James Patterson by James Patterson by James Patterson -- Read -- Imperial Library of Trantor

Index

Cover Title Page Copyright Table of Contents I want to tell you some stories...the way i remember them

hungry dogs run faster

let’s start with something crazy

five years at a cuckoo’s nest cuckoo’s nest east double specials

dirt poor for a while

robert caro or walter isaacson, i’m not you’re slipping, james my favorite dad story i don’t even know grandpa patterson’s first name the altar-boy story kissing veronica tabasco taking piano lessons from a nun in a convent the moviegoer the first color tv let’s play some ball play hard or go home “i know you better than you know yourself”

unpublished

living in the big city the fightin’ irish sucker-punched writing 101 the fillmore east story the end of art as i knew it three days of peace & love & loud music & rain hippie writer in the deep south the mystery thickens my time as a trappist monk good morning, vietnam master of english lit

mad men

i was in advertising—but i’ve been clean for over thirty years life on the way, way upper west side the next raymond chandler? my first, and last, autograph session a penthouse with no kitchen the last of “moon river” making thirty-second movies one night in chicago newburgh on my mind the best ad line i ever wrote when you’re going through hell—just keep going when insanity feels like sanity the hamburger wars the hellfires get even hotter hitch up that little grasshopper life after miller high life the fine art of negotiating life lessons escape from new york

i guess i’m a writer now

passion keeps you going…but it doesn’t pay the rent starting at the top norman mailer and james baldwin—fisticuffs in the days when people actually used landlines robert parker’s spenser new york writers walk the walk america tells the truth, finally the jane stories still jane still jane, for another couple of minutes writer’s block alexis cross speaking of bookstore windows the book-tour boogie book tours, they just won’t go away change is good, but change is hard ohhhhk-lahoma! fire in the hole sorry, i’m not jay-z people actually read in sweden the murder of stephen king fear of public speaking i want to be bono, if only i could sing on key and was better-looking outline, outline, outline

name-dropping

that’s john updike sitting over there, eating clams cruise control the stars are out stories told around amazon’s campfire tennis, anyone? texas-style the power of stories, and john grisham collaborating with president clinton golfing with presidents you called the president what? the tv camera doesn’t like writers much just another idiot wandering planet earth

still a hungry dog

hollywood called hollywood shorts alex cross goes hollywood the book is always better than the movie (except for the godfather, and maybe goodfellas—oh, yeah, and forrest gump) the president is missing, hollywood-style murder of a small town to tell the truth you can’t make this stuff up a letter to the new york times meet jimmy what i blabber about to kids at elementary schools across the country

the secret to writing suspense is—

—play with the reader’s mind here’s to the critics! the great cowriting mystery, solved

nobody moves, nobody gets hurt

the movieholic here’s a tip for other writers jock stories that catholic-school training really sticks with you

love stories

hugs nan and pop those blue fortune cookies gone but not forgotten mj mystery lady still dating—after all these years people who need people my best friend, my girl, my sweetheart of sweethearts sue speaks for herself sweet lorraine the other love of my life prep school dolly, hello

i’m not sure if any of this really happened

the country-club set born to be wild

i’m afraid you have terminal cancer

5,000 a plate to listen to me? seriously?

i was a tv star for a minute and a half i end a lot of speeches with this story the five balls a drive-by book signing or two finally, some good writing in this book gotcha, james! been around the block a few times take some chutzpah, add a pinch of hubris hey, i’m writing here

and now, a word from flaubert

how it feels to be a writer

oh no…there are more stories after the end

i saved the best for last

pop still whispers in my ear

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