Chuck Palahniuk

Such a big question. It's like a whole family of questions. I'll tackle the easy part that I've already figured out -- I write about something that appeals to me, but that I don't really understand why it attracts me. The writing becomes a trick. I fool myself into exploring an aspect of myself that I can't be fully conscious of. Make sense. It's only months or years later that I realize the horrible, personal issues I actually put on the page. It's therapy, but fun. And it always seems to follow its own path, plot-wise. The moment I try to control the story it's ruined. Hope that helps. And I do write dozens (hundreds) of drafts, but they all go to recycling when the final version is done. Leave no tracks. Thank you, muchly, Akira

Sigh. I remember when I thought bonds would rescue us.

Any character? Hands down, it would be Pygmy. I'm always haunted by the idea of a character from a country and background that no one would understand. Some kid from a blood-soaked home town, now having to live among bland office people talking about American Idol. Pygmy and I, we'd spend our day creating some huge surprise for a total stranger. Just random acts of scary-big nice. Define that as you wish.

Old airplane boarding passes. It's heartbreaking to open an old book and find the residue of past book tours or magazine assignments. And that impulse -- to press souvenirs in books, like flowers -- was a big aspect of 'Doomed.' I'm charmed whenever I discover something another reader has flattened between pages. Something you could never do with an Ebook. So that, those souvenirs, became an important element of 'Doomed.'

Easy one. 'Lullaby' It's a linear quest story with lots of room for the characters to unpack their backstories.

Sure, I'd come to Mexico. Why not?

And Victor is addicted to getting intimacy and affection -- the people who save him -- without having to reciprocate. He's a pig, but a damaged pig. And he's so conflicted about his mother. Gosh I'm glad this is fiction and not memoir or autobiography. It is fiction. Don't start thinking I'm a selfish pig. (oink)

What does that mean? IDDQD ?

You've stumped the panel.

To begin a new novel, I look for the biggest problem in my life that I can't solve or tolerate. Something that drives me nuts, but I can't fix. Then I find a metaphor that allows me to explore the problem, exaggerating and expanding it beyond reason. I build it up to the worst scenario possible and then find a way to solve it. By the time the book is done, I've exhausted all of my emotions around the original problem. Whatever it was, it no longer bothers me. And typically, during the time of writing, the problem has resolved itself. It's like magic. Try it. It will keep you alive in this world of bullshit.

Help me out here. Understand that I take Ambien by the truckload and often don't recognize myself in mirrors. How did I know Mal? That's a name I ought to remember. No offense. My mind is like a steel sieve.

You're welcome. And the package probably says more about how brilliant your daughter's letter was than how decent I am. And isn't it fun to exceeeeeeed people's expectations? I love that.

The hardest character? In 'Pygmy' I hated washing the rat down the garbage disposal. ( just lost a thousand would-be readers with that one ) And I hated killing the pug with rabies in 'Rant.' Pugs are the best. In reality I'd allow a rabid pug to eat me before I'd lift a finger to harm it.

The factor that forces me to write out an idea? Fear. Once I realize that the idea's grown too big to retain in my mind, and I begin to forget crucial parts of it. Then, I'm forced to sit and collect them on paper. It's the same reason I eat all my food in the final hour before its expiration date. I hate waste. I hate loss.

I wrote a memorial album and history about my father's life and death and had it published privately, just for family members. It was torture. But that's a hallmark of the important tasks: they suck to do, but you're happy you've done them.

You're talking to a babe in the woods. My thanks to Chelsea Cain and Matt Fraction for walking me through the process. And a special shout-out to David Mack -- Congratulations on hitting #1 with your last launch. I forgot to write and applaud you at the time because I'm a jealous dick.

And his skin!! Have you really looked at his skin? It's too perfect to be real.

Good question. You also overlook (bless you) that fact that I'm older and less likely to stagger out of the house in my sodden diaper. Yes, my writer friends of 20+ years are good company, but they won't live forever. I'll let you know when there's a vacancy in the Inner Circle.

Hi back. Stay awesome.

Put it on Ebay. Better yet, take it to the Antiques Road Show.

Music? I used to. When writing pure-ish Minimalist stuff -- which uses aspects of songs: repetitions, choruses, refrains -- I'd listen to one song on endless repeat. Plus the punk esthetic shaped my work: Start loud, run short, end abruptly. Now I'm branching into a wordy modernist style, using fancy-pants words and longer constructions I never could in Tom Spanbauer's workshop. A richer language means I need to really concentrate, so no more music.

