The Archivist’s Desk
A Caricature of D. Patrick Dillon at Work
The Archivist’s Desk is where the fictional town of Falcon Hollow gives way to its creator. This page offers background on the author behind the Falcon Hollow Mysteries and the story world presented throughout the site.
D. Patrick Dillon is a man doing the quiet, unglamorous labor of making fiction honest. He doesn’t chase trends. He doesn’t rush conclusions. He doesn’t trust easy answers.He just keeps tightening the bolts until the story can survive being questioned.And if that means rewriting the same chapter again? He’ll sigh. Open the file. And do it right.
The Reluctant Architect of Order
D. Patrick Dillon does not write books so much as investigate them.
He approaches a blank page the way a seasoned detective approaches a cold case: cautious, methodical, mildly suspicious, and already irritated by shortcuts other people took before he arrived. He does not trust coincidence. He does not trust timelines that magically work. And he absolutely does not trust characters who “just know” something without paperwork to prove it.
His job—if you insist on calling it that—is to police fiction.
He is the kind of man who pauses mid-sentence, leans back, and asks aloud (to no one in particular),
“No. That wouldn’t happen that fast.”
He then proceeds to fix it.
Not with drama.
Not with flair.
But with process.
Work Habits (Allegedly)
Patrick does not outline casually. He constructs case files.
Acts are not acts. They are operational phases.
Chapters are not chapters. They are documented intervals of cause and consequence.
Characters do not have backstories; they have timelines that must survive cross-examination.
He is allergic to narrative laziness. If a warrant appears too quickly, he breaks out in hives. If a character survives on vibes alone, he quietly rewrites their entire existence until it makes sense.
He keeps notes.
Then keeps notes about the notes.
Then keeps notes explaining why the notes were revised.
Somewhere, there is a folder labeled something like:
“DO NOT FORGET THIS AGAIN – FINAL FINAL v3.1”
It is not final.
Professional Demeanor
Patrick is calm. Measured. Patient. Until a continuity error appears. At which point he becomes a one-man internal affairs unit, interrogating his own manuscript like it’s lying to him.
“You said this happened in May.”
“Then why is it snowing?”
long pause
“Fix it.”
He does not yell.
He corrects.
Which is somehow worse.
Public Perception vs. Reality
Public:
“Wow, this feels real.”
Reality:
It is real—because Patrick dismantled it six times, rebuilt it from the ground up, and refused to let it cheat.
Core Beliefs
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Time matters.
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Consequences matter.
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Motives must earn their keep.
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Readers are smarter than most writers give them credit for—and Patrick takes that personally
He believes the real tension isn’t in explosions or twists, but in pressure applied correctly over time. He distrusts spectacle without scaffolding. He respects the slow grind of truth.
He will happily spend an hour fixing one paragraph if it means the story doesn’t lie.
The Irony
Despite all this structure, Patrick does not see himself as rigid.
He sees himself as fair.
The rules apply to everyone—characters included. If they make it out alive, they earned it. If they don’t, the timeline will explain why.
The desk is open. The file remains active.
