Monday Must: Polish

I love horror. I know that’s a little strange coming from someone who writes MG and YA but I can’t help it, and I don’t think any of us are one dimensional in our tastes.

But when it comes to horror, whether it’s a novel or a movie, I am realistic. I know the rules, and what to expect on the way in. I do not let myself become attached to any characters because in horror, everyone is fair game and the main character could just as easily lose his head (literally) as the janitor on page 254.

I’m only invested in the story, the plot…except for when it’s been written by Stephen King. Because no matter how hard I try to resist, he makes me care. No matter how many times I warn myself that the King is cruel and his philosophy is to kill his darlings, by a third of the way through I am rooting for the MC like he’s my long lost brother.

His characters are flawed, sometimes deeply so. But that’s what makes them so real…so normal. He takes these people and puts them through some of the worst situations you can imagine, and some I am sure you can’t. When he is through, they are something more, better than what they were, hollowed out and made over by the fire of his words. Sometimes he chooses to kill them even after all this, and when he does I weep with a sense of such total loss that I hate him even as I worship his gift.

He can take a story idea, in its rough disjointed conception and polish it until it shines, like a diamond from a lump of coal. Of course, his rough ideas contain the promise of brilliance so he does have a head start. To use his words, ‘you can’t polish a turd’.

We should take a hard look at our ideas and make sure they have promise. Then the lesson we can take from this word master is to polish, and refine until our story is a shiny new version of itself. It won’t be easy but if you aren’t willing to do it then you will never have strangers blogging about your brilliance or ability to make them cry themselves into a depressive state that lasts for days and can only be cured by chocolate and the animated adventures of Lilo and Stitch.

I’m just sayin’.

Friday Flashback

The life of Stephen King.

Stephen Edwin King was born in Portland, Maine on September 21st, 1947. He was the only biological child of Donald and Ruth King. His brother, David, had been adopted at birth two years earlier.

When he was two and David four, Stephen’s father stepped out for cigarettes one night and did not return. They have never heard from him again.

In January of 1959, Steve and Dave decided to publish and circulate their own newspaper called ‘Dave’s Rag’. They created it using an old mimeograph in the basement of their home and sold it for .05 cents a copy.

In high school, he had a few short stories published in amateur presses and small run magazines. But it wasn’t until college that he made his first sale with a short story called ‘The Glass Floor’. He was paid $35.00.

Over the next few years he married, graduated from college, and began teaching. He continued to write wherever and whenever he could. The rejection slips piled up. In 1971, he began a short story about a high school girl named Carietta White. After a few pages he decided it sucked and tossed them in the trash. His wife, Tabitha, retrieved them and convinced him to finish the story. In 1973, it sold within two months of submission. The paperback rights went for $400,000.00. At the time, Steve’s yearly salary was $6400.00. He had two children and lived in a tiny apartment outside of Bangor.

Since then he has become one of the most beloved and popular horror writers in American History. But if you think that is all that he has written, you have never read/seen Shawshank Redemption, or The Green Mile. His talent is not bound by genre. He has battled alcoholism and cocaine addiction, and he barely remembers writing some of his more popular novels but he never stopped pursuing his dream.

King has been diagnosed with a condition called macular degeneration. The ultimate result is blindness. Before that final event, his direct line of vision will grow steadily weaker but he will keep his peripheral vision longer. His take on it: ‘That's the part I want to keep, as a man and as a writer, what I see out of the corners’.

Stephen King is the perfect example of persistence in the face of adversity. I cannot find a single thing about the man not to like or admire. His is the voice in my head when the writing is hard and the hour is late.  I don’t believe there is a better role model for aspiring writers than this man…this legend.

Random Trivia:
He wrote "The Running Man", a 304-page novel, in only ten days.

After watching the first cut of Rob Reiner 's Stand by Me (1986), he was said to be crying and stated it was the closest adaptation to one of his novels he'd ever seen.

When asked, "How do you write?", he invariably answers, "One word at a time".

http://www.horrorking.com/interview8.html
http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000175/bio

Working With The King

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to work with Stephen King? You know I have.

Colleen Thompson over at Boxing the Octopus interviewed Bev Vincent about this very thing! Bev is the author of The Road to the Dark Tower and The Stephen King Illustrated Companion.

The Dark Tower series spans the majority of King's published career and it was the perfect chance to delve into the literary genius of this incredible man.

The Stephen King Illustrated Companion is chock full of behind the scenes info and family pictures. Want to know what was going on during the writing of each of his novels? Then get this book!

