Author Spencer Quinn answered some of our most burning questions in a rapid fire Q&A! Read his answers below, and get ready for the release of Of Mutts and Men on July 7th!
What’s your preferred method for writing? Do you handwrite or type?
My preferred method hasn’t been invented yet. It would involve prose traveling directly from the mind to the blank page. Until then, I type. My handwriting cannot be read by human eyes.
What’s your favorite cure for writer’s block?
I step back and think of the engine that drives the story. Unfortunately, some novels don’t have engines, but in the case of Chet and Bernie, the engine is the love between the two main characters. When I remember that, some narrative route always suggests itself.
What song/album/musical artist inspires you?
Music is very important to me. I often listen while I write. Right now I seem to be enjoying the old Marty Robbins song “Begging to You,” both in Marty’s version and also Cyndi Lauper’s cover.
What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever received?
My mother, who taught me almost everything I know about writing by the time I was eleven or so, said, “Push every situation as far as you can.”
Favorite way to unwind outdoors?
It used to be skiing and playing tennis. Now it’s bike riding and playing tennis. I’ve ridden at least ten miles just about every day since the lockdown, often on Cape Cod’s beautiful Shining Sea Bike Path. (I still ski in my dreams.)
Favorite way to unwind indoors?
Sleeping at night! Isn’t that how we’re supposed to unwind? Knitting up the raveled sleeve of care, and all that? I’ve always been a great sleeper (not a napper).
Best dog name you’ve ever heard?
Chet! A surprising number of readers seem to have named dogs after him.
Everybody loves dogs, and W. Bruce Cameron writes the stories of our favorite furry friends like no other. To celebrate our canine companions, we’re offering the chance to win a stack of six heartwarming dog’s-eye-view stories by the author of A Dog’s Purpose, including early copies of A Dog’s Way Homeand Molly’s Story. Take a look at the prize:
Sign up to receive the Macmillan Pets newsletter to enter for your chance to win now:
As any lover of dogs will tell you, there’s nothing quite like the friendships between human beings and their canine companions. A Dog’s Purposeby W. Bruce Cameron gives us humans a chance at a dog’s eye view of the world, and next month it’s coming to the big screen! We sat down with the author to talk about adaptations and, of course, dogs – on and off set.
How has the movie, A Dog’s Purpose, changed your life?
I have always been so interested in reading that I forget that most people don’t dispose all of their income at the bookstore. When one of my novels is published I’m surprised it isn’t mentioned on the floor of Congress or put into the minutes at the UN. What seems hugely important to me doesn’t really register with most folks. So for a long time I’ve had to tell people what I’ve written and what it’s about. Now, though, when I say I’ve written A Dog’s Purpose, they’ve all heard of it. That has given me the illusion that I am more popular.
What was it like to interact with the canine stars on set?
Okay, you caught me. I was supposed to be talking to the actors, the producer, the director, and instead I spent all my time playing with the dogs. I bonded with the Corgi to the point I think he and I both thought he would be flying home with me, and rolling around with the dogs on set was the most fun I’ve had in some time. I don’t think the dog trainers were too happy with me, though. I was a bit of a distraction.
What, creatively, is the difference between writing a novel and adapting a screenplay?
Adaption is like sitting down and deciding which of your fingers to cut off. It’s all about what to throw out, because if you try to take all of A Dog’s Purpose and cram it into a movie, you’re going to have a five-hour movie. There is so much story that has to go, so much character detail. It’s like tossing ballast out of a hot air balloon—for it to fly, you have to dump stuff. I think the movie is magnificent, but it is not the whole picture. For that, you have to read the novel. I think understanding, for example, what is going on in Todd’s head, or why the dog’s first starts thinking about purpose, or why Buddy returns to the dog park, will really enrich the movie-going experience.
Will there will be a sequel to the A Dog’s Purpose movie?
If enough people go to the movie when it comes out, everything is in place to begin work on the sequel almost immediately. So, fingers crossed.
You have your own dog at home, Tucker. How did he come into your life?
Tucker was abandoned as a newborn with his siblings in a box outside of a city shelter, an act of heartlessness that is the inspiration for my novel The Dogs of Christmas. (Spoiler alert: it’s really happy). My daughter runs an animal rescue in Denver (www.lifeisbetter.org) and picked up the puppies and gave them to a mother dog who had just weaned her pups the day before. The mother dog nursed the little abandoned puppies until they were old enough to be adopted, and by that time, my daughter knew Tucker was the dog for us. She had a real talent for that: matching people with pets. She brought Tucker to us and he’s been in charge of the house ever since.