Tough question. If I were your dog and you died, I'd go and lie down on your grave until I starved to death. I feel an intense loyalty to the old-school trappings of publishing -- my agent, my editor, booksellers. They've become close friends, and to bale on them for a bigger income seems bloodless. The same goes for my writing workshop. I can't contemplate life without Lidia Yuknavitch, Monica Drake and Chelsea Cain.

Maybe it's not a curse word, but I love when gay men called their buts "manginas." So foul. So wrong.

I'm excited -- and so should you be! -- to be present to the mega-Watt star power of Chelsea Cain and her 'Heartsick' imagination. Add to that the brooding, edgy humor of quiet Monica Drake, and you have an event that hasn't been matched since Irvine Welsh put together his 'Great Scots' tour ten years ago. Years from now people will be lying and saying they were there and wore pajamas and won prizes and were dazzled by how foolish an author tour could be.

My favorite? The angry stranger in Chicago who demanded "Do you masturbate to Brad Pitt's picture?!!"

Oh, that the New York Times could just be that honest.

My favorite? Sorry, that's always 'next year's book' but in this case, it really truly is. Next year's book, "Beautiful You," is my stab at 'gonzo erotica.' I'm trying to fuse hardcore handjob books with romance novels. My working title was "Fifty Shades of the Twilight Cave Bear Wears Prada." It's time that slash-type fiction hits the bookshelves.

Jeff Fisher. I was at his wedding. Portland is the size of a petri dish.

I used to agree with Mr. King, but I've come to embrace adverbs as a useful tool for making horrible scenes funny. Nothing occurs as comic as dramatic, heart wrenching scenes depicted in poor writing. Bad writing makes tragedy into comedy. And adverbs are a useful way to undermine the drama of even the saddest scene. This is why your memoir should be the LAST book you write. If you write about your terrible childhood before you've developed your writing chops, you'll have the world laughing at you.

Hey, any time I can prompt a breakdown, just let me know.

Just because I have the spare room, here, I want to shout out to "TEKST" for sending the glorious silver-foil print of the astronaut. It's framed and next to my fireplace -- hanging, not with the firewood. It's wonderful, but you -- TEKST -- did not send a phone number so I've neglected calling to thank you.

Argh the rain. Forgive me, but it's easier to stay home and work in Portland because I don't feel like I'm missing any giant events. In New York I might be tempted to go out every night and sleep all day, but in Portland I can be happy venturing out one or two nights each week.

Forgive me, but that's somewhat pussy-ish of you. God forbid you read the last story I had in Playboy, called "Cannibal." 'Makes 'Guts' look mild. But I have faith in you. Stay strong.

Right. Paula-Nick.

And since I have some extra room, here, I'm shouting out to Niki Mousikos and her class. Thank you for the World's Biggest Greeting Card. But I'm curious why all the students referred to my first book as "Fight Night." Hey, just asking...

Thanks for noticing. I love how people use standard phrases for getting past awkward moments in conversation. My generation uses "Whatever" and "Anyways..." for those transitions. But I also appreciate how individual peer groups create their own stock phrases that reinforce their group identity. When an awkward silence falls, my Catholic family says, "It must be seven minutes after the hour..." because of the belief that Christ died at that time and all talking falls to silence out of respect. I'm told that Jewish people say, "A Jewish baby has been born" when such silent lull occur. So to mimic this human habit/tendency/need I've tried to invent transitional choruses specific to my own characters.

I agree that both are quests for a realer identity, but I think 'Fight Club' has an emotional, vulnerable element. The narrator's quest is really for love and attachment with another person. Bret Ellis is a writer I always read, and 'The Informers' is always among my favorite books. Oh, geez, just the scene in the deli where the punk kids taunt the news anchorwoman, that scene is always haunting me. But I think my books risk a mushy sentimentality that Bret avoids like the plague.

Start with 'Lullaby' or 'Fight Club.' They're both airplane reads, three hours, tops. Or, cherry pick some stories out of 'Haunted.' That's my favorite way to explore a new writer. Read 'Nightmare Box,' and 'Hotpotting' and 'Guts' and 'Footwork.'

