“Suddenly I have this thought, that all of our lives are in the hands of the pilots flying the plane,” Newman, who is 37, recalled in a video interview from her home in Phoenix. Even if you haven’t been on a plane recently, you can imagine the view: slack mouths and lolling heads, fleece blankets draped every which way, a handful of insomniacs bathed in pools of light. Newman, a veteran flight attendant, was on a Virgin America red-eye from Los Angeles to New York, looking out at a cabin filled with dozing strangers. Newman remembers when “Falling,” her debut suspense novel, started to take shape.
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