What else do you have in the works?
I have a set of books for younger readers that are based on the A Dog’s PurposeEllie’s Story details the life of Ellie, the search-and-rescue dog. Bailey’s Story tells the life of Bailey, the childhood pet. Both of those are just out. And in the fall of 2017 we’ll see the publication of Molly’s Story, the cancer-sniffing dog. On the adult front, A Dog’s Way Home will be out in May. It tells the story of a dog banished by breed-specific legislation who, taken far away from her family, decides to find her way back—through hundreds of miles of wilderness. And in June, A Dad’s Purpose, which is a humorous look at what it is like to be a father in today’s world.
I’ve read A Dog’s Purpose—what should I read next?
I would highly recommend the next novel in the series: A Dog’s Journey continues the story of the dog in A Dog’s Purpose, pretty much picking up right where the first book left off. A Dog’s Journey actually has a high reader-rating than A Dog’s Purpose, but I’ll leave it up to the individual to decide which one is better.
A Dog’s Purpose — which spent a year on the New York Times Best Seller list—is heading to the big screen! Based on the beloved bestselling novel by W. Bruce Cameron, A Dog’s Purpose, from director Lasse Hallström (The Cider House Rules, Dear John, The 100-Foot Journey), shares the soulful and surprising story of one devoted dog (voiced by Josh Gad) who finds the meaning of his own existence through the lives of the humans he teaches to laugh and love. The family film told from the dog’s perspective also stars Britt Robertson, KJ Apa, John Ortiz, Peggy Lipton, Juliet Rylance, Luke Kirby, Pooch Hall and Dennis Quaid. A Dog’s Purpose is produced by Gavin Polone (Zombieland, TV’s Gilmore Girls). The film from Amblin Entertainment and Walden Media will be distributed by Universal Pictures.
Heartwarming, insightful, and often laugh-out-loud funny, A Dog’s Purpose is not only the emotional and hilarious story of a dog’s many lives, but also a dog’s-eye commentary on human relationships and the unbreakable bonds between man and man’s best friend. This moving and beautifully crafted story teaches us that love never dies, that our true friends are always with us, and that every creature on earth is born with a purpose.
Bailey’s story continues in A Dog’s Journey, the charming New York Times and USA Today bestselling direct sequel to A Dog’s Purpose.
A Dog’s Purpose will be available on December 6th. Please enjoy this excerpt.
CHAPTER ONE
One day it occurred to me that the warm, squeaky, smelly things squirming around next to me were my brothers and sister. I was very disappointed.
Though my vision had resolved itself only to the point whereI could distinguish fuzzy forms in the light, I knew that the large and beautiful shape with the long wonderful tongue was my mother. I had figured out that when the chill air struck my skin it meant she had gone somewhere, but when the warmth returned it would be time to feed. Often finding a place to suckle meant pushing aside what I now knew was the snout of a sibling seeking to crowd me out of my share, which was really irritating. I couldn’t see that my brothers and sister had any purpose whatsoever. When my mother licked my stomach to stimulate the flow of fluids from under my tail, I blinked up at her, silently beseeching her to please get rid of the other puppies for me. I wanted her all to myself.
Gradually, the other dogs came into focus, and I grudgingly accepted their presence in the nest. My nose soon told me I had one sister and two brothers. Sister was only slightly less interested in wresting with me than my brothers, one of whom I thought of as Fast, because he somehow always moved more quickly than I could. The other one I mentally called Hungry, because he whimpered whenever Mother was gone and would suckle her with an odd desperation, as if it were never enough. Hungry slept more than my siblings and I did, so we often jumped on him and chewed on his face.
Our den was scooped out underneath the black roots of a tree, and was cool and dark during the heat of the day. The first time I tottered out into the sunlight, Sister and Fast accompanied me, and naturally Fast shoved his way to the front.
Of the four of us, only Fast had a splash of white on his face, and as he trotted jauntily forward this patch of fur flashed in the daylight. I’m special, Fast’s dazzling, star- shaped spot seemed to be declaring to the world. The rest of him was as mottled and unremarkably brown and black as I was. Hungry was several shades lighter and Sister shared Mother’s stubby nose and flattened forehead, but we all looked more or less the same, despite Fast’s prancing.