Better yet, read Nami Mun's fantastic collection of stories, "Miles From Nowhere." Then read Lidia Yuknavitch's novel "Dora."

I had that question all through "The Notebook."

At the risk of being politically incorrect: Drugs was going through my head. I had fallen in with bad companions and was still young enough to fall sway to their house hunting scheme for stealing prescription meds. My squandered youth.

I'd like to satirize the faction of society that calls for curtailing carbon output while crisscrossing the globe in private jets and Hummers. If I hear one more rich person wail about climate change while living in a zillion-square-foot house... boom, boom, boom. (that's the sound of me shooting myself)

What a sheltered life you've lived. In the 1970's, my high school was akin to a prison, rife with date rape (before it was date rape) and queer bashing (before it was queer bashing). Students just took their lumps and held their tongues. And if you complained the principal swatted you with a wooden paddle. Seriously, after Columbia High School in Burbank, Washington ("GO Coyotes!!"), prison and hell hold few terrors for me.

How did that movie ever get a green light? I'm still shocked that it got made. But it's wonderful -- except I wish the dying people had come back at the end. Jim Uhls, are you listening?

Let's just say that I'm not a huge fan of other people's bodily fluids.

When did I resign myself to writing? When I realized that I would not live forever and would have to narrow down my aspirations. My goal was just to write one decent sentence each week. That turned into one decent story. Tom Spanbauer's workshop kept me writing, and those stories became chapters in novels. Also -- and this is so important -- I bought a tiny house in a neighborhood with no television reception and no cable service. Books became my only entertainment, and I was so unimpressed with most books that I resolved to try and write the type of book I'd love to read.

Aww shucks. Have you read "Story of My Life" by Jay McInerney? That was the voice of MY generation.

Don't hate me, spoiler alert, but here's what happens:

Buster goes back to the moment when his maternal grandmother was fated to first meet his maternal grandfather. He steps in and foils the introduction, thus preventing his own birth. This action places him outside of physical time and place. Leaving him immortal. From there he seeks out other immortals. I've written most of the book but that's enough for now.

I love it. I wish that comic would come back. Sigh. Why does Garfield never die? Or Cathy?

You can write five pages in a day? That would kill me. I'm lucky if I can get one good page, on average, in a day. If you go as high as ten you risk burning out. Baby steps, 'kay?

Ask yourself: Where does it hurt?

Here, thank you, is the 'out' I need. It's nine o'clock, and I've been keyboarding for 3.5 hours. Writer Union rules require that I stop and drink some alcohol. Thank you, everyone including the masturbator, for hanging out. Tomorrow, Oct. 4th, I'll be doing a Spreecast with Chelsea Cain at 6:PM PST. We'll follow that with a Facebook Q & A at 7:PM. Please know, my heart also hurts. My heart. But booze and pills are calling. Good night. Sleep well, my beloveds.

I've sent very realistic severed hands and arms, but they were adult-life-sized. My favorite gifts were hundreds of "livestock" trophies, featuring gilded rabbits, roosters and veals. Each animal mounted on a walnut pedestal. I found them all at a bankrupt trophy shop. Those made many people happy. But baby doll arms... I don't recall.

Other people's stories about their lives, those inspire and delight me. My training is in journalism so I'm drawn to good stories, and I'm driven to remember and archive them. Then to share them. The real joy of book touring -- besides being around the brilliant Chelsea Cain and Monica Drake -- is knowing that strangers will tell me many shocking and emotionally moving true stories.

Saying the rule twice was just a fun, cute experiment. I'd no idea it would become a global catchphrase. Also, there's a literary technique called "Apatio" (forgive my spelling). It states that a certain topic will not be broached. For example, if a story begins "We're not going to discuss what happened to Robert White..." Then you know that eventually we will. Apatio is a nice tease, so nice that I thought I'd use it twice.

And Thank You. San Diego is beautiful. Especially at ComiCon time.

Which bookstore? I wanted to send you a mess of pregnancy tests with Lidia Yuknavitch's memoir, "Chronology of Water," but they cost a fortune. Just wait until you hear about the massive amounts of special effects that Chelsea and I have shipped to this year's tour venues. It will be like a dozen reading raves.

You flogged me with that every day in third grade. I am immune.

Just me talk'n. Just one opinion, but forget suicide. It's so unsatisfying and always feels too easy. There are exceptions, like the assisted suicide in "Dolores Claiborne." But as a rule....

