civilian life afterward. It’s like moving to a different planet. So I wrote a character who had been first a military brat, then a military officer, and was now plunged unwillingly into the civilian world. And because the books would be broadly crime novels, I made him an ex-military cop, in order to give him plausible familiarity with investigative procedures and forensics and so on.

Those twin decisions gave him a double layer of alienation. First, his transition from the rough, tough world of the army made him a fish out of water in civilian life, which situation was then further reinforced by any law enforcement officer’s separation from the rest of the population.

And he was American. I’m British. But by that point I had been a regular visitor to the United States for twenty years-my wife is from New York -and I felt I knew the country pretty well, at least as well as I could expect an alienated ex-military drifter to know it. And it’s easier to be rootless and alienated in a giant country like America. Alienation on a tiny crowded island like Britain is of a different order, almost wholly psychological rather than physical or literal.

I like reading the internal, claustrophobic British crime books, but I didn’t want to write them. I wanted big, rangy plots, big landscapes, big skies.

His status as a former officer happened instinctively. Looking back, I clearly wanted to tap into the medieval knight errant paradigm, and a knight errant has to have been a knight in the first place. I thought a West Point history and a rank of major would be suitable.

In literary terms it was an important choice, but later I realized it has plausibility issues. His whole personality, approach, and implied past experiences make it much more likely that in the real world he would have been a warrant officer, not a commissioned officer.

But to me it was crucial that he should have a certain nobility-which is a strange thing to say about a guy who goes around busting heads as frequently and thoroughly as Jack Reacher does, but it is clear from subsequent reaction that his “white hat” status depends heavily on our images of and assumptions about rank. (And his “white hat” status has tempted readers to classify the series as a set of modern-day Westerns, which is convincing in terms of feel and structure.)

Some of the novels are just like Shane or a Zane Grey story or a Lone Ranger episode-lonely, embattled community has a problem; mysterious stranger rides in off the range, solves the problem, rides off into the sunset-but I have never been a fan or even a reader of Westerns. What is happening there is that Westerns too have strong roots in the medieval knight errant sagas.

As in much of evolution, if B isn’t descended directly from A, then they both shared a common ancestor much further back.

At first he wasn’t called Jack Reacher. In fact, he wasn’t called anything at all. The part of writing that I find most difficult is coming up with character names. My books are heavily populated with stationery brands and other authors, because when I need to name someone I tend to look around my office helplessly until my eye alights on the front of a notebook or the spine of a book on my shelves.

Once or twice I stared out my window until a neighbor walked past, or I thought back to the last clerk’s name badge I saw in a store… All kinds of people get their names in my books, most of them unwittingly. But obviously the main character’s name is very important to get right. With luck it will appear in many books and even be talked about in other contexts.

I started writing with no clear idea of the name. The first book was written in the first person, which meant he didn’t need a name until someone else asked what it was, which didn’t happen for thirty or so manuscript pages. Then a police detective asked, “Name?” I put my pencil down and thought. The best I could come up with was Franklin, as I recall. But I wasn’t happy with it.

Then I went shopping. Part of the problem of not having a day job was, well, I didn’t have a day job, and my wife therefore assumed that after many years of solo struggle, she now had help with chores. So she asked me to go to the supermarket with her, to carry stuff home. I’m a big guy; she’s a small woman.

She was also a worried woman, although she was hiding it well. Our life savings were disappearing, and regular paychecks were merely distant memories.