Our tree was perched on a creek bank, and I was delighted when Fast tumbled head over heels down the bank, though Sister and I plummeted with no more grace when we tried to make the same descent. Slippery rocks and a tiny trickle of water offered wonderful odors, and we followed the wet trail of the creek into a moist, cool cave— a culvert with metal sides. I knew instinctively that this was a good place to hide from danger, but Mother was unimpressed with our find and hauled us unceremoniously back to the Den when it turned out our legs weren’t powerful enough to enable us to scale back up the bank.
We had learned the lesson that we couldn’t return to the nest on our own when we went down the bank, so as soon as Mother left the nest we did it again. This time Hungry joined us, though once he was in the culvert he sprawled in the cool mud and fell asleep.
Exploring seemed like the right thing to do— we needed to find other things to eat. Mother, getting impatient with us, was standing up when we weren’t even finished feeding, which I could only blame on the other dogs. If Hungry weren’t so relentless, if Fast weren’t so bossy, if Sister didn’t wiggle so much, I knew Mother would hold still and allow us to fill our bellies. Couldn’t I always coax her to lie down, usually with a sigh, when I reached up for her while she stood above us?
Often Mother would spend extra time licking Hungry while I seethed at the injustice.
By this time, Fast and Sister had both grown larger than I— my body was the same size, but my legs were shorter and stubbier. Hungry was the runt of the litter, of course, and it bothered me that Fast and Sister always abandoned me to play with each other, as if Hungry and I belonged together out of some sort of natural order in the pack.
Since Fast and Sister were more interested in each other than the rest of the family, I punished them by depriving them of my company, going off by myself deep into the culvert. I was sniffing at something deliciously dead and rotten one day when right in front of me a tiny animal exploded into the air— a frog!
Delighted, I leaped forward, attempting to pounce on it with my paws, but the frog jumped again. It was afraid, although all I wanted to do was play and probably wouldn’t eat it.
Fast and Sister sensed my excitement and came stampeding into the culvert, knocking me over as they skidded to a stop in the slimy water. The frog hopped and Fast lunged at it, using my head as a springboard. I snarled at him, but he ignored me.
Sister and Fast fell all over themselves to get at the frog, who managed to land in a pool of water and kick away in silent, rapid strokes. Sister put her muzzle in the pond and snorted, sneezing water over Fast and me. Fast climbed on her back, the frog— my frog!— forgotten.
Sadly, I turned away. It looked as though I lived in a family of dimwits.
I was to think of that frog often in the days that followed, usually just as I drifted off to sleep. I found myself wondering how it would have tasted.
More and more frequently, Mother would growl softly when we approached, and the day she clicked her teeth together in warning when we came at her in a greedy tumble I despaired that my siblings had ruined everything. Then Fast crawled to her, his belly low, and she lowered her snout to him. He licked her mouth and she rewarded him by bringing up food, and we rushed forward to share. Fast pushed us away, but we knew the trick, now, and when I sniffed and licked my mother’s jaws she gave me a meal.
At this point we had all become thoroughly familiar with the creek bed, and had tracked up and down it until the whole area was redolent with our odors. Fast and I spent most of our time dedicated to the serious business of play, and I was beginning to understand how important it was to him for the game to wind up with me on my back, his mouth chewing my face and throat. Sister never challenged him, but I still wasn’t sure I liked what everyone seemed to assume was the natural order of our pack. Hungry, of course, didn’t care about his status, so when I was frustrated I bit his ears.
One afternoon I was drowsily watching Sister and Fast yank on a scrap of cloth they’d found when my ears perked up— an animal of some kind was coming, something large and loud. I scrambled to my feet, but before I could race down the creek bed to investigate the noise Mother was there, her body rigid with warning. I saw with surprise that she had Hungry in her teeth, carrying him in a fashion that we’d left behind weeks ago. She led us into the dark culvert and crouched down, her ears flat against her head. The message was clear, and we heeded it, shrinking back from the tunnel opening in silence.
When the thing came into view, striding along the creek bed, I felt Mother’s fear ripple across her back. It was big, it stood on two legs, and an acrid smoke wafted from its mouth as it shambled toward us.
