But I don't write short stories by Bill Cameron

Critically-acclaimed mystery novelist Bill Cameron is the author of the dark, gritty mysteries Chasing Smoke and Lost Dog, both featuring irascible Portland homicide cop Skin Kadash. Skin makes his third appearance in Day One (Tyrus Books), available June 2010. New York Times Bestselling Portland author Chelsea Cain describes Day One as "an utterly engrossing page-turner."



Chasing Smoke received a starred review from Library Journal, and Booklist declared, "it engages the reader on an emotional as well as literary level." It was a finalist for the 2009 Spotted Owl Award for best Northwest mystery.  Lost Dog was nominated for the 2008 Rocky Award and was a finalist for the 2008 Spotted Owl Award. His short fiction has appeared in Spinetingler Magazine, the Killer Year anthology, and Portland Noir, as well as on Lit 103.3: Fiction for the Ears. His latest story can be found in First Thrills (Forge Books).

Bill lives with his wife and poodle in Portland, Oregon, where he also serves as staff to a charming, yet imperious cat. He is an eager traveler and avid bird-watcher, and likes to write near a window so he can meditate on whatever happens to fly by during intractable passages.

Bill blogs every other Thursday at Criminal Minds, tweets at twitter.com/bcmystery  or you can learn more at www.billcameronmysteries.com.

 But I don't write short stories.
This thought used to come to me any time someone suggested I write a short story, and I'm talking all the way back to high school. In the eleventh grade, I had an assignment to write a story of an epic journey—three to five pages. I turned in 27, and felt that wasn't nearly enough. The teacher wrote at the bottom of page five: "I quit reading here." Sure, I got an A, but obviously the story was a failure because I hadn't managed to make her want to keep reading. Of course, I was a couple of decades away from understanding that teachers may have better things to do than read my yapping.

In college creative writing classes, I usually turned in chapters for my assigned short stories.

"This doesn't have an ending."


Because it's a chapter, I'd say.

"You're supposed to write a short story."

But I don't write short stories.

"You need to turn in a short story."

I'd respond with panic.

Last fall, when Anne Frasier asked me to contribute to an anthology she was spearheading, my first response was to be flattered. My second was to freak out. Wait. No, my third response was to freak out. My second was to say yes, which led to response number three.

The internal conversation went something like this:

Insecure Bill: Oh my god, what have I done?

Snarky Bill: You stuck your foot in your mouth.

Writer Bill: Great, I'm mocking myself via cliché.

Insecure Bill: Seriously, what am I going to do now?

Writer Bill: Write a story for Anne, I suppose.

Snarky Bill: There's a daredevil idea if I ever heard one.

Insecure Bill: But I don't write short stories.

Snarky Bill: So you'll fail. You're doomed, sucker!

Insecure Bill: It's true, it's true.

Writer Bill: Calm down. Let's think this out.

Insecure Bill: Let's? Let's?! There's only me!

I never have this problem with novels. Faced with a blank page and a hundred thousand words to write, all those various voices rattling around in my head say, "Meh," and we start writing. It's three-thousand-words-and-out which always scared me.

All this has come to mind because on June 22nd Forge Books released First Thrills, an anthology of thriller short stories by all kinds of cool folk. I had the good fortune of being included, which also meant I had the screaming horror of writing a short story. Turns out, after much pain and anguish, I came up with a contribution of which I'm proud: "The Princess of Felony Flats." It's a hardboiled retelling of a classic fairy tale in which a mysterious dwarf makes a risky play for the statuesque consort of a drug kingpin. (Lots of drug kingpins in classic fairy tales, don'tcha know.)

Despite the freak out, I wrote that story for Anne as well, and yes, I'm proud of the result. The anthology, Bats in the Belfry, won't be released until fall 2011, but it's worth keeping your eyes peeled. Once again, a great line-up of writers have contributed. I'm honored to be a part of it.

There was a time in my life when I'd written more novels than short stories, counting the hidden shoebox novels along with the ones which have made it on to bookstore shelves. With the release of First Thrills, I realized for the first time since high school, the balance has shifted. In the last two years, I've written three short stories and only two novels. Crazy, I know.

Even crazier, to me, is I have another short story in the works, and for the first time in two decades, it's a story I've started on my own initiative. (Even mentioning it means I've probably jinxed it, but too late now, I guess.) After nearly half a dozen stories written despite my terror, I've started to develop a taste for the short form. Not that I'm gonna be rash and start knocking out tales at an Ed Hochian pace. But, you know, once you force yourself to ignore the night sweats and weeping, writing a short story turns out to be fun. Still takes me about five times as long to produce a three-thousand word short story as three thousand words from a novel, but I've developed an appreciation for the need for brevity.

I also think the process has improved my longer efforts. During the final draft of Lost Dog, I discovered a fact which has held for all my work since: whatever I write is improved through the process of making it shorter. Working on these short stories has help me learn the need to write no more than necessary. To the extent Chasing Smoke and Day One both show my growth as a writer, I think those short stories contributed.

Maybe my mom was right. Sometimes things we don't want to do ARE good for us.

