Cannibalism. The ultimate low-carb diet.

And the Oscar for Best Partially Clothed Actress goes to...Ursula Andress!I’ve been thinking about cannibalism lately. Because I just realized I do it in my writing.

I cannibalize older stories that were not fit for human consumption and I extract parts, places or sub-characters and plug them into whatever I’m working on. I did this with Rabbit Years––which I wrote four times before putting it into a medically induced coma. Then I harvested one of the chapters and plugged it into HOTEL (with a lot of tweaking). Oddly enough, it was a lunch scene.

And I’m doing it with my currently unnamed WIP. I’ve lifted another subtle dining scene where the relationship of two characters comes to life. Different characters. Same symbolism. What is it with me and food?

Part of this is an artifact of the way I write.

Orson Scott Card encouraged all of us at his Literary Bootcamp to “write it right the first time.” He eschewed the concept of a rough first draft and subsequent rewrites––where you sort of fill in the blanks. He encouraged us to get it right the first time, even if you have to back up and start again. He even showed us four different opening chapters of his New York Times Bestselling––Ender’s Shadow. Each time he backed up and started again, but when he finished, aside from line edits, he was done. Fin.

I tried that with HOTEL and it worked. I backed up 4-5 pages once in a while, but the draft I finished was essentially the draft that landed my agent. The same version that went on to sell at auction. Only the name had changed. But along the way, I pulled a few symbolic elements from my other stories. Or at least notes that wanted to be stories.

Do you do this? I have a feeling this must be pretty common.

And to the fine marketing folks that changed the name of The Cannibal Islands to the more tourism-friendly name of Fiji. Nicely done. Or medium rare, I'm not picky.

Becoming one with my keyboard

I’m busy writing something new. I'm several chapters in and the darn thing won’t seem to let me think of much else. (Who says a little OCD can’t go a long way?)

In the meantime, check out Irene Gallo’s blog. She’s an art director for Tor and writes about cover design, among other things.

Back to writing…

It's sorta...my um...first um...radio interview

Yes, it's my very first radio interview, courtesy of the local NPR affiliate. If the streaming is unbearably slow, let me know. If my voice is unbearably dorky, sorry, can't do anything about that one.

(And the advice on "allowing yourself to suck," comes straight from Brandon Sanderson. Gotta give credit where credit is due).

It wasn't Ed McMahon, but...

The FedEx man brought me some good news today––in the form of a check.

As in the check. An official you’re-an-actual -paid-and-soon-to-be-published-writer check.  It wasn’t one of those giant ones, like the kind you pose with for some charity benefit. It was the normal kind, sans-commission from my agent (who earned every penny).

It came in a big legal document mailer, along with a copy of my contract. Which was signed in goat’s blood. It’s a new Random House thing. (Just kidding. Had to see if you were paying attention…)

I still can’t quite believe it. Maybe I’ll believe it when my book is on the shelf somewhere. In the meantime I keep thinking about all those other jobs. In fact, here’s my complete curriculum vitae:

6th Grade. Paper route. Oh sure, it sounds like a slice of All-American pie. Until you consider that I delivered papers in the rainy, foggy, slug-trailed Seattle area. Soaking. Freezing. The drip-dry opposite of sweatshop labor.

8th Grade. Dishwasher. Yep, it’s just as glamorous as it sounds. The cooks used to play jokes on one another. One involved pouring melted butter all over another guy’s motorcycle. Ah, good times. But I made bank for a 14-year old.

10th Grade. Busboy. Yes, I’m moving up the ladder. Tips even. Except from one waitress named Pam, that we all called Spam. To this day I can still impress my friends with my napkin-folding ability. I also can’t look at a can of whipped crème without secretly yearning to suck out the nitrous.

College. Waiter. The ultimate college job. I earned $100 in tips each night working at Sea Galley (the Red Lobster of 1988). This commercial pretty much sums it up. My favorite memories of waiting involve a schizoid regular that ordered two meals and talked to the other person that wasn’t there. And waiting on The Professor from Gilligan’s Island. I'm still holding out for Ginger.

College Grad. Art Director. Two weeks out of college I was hired as art director of a small newspaper publisher. Secrets from the newspaper biz: The pressmen all eat their sandwiches on wheat bread (so they don’t see the ink from their hands on their lunch). And editors really do say, “stop the presses.” The most memorable time was when the paste-up crew had gone home and I had to change the front-page headline from some long-forgotten story about peace negotiations to basically, “Yes, we’ve begun bombing the crap out of Iraq.” (The first time…)

Art Director. Anchorage, Alaska. The good part was that in the Chutes-n-Ladders of career paths, this one was like that long ladder straight to the top row. Alaska had large clients, large budgets, and no one to work on them. I went from junior to senior AD in a year. The bad part is that whole 30-days of darkness thing, but I was about to make up for it...

Senior Art Director. Honolulu, Hawaii. A job-offer in paradise was like a get-out-of-jail-free card. I slaved away doing photo and TV shoots in such dreadful places as Kauai, Lanai, Molokai, Maui and The Big Island. My sunscreen bill alone was horrendous.

Sr. V.P. Creative Director. Yep, still in Hawaii. Doing that corporate ladder thing. My title kept getting longer. Business cards printed in Japanese (on the back). Once I was booted up to management I learned that management is not for the faint of heart. One of our other VPs tried to throw herself down a flight of stairs. Another VP almost let her.

Creative Director, Partner. Montana. I traded in my suntan and commute for prairie, rivers and mountains. Living in Montana is like living in a cleaner, Gore-Tex clad version of the 70s. I actually did the elongated title thing here as well. For a while it was Executive Creative Director, Managing Partner. Then it was shortened to just...President. And to be honest, on most days I missed my paper-route.