I stared intently, absolutely fascinated. For reasons I couldn’t fathom I was drawn to this creature, compelled, and I even tensed, preparing to bound out to greet it. One look from my mother, though, and I decided against it. This was something to be feared, to be avoided at all costs.
It was, of course, a man. The first one I’d ever seen.
The man never glanced in our direction. He scaled the bank and disappeared from view, and after a few moments Mother slid out into the sunlight and raised her head to see if the danger had passed. She relaxed, then, and came back inside, giving each of us a reassuring kiss.
I ran out to see for myself, and found myself disheartened when all that remained of the man’s presence was a lingering scent of smoke in the air.
Over and over again the next few weeks, Mother reinforced the message we’d learned in that culvert: Avoid men at all costs. Fear them.
The next time Mother went to hunt, we were allowed to go with her. Once we were away from the security of the Den, her behavior became timid and skittish, and we all emulated her actions. We steered clear of open spaces, slinking along next to bushes. If we saw a person, Mother would freeze, her shoulders tense, ready to run. At these times Fast’s patch of white fur seemed as obtrusive as a bark, but no one ever noticed us.
Mother showed us how to tear into the filmy bags behind houses, quickly scattering inedible papers and revealing chunks of meat, crusts of bread, and bits of cheese, which we chewed to the best of our ability. The tastes were exotic and the smells were wonderful, but Mother’s anxiety affected all of us, and we ate quickly, savoring nothing. Almost immediately Hungry brought up his meal, which I thought was pretty funny until I, too, felt my insides gripped in a powerful spasm.
It seemed to go down easier the second time.
I’d always been aware of other dogs, though I’d never personally met any except those in my own family. Sometimes when we were out hunting they barked at us from behind fences, most likely jealous that we were trotting around free while they were imprisoned. Mother, of course, never let us approach any of the strangers, while Fast usually bristled a little, somehow insulted that anybody would dare call out to us while he lifted his leg on their trees.
Occasionally I even saw a dog in a car! The first time this happened I stared in wonderment at his head hanging out the window, tongue lolling out. He barked joyously when he spotted me, but I was too astounded to do anything but lift my nose and sniff in disbelief.
Cars and trucks were something else Mother evaded, though I didn’t see how they could be dangerous if there were sometimes dogs inside them. A large, loud truck came around frequently and took away all the bags of food people left out for us, and then meals would be scarce for a day or two. I didn’t like that truck, nor the greedy men who hopped off it to scoop up all the food for themselves, despite the fact that they and their truck smelled glorious.
There was less time for play, now that we were hunting. Mother snarled when Hungry tried to lick her lips, hoping for a meal, and we all got the message. We went out often, hiding from sight, desperately searching for food. I felt tired and weak, now, and didn’t even try to challenge Fast when he stood with his head over my back, thrusting his chest at me. Fine, let him be the boss. As far as I was concerned, my short legs were better suited for the low, slinking run our mother had taught us anyway. If Fast felt he was making some sort of point by using his height to knock me over, he was fooling himself. Mother was the dog in charge.
There was barely room for all of us underneath the tree now, and Mother was gone for longer and longer periods of time. Something told me that one of these days she wouldn’t come back. We would have to fend for ourselves, Fast always pushing me out of the way, trying to take my share. Mother wouldn’t be there to look after me.
I began to think of what it would be like to leave the Den.
The day everything changed began with Hungry stumbling into the culvert to lie down instead of going on the hunt, his breathing labored, his tongue sticking out of his mouth. Mother nuzzled Hungry before she left, and when I sniffed at him his eyes remained shut.
Over the culvert was a road, and along the road we’d once found a large dead bird, which we’d all torn into until Fast picked it up and ran off with it. Despite the danger of being seen, we tended to range up and down this road, looking for more birds, which was what we were doing when Mother suddenly raised her head in alarm. We all heard it the same instant: a truck approaching.
But not just any truck— this same vehicle, making the same sounds, had been back and forth along our road several times the past few days, moving slowly, even menacingly, as if hunting specifically for us.
We followed Mother as she darted back to the culvert, but for reasons I’ll never fully understand, I stopped and looked back at the monstrous machine, taking an extra few seconds before I followed Mother into the safety of the tunnel.
Those few seconds proved to make all the difference— they had spotted me. With a low, rumbling vibration, the truck came to a stop directly overhead. The engine clanked and went quiet, and then we heard the sounds of boots on gravel.