*About Day One*

A young woman flees abuse; a teen runaway hides a dark secret; an ex-cop chases his own past. All three converge at the harrowing end of a trail of violence stretching from the high desert to the streets of Portland. Learn more at: http://www.billcameronmysteries.com/day_one.shtml

*About First Thrills*

Introduced and edited by Lee Child with an afterword by Steve Berry, First Thrills features original, never-before-published short stories by New York Times bestselling authors Lee Child, Stephen Coonts, Jeffrey Deaver, Heather Graham, Gregg Hurwitz, John Lescroart, John Lutz (with Lise E. Baker), Alex Kava (with Deb Carlin), Michael Palmer (with Daniel James Palmer), Karin Slaughter, and Wendi Corsi Staub. The collection also serves as an introduction to those ITW has christened its rising stars, including Sean Michael Bailey, Ken Bruen, Ryan Brown, Bill Cameron, Rebecca Cantrell, Karen Dionne, JT Ellison, Theo Gangi, Rip Gerber, CJ Lyons, Grant McKenzie, Marc Paoletti, Cynthia Robinson, and Kelli Stanley. Learn more at: http://www.thrillerwriters.org/2009/12/first-thrills.html

Bill Cameron - Yes, I am; No, I'm Not

Bill Cameron is the author of the dark, Portland-based mysteries LOST DOG and CHASING SMOKE. His stories have appeared in Spinetingler, Killer Year, and the forthcoming Portland Noir. He is currently at work on his third Portland novel featuring Skin Kadash. Learn more at: http://www.billcameronmysteries.com


Yes, I am; No, I'm Not

by Bill Cameron

I'm not a thief. I just want to state that up front.

What I am is more banal. Here's my diagnosis: I have a mildly depressive personality with an accent of bipolar disorder. To these base ingredients, add both a strong resistance to authority and an overdeveloped sense of justice. Seasoning the stew are my almost narcissistic certainty and my flagellating self-doubt. Top it off with a sprinkle of impulse control disorder and a dollop of needing to make those around me happy and you have Bill Cameron goulash: father, husband, graphic designer, writer, and so forth. In short, I'm an inedible mess. But at least I'm not a thief.

So what? We're all a mess in our own ways. The healthiest among us surely struggle with inner demons. What makes mine so special? Nothing, really. Especially since I'm not that bad. At my worst, my troubles are well managed with talk therapy and the occasional prescription to manage anxiety. I know people with far greater challenges than my own.

Most of the time I get up in the morning and do my job, meet my responsibilities, satisfy some of the desires that give me pleasure in life. A little reading, chatting with friends, good coffee. It's not like I can't get things done. I just know that I have weaknesses and sometimes those weakness get the better of me. (Heaven forbid I get access to internet during a depressive swing.)

But sometimes they're my greatest strength. Lost Dog and Chasing Smoke, my two books to date, are examples of using my weaknesses to, I hope, good effect.

In Lost Dog, my main character Peter is a kleptomaniac. He's a little atypical in the way his condition presents, but Peter's kleptomania falls within the diagnosis described in the DSM-IV. He suffers a "failure to resist impulses to steal items even though the items are not needed for personal use or for their monetary value." Furthermore, this process starts with "a rising subjective sense of tension" followed by "relief when committing the theft." He doesn't steal "to express anger or vengeance," nor is the theft "done in response to a delusion or hallucination."

Skin, who appeared in Lost Dog but is the main character of Chasing Smoke, has his own troubles. He's fighting cancer, struggling with his place in the world, and trying to quit smoking after a lifetime of lighting up. His darkness sometimes consumes him, and why not? Few of us are sanguine in the face of our own mortality, especially while trying to break a powerful addiction.

As a writer, the most gratifying moments are when readers tell me they think I've captured some aspect of character well. I've heard from a number of folks who found Peter's struggle with kleptomania particularly convincing. When I've had the opportunity to speak in public, a not uncommon question has been, "How did you come to understand kleptomania so well?" This question is often accompanied by a nervous chuckle.

I've also been asked, "When did you quit smoking?" and "Have you had cancer yourself?" Aside from a few cough-inducing Marlboros while in junior high, I've never smoked. No cancer either. But I am very pleased readers found my presentation of these character problems successful. I believe it's because I've been able to build character and situation on a foundation of my own personal challenges. (To be fair, not all readers agree, and some disagree quite emphatically.)

I've never been a kleptomaniac; I'm not Peter McKrall and Peter McKrall is not me. But I have struggled with impulse control at times in my life. That sequence of "failure to resist -> rising tension -> self-destructive act -> relief" is very familiar, and the consequences are familiar as well. Nor am I Skin Kadash, though Skin and I share certain contradictions, including that whole certainty/self-doubt problem.

I'm the kind of writer who uses writing to work through many of my own issues. I don't want to suggest that my stories and books are all just some kind of self-therapy. My first commitment is to tell a good story about interesting characters. But I do try to come to understand my own problems better through the act of writing, and in the process create characters which are both powerful and believable. I want them to be real, and a big part of what makes that possible is facing my own weaknesses and learning from them. To the extent I am successful, I believe it's because I have been able to confront my own demons and, to some small extent, exert a measure of control over them.