The skinniest man I've ever met. I had to know his diet secret, and when he said "radical bowel re-sectioning" I was hooked.

I finally got to be the "guy who wrote 'Guts' but I'm not worried. This year, what Madison does to her grandfather in a public toilet might make 'Doomed' the book that eclipses 'Guts.'

Some good new-ish books:

"The Stud Book" by Monica Drake "Miles From Nowhere" by Nami Mun "Kill You Twice" by Chelsea Cain

Let's talk about the glories of technical writing... but first I need a drink. Wait one moment.

Back again. As I was saying, the assembly line work was tedious and exhausting, but it left my mind free to dream up stories. After three years of that I moved to a desk job where I wrote service procedures. This still involved going to a garage and repairing trucks, but it trained me to dissect each physical process or task. Step one: park the vehicle and set the parking brakes. Step two: Remove the two hexhead bolts.... Such writing made me aware of unpacking the physical aspects of a scene -- making characters do things with their hands and feet. And it helped me write comfortably in an instructive mode. Most fiction is descriptive: Susan walked in the room. But you can insert instructive writing for a new 'texture' in the storytelling. For example the bomb recipes and how-to parts of 'Fight Club.' They're all inspired by the countless service bulletins and recalls I wrote for Freightliner. And the job paid well enough that I could attend workshop and write in my spare time. For me, it was a great job. I hated to leave it.

You touched my heart, dude. 'Lullaby' is among my favorites and it's my friends' favorite by a wide margin. But, no, I don't feel protective of any particular book. My feelings are spelled out in my story "Romance" where a man falls in love with a beautiful woman but all his friends insist she's brain damaged. That's how I feel when my beautiful new baby goes to the New York Times and they announce that it was actually born dead and deformed. Such receptions thicken your skin real fast.

Honest? I was the last kid in my class who learned how to read and write. I was so relieved and filled with joy that I decided I'd make my life's career out of this hard-won skill. ( I couldn't read until third grade and I still can't spell thanx to something called Phonics )

DO NOT PASTE THEM ON GRAVES!!! A FEW YEARS AGO SOMEONE STUCK MY STICKERS ON A WHOLE CEMETERY OF TOMBSTONES. NOT EVEN TYLER DURDEN WOULD STOOP SO LOW.. Flaming done.

First, how old are you? If you're under 31 years old you should still be gathering story material. Second, what would make the writing process fun? I hated to write. Whipped myself to sit and write. Finally I gave myself permission to only write at parties. I've never been to as many parties as I attended while writing my first three books. People tell stories to entertain, and they're thrilled when you remember and use their anecdotes. So, what would make writing fun for you?

Check out Powell's.com the Portland independent bookstore. They have signed copies. And bless you for shopping with St. Helens. I miss them something awful.

One banana and six cups of coffee. A recipe for cramps and gas.

Yes, that was my model. Three characters. Apostolic fiction. Big fight scenes instead of party scenes. And the blond guy gets shot to death at the end. No kidding. I started with Gatsby as my blueprint.

I live to disappoint people.

Just wait until you meet Chelsea Cain. She's stolen so many best friends from me, it's criminal. I hate her.

Every character has to stand on a platform of rationalizations. That's half the fun of creating someone like Tyler Durden. I might not agree with what he says, but it's fun to wear his clothes and state things from his viewpoint.

Moderators? Help this person.

Gnarly, dude. I'm still so not going to talk sex with you. Yo.

( Always throw in 'Yo' it's crucial! )

Sorry, no castle. But I'm in the WA/OR area.

A dream come true. No kidding. That magazine is the bravest. No other glossy would allow me to depict the scenes they do. Nobody appreciates that more than I do. Next month, they'll be publishing the story, "Zombies," that I'm reading on the tour next week.

I am so flattered. Sperm have died thanks to my work -- or are you a chick?

First off, I am sorry about your father. Do you still have strange episodes where you think you glimpse him in a crowd? Then you follow him and discover it's not him? Those sightings break my heart every time.

And I never planned to get "here" with my writing career. Whether or not I ever sold my work, I'd still be writing just for the opportunity to be in Tom's workshop each week. I've never had friends as lasting as my fellow writers. The motivation to write was simply the desire to sit with other writers and share the topic that few other people seemed to appreciate.