Mother gave a soft whimper.
When the human faces appeared at either end of the culvert, Mother went low, tensing her body. They showed their teeth at us, but it didn’t seem to be a hostile gesture. Their faces were brown, marked with black hair, black brows, and dark eyes.
“Here, boy,” one of them whispered. I didn’t know what it meant, but the call seemed as natural as the sound of the wind, as if I had been listening to men speak my whole life.
Both men had poles, I now saw, poles with ropes looped on the end. They appeared threatening, and I felt Mother’s panic boil over. Her claws scrabbling, she bolted, her head down, aiming for the space between the legs of one of the men. The pole came down, there was a quick snap, and then my mother was twisting and jerking as the man hauled her out into the sunlight.
Sister and I backed up, cowering, while Fast growled, his fur bristling on the back of his neck. Then it occurred to all three of us that while the way behind us was still blocked, the tunnel mouth in front of us was now clear. We darted forward.
“Here they come!” the man behind us yelled.
Once out in the creek bed, we realized we didn’t really know what to do next. Sister and I stood behind Fast— he wanted to be the boss, so okay, let him deal with this.
There was no sign of Mother. The two men were on opposite banks, though, each wielding his pole. Fast dodged one but then was snagged by the other. Sister took advantage of the melee to escape, her feet splashing in the water as she scampered away, but I stood rooted, staring up at the road.
A woman with long white hair stood there above us, her face wrinkled in kindness. “Here, puppy, it’s okay. You’ll be all right. Here, puppy,” she said.
I didn’t run; I didn’t move. I allowed the loop of rope to slip over my face and tighten on my neck. The pole guided me up the bank, where the man seized me by the scruff of the neck.
“He’s okay; he’s okay,” the woman crooned. “Let him go.”
“He’ll run off,” the man warned.
“Let him go.”
I followed this bit of dialogue without comprehension, only understanding that somehow the woman was in charge, though she was older and smaller than either of the two men. With a reluctant grunt, the man lifted the rope off my neck. The woman offered her hands to me: rough, leathery palms coated with a flowery smell. I sniffed them, then lowered my head. A clear sense of caring and concern radiated off of her.
When she ran her fingers along my fur I felt a shiver pass through me. My tail whipped the air of its own accord, and when she astonished me by lifting me into the air I scrambled to kiss her face, delighting in her laughter.
The mood turned somber when one of the men approached, holding Hungry’s limp body. The man showed it to the woman, who clucked mournfully. Then he took it to the truck, where Mother and Fast were in a metal cage, and held it up to their noses. The scent of death, recognizable to me as any memory, wafted off of Hungry in the dry, dusty air.
We all carefully smelled my dead brother, and I understood the men wanted us to know what had happened to Hungry.
Sadness came from all of them as they stood there silently in the road, but they didn’t know how sick Hungry had been, sick from birth and not long for the world.
I was put in the cage, and Mother sniffed disapprovingly at the woman’s smell, which had been pressed into my fur. With a lurch, the truck started up again, and I was quickly distracted by the wonderful odors flowing through the cage as we moved down the road. I was riding in a truck! I barked in delight, Fast and Mother jerking their heads in surprise at my outburst. I couldn’t help myself; it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened in my whole life, including almost catching the frog.
Fast seemed overcome with sadness, and it took me a moment to understand: Sister, his favorite companion, was gone, as lost to us as was Hungry.
There was, I reflected, much more complexity to the world than I had supposed. It wasn’t just about Mother and my siblings hiding from people, hunting, and playing in the culvert. Larger events had the ability to change everything— events that were controlled by human beings.
I was wrong about one thing: though we didn’t know it at the time, Fast and I would meet up with Sister again in the future.
Based on the beloved bestselling novel by W. Bruce Cameron, A Dog’s Purpose, from director Lasse Hallström (The Cider House Rules, Dear John, The 100-Foot Journey), shares the soulful and surprising story of one devoted dog (voiced by Josh Gad) who finds the meaning of his own existence through the lives of the humans he teaches to laugh and love. The family film told from the dog’s perspective also stars Dennis Quaid, Britt Robertson, K.J. Apa, John Ortiz, Juilet Rylance, Luke Kirby, Peggy Lipton and Pooch Hall.
