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The result was a novella called Ambition about a man named Rodney
Olson whose father dies during his race to beat Roger Marisí 1961
homerun record, prompting him to return to Calgary where he
eventually meets the love of his life: the aptly named, Deanna.
The story was fun, the characters wooden and the structure flimsy.
But it was a start, and the response I got hardly had the strength
to deter me from continuing. So I did. I started an enormous project
about a serial killer, a killer, mind you, that finds a brief,
tongue in cheek appearance in The Inlands. The book was called
Gladman. Iíll let you find the reference from there. The book grew
far too big for me to contain it; the characters took over the story
in a fashion that ultimately imploded the plot, severing the first
half of the book from the second. But it was practice, and like Iíve
always been told, practice makes perfect. It wasnít until I saw
Peter Jacksonís Fellowship of the Ring when I understood the
magnificent power of the fantastic, and the hold other worlds have
over us. Thereís a certain draw to themÖit isnít just about the
escape, really, but rather watching a version of what if. What if
the world had actually turned out like this?