Every news outlet on the planet was already on the story when I joined the gaggle of reporters at the police cordon outside the Wailea Princess.Īt first, I thought what all the journos thought, that Kim had probably been drinking, got picked up by some bad boys, that they'd raped her, silenced her, dumped her. Kim McDaniels's abduction was a flash fire, a white hot tale with an unknown shelf-life.
I grabbed that airline ticket and flew off to the biggest story of my career. I sensed a five-star boondoggle ocean-front bars and half-naked girls, and I saw myself jousting with the competition - all that, and the L.A. The weird thing is, when the big idea called me out - I never saw it coming.Īronstein's ticket to Hawaii gave me a much-needed hit. It was a lie I believed because it anchored my fraying hope for a better future. I was almost forty then, going numb from crime scene fatigue, still telling myself that I was perfectly positioned to hook a book idea that would turn my life around one more time. I was filing yet another routinely tragic story of a drive-by fatality when my editor, Daniel Aronstein, leaned into my cube, said "Catch," and tossed me a ticket to Maui. I was at my desk on the Friday night, twenty-four hours after Kim went missing. Times, which, on the upside, was how the novelist Michael Connelly got his start toward fame and success. The local cops were slow, arrogant and clueless and there were no witnesses or informants who had any idea who had kidnapped that beautiful and talented young woman.Īt that time, I was an ex-cop turned mystery writer, but since my last book had gone almost straight from the shipping carton to the remainder racks, I was a third-strike novelist doing the next best thing to writing pulp fiction.
You may remember back to the spring of 2007 when swimsuit model, Kim McDaniels was abducted from a sandy beach in Hawaii. I've been told that it's "distracting" to be so consumed by appetite, and so psychopaths screw up. And after they've killed, it's on to the next new and better thrill, with no boundaries, no taboos, no holds barred.
They mimic human emotion to pass among us and to lure their prey. Not about their deaths.īut, psychopaths can pretend to care. If you thought you saw remorse in Ted Bundy's eye after he'd confessed to killing thirty young women, it was in your own mind, because what distinguishes a psychopath from all other killers is that they don't care at all. Gacy, Bundy, Dahmer, BTK and the other all-stars in the twisted killer league were detached, driven by sexual pleasure and the thrill of the kill. Psychopaths aren't motivated by love or fear or rage or hatred. Not like a hold-up guy who panics and unloads his gun into a hapless liquor store clerk, or a man who bursts into his stock broker's office and blows his head off, and he's not like a husband who strangles his wife over a real or imagined affair. I'll just sit among the passengers in the airport lounge and I'll be scribbling."Ī true psychopathic killer is nothing like your everyday garden-variety murderer. Patterson, who writes in longhand and has an assistant type his manuscripts, says that he is able to work anywhere - even when he's on the road. It's not as unusual as people think it is."
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He admits that the process is a little unusual in the world of publishing, but he adds that "almost all TV shows.
After he gets back a first draft, he'll do anywhere from two to nine additional drafts until he is satisfied with the finished work. Typically, Patterson will research a subject and create an extensive outline, which he then hands off to a co-writer. To turn out so many books, Patterson works with a handful of co-writers. "It's a lot of material, a lot of stories." "There are, right now, 29 manuscripts sitting there in some degree of completion," says Patterson. And, as the author tells Michele Norris, he still has more manuscripts in reserve. This year, Patterson will release nine books, including his latest, Swimsuit. If you've read a best-seller list or visited an airport bookstore, you've probably run across his name. The claim is this: that nobody has his name on more books than James Patterson.
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