I recently finished writing a novel and sent it to my book agent, but then, not wanting to appear too eager, I waited a couple of hours before I called to see whether he'd read it. He asked me to give him a week, citing some really lame personal reasons (hernia surgery, his daughter's wedding, etc).

"So I read your book, Return of the Angry Ant Women," he told me when he called, "and I have a couple of questions."

"Jude Law," I replied.

"Sorry?"

"To play me in the movie. Jude Law would be perfect."

"Well . . . OK." I could hear him shuffle some papers. "First, I notice that the first few chapters are nearly all dialogue, and then it shifts to nearly all prose."

"Right," I said. "It started out as a screenplay, but then when it got too long, I decided to make it a memoir."

"A memoir. So this really happened? These little warrior women invaded your home and then took over Canada?"

"The new kind of memoir, where it's all made up," I explained.

"Gotcha."

"Did you like the part where I explain what's going on so that the reader will understand where we are in the plot? I thought it was an interesting technique."

"Actually, I didn't understand that part."

"Oh."

"I also don't understand why it's called RETURN of the Angry Ant Women."

"If you were only half an inch tall and could feed only on goat hair, wouldn't you be angry?"

"No, not the angry part. It's the return part I don't get."

"Oh. I did that so you could get a two-book deal."

"A two-book deal," he repeated slowly.

"See, I figure people read this, they're going to say, 'Well, if this is the return, I wonder what happened the first time they invaded?' So then they'll want another book. In that one, they take over New Jersey. You talk about angry. Great idea, huh?"

"It certainly is an idea!" he agreed.

"It'll be sort of like War of the Worlds, except the invaders are so small nobody notices."

"I think if they took over New Jersey, somebody would notice," he pointed out.

"Well, then make it Vermont."

"I think we're getting a little off track, here. I'm concerned about this character named Icarus Barrington. By the end of the book, he seems sort of forgotten."

"Who?"

"Icarus. You know, the only person who can speak the language of the ant people, because he was raised by arthropods?"

"It sounds familiar," I admitted.

"I thought the scene where he delivers the queen ant's baby with a pair of tweezers was probably my favorite part of the book because it was so short."

"Maybe I could call this book Whatever Happened to Icarus," I suggested. "No wait! The Return of Whatever Happened to Icarus?"

"Or maybe, and this is just a thought, you could have a main character who doesn't simply vanish by Chapter 12."

I frowned. "In some of the best stories ever written, the main character vanishes," I argued. "Like that book Vanish."

"Sure, but . . ."

"Or Campfire Crissy and the Case of the Vanishing Milkshakes."

"The second one you just mentioned sounds like it has a lot in common with your work," my agent said.

"Exactly!"

He took a deep breath. "So here are my thoughts: First, get rid of the part where the ants invade the president's picnic and are wrestled to the ground by the Secret Service. I mean, they were already on the ground."

"OK, but then you lose the whole subplot about the Secret Service agent hiding his shameful secret that he has a paralyzing fear of bugs," I warned.

"Good. Next, I'd cut the part about the Ant Women invading Canada. Then I'd cut the part about the Ant Women performing a concert to benefit global warming. Then I'd cut the Ant Women."

"Cut the Ant Women?"

"Also cut the part about the football star who just wants to be left alone to do his ballet."

"But if I make all those cuts, there won't be any book at all!" I protested.

"Exactly," my agent said. "That's exactly what I want."

Write to Bruce at bruce@wbrucecameron.com.

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