A Dog’s Purpose is produced by Gavin Polone (Zombieland, TV’s Gilmore Girls). The film from Amblin Entertainment and Walden Media is executive produced by Alan Blomquist and Mark Sourian, and it will be distributed by Universal Pictures on January 27, 2017.
Every dog has work to do. Every dog has a purpose.
When Bailey meets eight-year-old Ethan, he quickly figures out his purpose: to play with the boy, to explore the Farm during summers with the boy, and to tidy the boy’s dishes by licking them clean (only when Mom isn’t watching). But Bailey soon learns that life isn’t always so simple–that sometimes bad things happen–and that there can be no greater purpose than to protect the boy he loves. Enjoy this excerpt of Bailey’s Story by W. Bruce Cameron.
1
One day it occurred to me that the warm, squeaky, smelly things squirming around next to me were my brothers and sisters. I was very disappointed.
For a little while now, I had been pushing and shoving those wiggling objects aside so that I could get at my mother’s furry warmth and her rich, delicious milk. So those things that had been getting in the way of my food were other puppies like me!
I blinked up at my mother, silently asking her to please get rid of the rest. I wanted her all to myself.
But she didn’t. It seemed that my brothers and sisters were here to stay.
Author W. Bruce Cameron discusses The Dog Master, the story of one tribe’s struggle for survival and one extraordinary man’s bond with a wolf—a friendship that changed mankind forever.
How did the idea for The Dog Master originate? What was your inspiration? Was there a particular event, circumstance, or something else that spurred you to write it?
I read that all dogs share common DNA with the first domesticated wolves, which means that the dog lying at my feet while I write this is, deep inside his double helix, a wolf. That’s why, in the wild, wolves chew shoes and bark at the UPS man.
My dog seems to have been bred to take naps. He regards my bed as his and grudgingly allows me to sleep there at night. To get to his particular breed mix from wolves must have involved a lot of odd Darwinian processes, and I began thinking about that. How, in other words, did we get here?
I started tracking stories about when humans and wolves began living together, and was startled to learn that the fossil record suggests we adopted canine companions right when things were looking the bleakest for mankind. Ice was crushing everything in its path as the glaciers ground their way south, so that we were forced out of the trees and onto the plains where we could be hunted by animals of speed and tooth and claw. Neanderthals, who were stronger and faster and perhaps, judging by their brain pans, smarter, were competing for the same scare resources. Yet somehow, despite all these challenges, we survived, prevailed.
It seemed obvious to me that it was because of the dogs. I wanted to tell the story of how that all came to pass.
Can you tell us a little about The Dog Master?
Think of how unlikely it was that humans and wolves would come to trust each other. After all, even today wolves avoid us. Back then, before we developed the technology to eliminate the aggressive ones, we were probably just another food source to them—soft, slow, and weak, armed with sticks instead of gunpowder.
And we were starving. Why would we share fresh meat with an animal when we were having problems feeding our children?
So something extraordinary, unique in our history, must have occurred to bring these two competing species together. The Dog Master imagines what that was, how this all came about.
The Dog Master is a work of fiction based on an indisputable fact: dogs are our modern-day companions, their fates inextricably bound to ours. How do you envision this intimate relationship developing?
Evolution is the water torture of processes, a drip-by-drip force of nature that moves so slowly no one can see it while it’s happening right in front of them. So no one could have had the time, nor the patience, to steadily work with a pack of wolves to induce them to trust us enough to join us at the camp fire. It was, instead, a single wolf, and a single human, coming together under extraordinary circumstances.
There are a lot of complex-but-relatable characters in The Dog Master. Do you have a favorite? Is there a character you ended up not liking at all?
Ah, well, I don’t think I’ve ever created such a deliciously wicked villain as Albi. And, like most truly evil people, her motives are clear and out in the open, which makes it that much more difficult to stop her.
I won’t say here which character I like the least, except to say that the reason I despise him is because he is, at heart, a coward.
What was your favorite part of writing The Dog Master? Least favorite?
My favorite part of the writing is that all the drama, mystery, and suspense was already built into the landscape. We were being hunted, we were having trouble finding food, the landscape was changing, other tribes were menacing—and yet we were determined to survive. Our social fabric was complex enough to allow us to live together in clans and communities, and the things that are important today—finding a mate, having and protecting children—were even more important then, because it was how we were surviving when the odds were so against us.
Least favorite? There was so much more to write about! The book had to end, of course, but there are so many amazing things to come for the characters in The Dog Master.
