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GREENSBORO — Maybe it’s the grape soda.

John Hart used to suck down the artificial purple juice he bought from the canteen below his Greensboro office because he wanted that sugar rush to find the tough-boy voice of Johnny Merrimon.

He needed it. Do the math. Hart is 43; Johnny 13. Hart is a father; Johnny is fatherless. And really, it’s been decades since Hart barreled through Salisbury, his hometown, riding a bike, hearing the click-click-click of rotating spokes.

Johnny likes to do that. And drink grape soda.

But there must be some mojo in that artificial purple juice. Just read Hart’s third mystery novel, “The Last Child.’’ Hart has created a modern-day Huck Finn, a soda-loving boy from a place none of us know: Raven County, North Carolina.

Hart spent 15 months writing “The Last Child.’’ Like a first-shift mill worker, he’d hit his third-floor office overlooking South Elm and write every weekday, anywhere from 600 to 1,000 words on his laptop.

No Internet connection. No cell phone. Just him at his antique writing table, surrounded by family pictures, the foreign copies of his books and a coveted gift from his wife: a framed copy of Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.’’

He did what he calls “grope and hope.’’ As he wrote beneath seven words tacked above his desk — Don’t Get It Right, Get It Written — he spent his mornings letting the story come and the afternoons making the story shine.

Sometimes, he’d stretch out his 6-foot-2 frame on his leather couch for a quick afternoon nap. Or he’d leave to write at one of his favorite spots, like M’Coul’s Public House just down the street.

But mainly, for 15 months, he drained grape soda, walked his dog Tom or laid in bed for 20 minutes in the mornings — in what he calls his “free-floating state’’— wending his way through the tragic South of Johnny’s world.

Now, he heard about it from his wife, Katie. He’d be at the dinner table, beside his two daughters, Saylor, 8, and Sophie, 6, and he’d hear her say: “Engage! Engage! Speak to your family!’’

He would. It’s important to him. Look at his office, particularly the place where he writes.

There, above his writing desk, is a note from Saylor, framed by hearts, addressed to “Dear Daddy.’’ That keeps him grounded, nose in his laptop. He knows how blessed he is.

It was just three years ago, three days after he turned 40, when he quit his stockbroker’s job in Greensboro, became a full-time writer and read “The Road Not Taken’’ every day for inspiration.

He turned away from his life in a business suit and dove into what he first tried out as a 20-year-old when he worked at Wrightsville Beach, restoring sailboats, and wrote the outline of a post-apocalyptic novel on cocktail napkins in bars.

Since 2006, “King Of Lies’’ and “Down River’’ have been translated into 26 languages and published in more than 30 countries. Last year, “Down River’’ won the Oscar of mystery writing: The Edgar, named for writer Edgar Allan Poe.

And today, Hart pockets seven-figure advances from his publisher that afford him a life to write.

“The Last Child’’ came out Tuesday. It’s gotten a good push. His publisher bought the back page of the Arts section in The New York Times on Thursday to herald the release of Hart’s new book.

Meanwhile, he’s into the first leg of a 19-city book-signing swing through Georgia, Tennessee, Texas and the Carolinas. He’ll hit Barnes & Noble in Greensboro on Sunday afternoon.

But maybe, the best news came from his most critical reader, his first reader, his wife, Katie. She’s always been blunt. Don’t be “comic booky,’’ she’d tell him. “The Last Child,’’ this was her favorite.
“John,’’ she told him on his cell phone after she finished the book, “I think this is … this is … so … ’’

She didn’t finish. She started crying.

Grape soda, the nectar of Johnny Merrimon. It works.

Contact Jeri Rowe at 373-7374 or jeri.rowe@news-record.com