Are there any new updates about the upcoming A Dog’s Purpose movie, which is being directed by Lasse Hallström for DreamWorks?
We start shooting in August 2015. I’ve been told I will have a major role in the movie if they decide not to hire actors.
What’s next for you?
Looks like I’ll be on the set for A Dog’s Purpose a week or so after the release of The Dog Master. And we’ve got another independent movie that we hope will be out in 2016. After that, I’ve got another novel in the series that started with The Midnight Plan of the Repo Man that is written and will be out in 2016. More immediately, I’m going to make a burrito and then take Tucker for a walk.
Set against the most dramatic time in our species’ history, The Dog Master tells the story of one tribe’s struggle for survival and one extraordinary man’s bond with a wolf-a friendship that changed mankind forever. We hope you enjoy this excerpt.
PRESENT DAY
At exactly 9:00 A.M. the uniformed guards at the back of the room pulled every door shut in muscular coordination, a metallic clang echoing throughout the college lecture hall. The security men were grinning: maintaining the peace on a liberal arts campus mostly consisted of tolerating unruly students while keeping them approximately in line, so this exercise, an annual ritual, gave them a fleeting sense of order triumphing over chaos.
The loud crash of the doors had startled the conversations into silence, and now the students arrayed in the stadium-style seats sat with their necks twisted toward the back of the room to see what was going on. Immediately a loud and urgent pounding of fists on metal proclaimed the desperate despair of those who hadn’t made it inside in time for class. Then, after just a moment, the pummeling abruptly halted, as the guards on the other side of the double doors told the late arrivals they were tardy and therefore had to exit the building.
It was the first class of the first day of the first semester for these freshmen. Prompt attendance was strictly required.
Will you tell us a little about Ellie’s Story: A Dog’s Purpose Novel and what inspired you to write it?
When I was researching search and rescue dogs for A Dog’s Purpose, I was captivated by the world of service animals who save people from danger. I knew children would love the story of Ellie! Some of the themes of A Dog’s Purpose might be too intense for young children, so Ellie’s Story is a way to introduce younger readers to this wonderful dog.
Did you find it easy or challenging to re-tell Ellie’s story for a younger audience?
Honestly the most difficult part is to stop imagining other adventures this dog could have.
Did you learn anything surprising while researching or writing Ellie’s Story?
I didn’t realize that everywhere we go we are shedding skin cells, and that a dog’s nose is so powerful that it can track these minute traces in the air and on the ground. What I learned while researching search and rescue dogs is just how powerful a dog’s nose it. This information has informed everything I write.
What do you enjoy most about writing?
There is really not an aspect I don’t enjoy. I don’t particularly care for reading what I’ve written—all I can see are ways to improve it. If I had been a sculptor, I would have kept chopping away at the marble until it was all gone.
Do you have any writing rituals?
My best writing is done after a long bike ride. I usually can work out a story problem while cycling.
What’s the first book you remember loving?
The City Boy, by Herman Wouk. I’m not sure how old I was, maybe third grade. I was burning through these books at school, and I think my parents thought if they gave me a real, full-length novel, I would stop pestering them to take me to the book store all the time. I absolutely loved it. I read it maybe ten times that year.
What’s your favorite method of procrastination?
Okay, how did you know… My biggest time waster is the internet. Facebook and email distract me in the middle of my work. Next thing I know I’m looking at puppy videos on YouTube.
Can you tell us about any upcoming projects you’re working on?
August 2015 will see the publication of my most ambitious work: The Dog Master, which tells the story of the first domesticated wolf—the first dog, in other words. Set in the Paleolithic era, this coming together of two struggling species occurred just as the world was entering the Ice Age. It’s a thrilling adventure and an epic tale.
Read the first chapter of Ellie’s Story, the latest novel by W. Bruce Cameron, publishing on April 14th.
CHAPTER 1
The first thing I knew was my mother’s smell and the taste of her milk.
I had to fight my way to her, struggling over and around the soft, fuzzy bodies of my brothers and sisters, to reach that milk and fill my empty stomach. I squirmed and pushed with my feeble legs, inching forward, until I could taste the warm sweetness spilling over my tongue.
In a few days my eyes were open and I could see my mother’s dark brown face and the pale blue blanket that she lay on, though at first everything was very blurry.
What’s your preferred method for writing? Do you handwrite or type?