You cannot hope to show up at his house and stalk...I mean meet him personally if you don't know every detail about the legend.

You're not really surprised by this, are you?

Does Stephen King Write Horror?

I finished 'Under The Dome' by Stephen King in two days. I had to stop to eat. It clocked in at 1,074 pages of unadulterated, pure word magic. It may be one of the largest epics that he has written in his career but every word was worthwhile because by that final page, the characters were more than just fiction...they were friends. I'm not ashamed to say I cried. While I am still drifting in the euphoria of the man's brilliance, I would like to pose this theory.

I'm not sure Stephen King actually writes horror. I think he writes about human nature, and that can be truly horrifying at times. Stephen King shows us the dark side of ourselves. By the end, we even feel pity for the villains. After all, they’re only human. He is a master at character development, creating people so real they could be your next door neighbors, the boy you had a crush on in sophomore English, or your slightly deranged co-worker that you suspect will blow up one day.

I think he studies human behavior, and I believe he loves not only the good in us...but the bad as well. Aren't the bad more fascinating?

Stephen King also has one of the most clearly defined voices of any author I have ever read. While reading other novels, a part of me always holds back, critiquing the style of the writer. When I read King, I forget I am reading...and I live in the story.

Today I have one wish, and its not fame or fortune. I wish some of his magic would rub off just a little so that someday I might be able to carry someone away...to another time...a distant world...with only the power of my words.

 
 

Part 2: Hangin' With Stephen King

Steve followed me toward the booth where my husband was seated, head flung back and snoring lightly. I was so proud. I kicked his foot lightly and he jerked awake, wild eyed for a moment before recognizing me.

"What?" He was a little irritable.

"Steve wants us to come to dinner."

"Yeah?" His tone changed abruptly. "Hey, that's great."

Steve leaned over and stuck out his hand. My husband grasped it carefully and shook it once before letting go. I had taught him well. The hands were the tools of the trade.

"I'm so glad your wife accepted. She's very talented."

My husband looked at me with unashamed pride. "Yeah, she's great. Your not bad either, ya know. I loved that movie, Watchers."

Steve shook his head, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. "I didn't write that."

"I know but I bet you wish you did, huh?"

I crushed the tip of his foot under mine in a subtle hint and spoke up quickly.

"Steve, why don't you call Tabitha and let her know we're coming? Don't want to get you into any trouble."

"Ayah. Give me just a minute."

He walked a few paces away and flipped out a cell phone to make the call.

"What the hell? You tryin' to make him mad?" I whispered.

"No. I really liked that movie. Who wrote that one again?"

"Dean Koontz. Not good, not good at all. You better be on your best behavior or I swear when we meet Dan Marino, I'm going to tell him you have Dementia and wear Depends."

"You wouldn't!" He gasped.

"Oh, yes. Yes, I would." I narrowed my eyes and curled my lip.

"Fine."

Steve walked back to us, his face not quite as happy as before. "We all set. You can follow me out to the house...unless your man there would rather spend the evening somewhere else? Maybe the Koontz residence?"

"Now, Steve. No need to be nasty. He was stating an honest opinion and competition is good for all of us." I smiled and tilted my head, pouring on the charm.

"I suppose." He returned the smile and we followed him out the door.

I could hear my husband muttering behind me, "At least the dog in Watchers was cool, could spell and everything. Not like Cujo."

Maybe when we met Marino, it would be me with the serious case of Turrets syndrome. I knew how to get even.

Hangin' with Stephen King

I walked into the cozy, dark pub and he was waiting for me at the bar. As I took a seat on the stool next to him, I raised a hand at the bartender and he brought me the usual. Cold Miller Lite on tap.

I didn't speak until the glass was in front of me and of course being the polite gentlemen that he was, he waited.
I took a healthy sip. Its not easy maintaining a ladylike appearance while guzzling beer but I manage it.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin and turned to him.
"So, Steve. What's up with you?"

He grins, his eyes wandering admiringly over my face.
"Not much, ayah. Just wanted to meet you and let you know I'm a fan."

"Well, thank you. I appreciate that. I've always been a fan of yours too. A big one."

"Is that so? Glad to hear it, glad to hear it." His eyes continue to eat me and I decide to clear the air of any misunderstandings right away.

"Look, Steve. Maybe you heard I'm into older guys? Well, see that guy in the corner?" I point to my husband, sitting at a corner booth where I have forbidden him to move. He waves excitedly. We stare, then ignore him as we continue the conversation.
"That's the only guy I'm into, see? I love you, always have. But its a mind thing, ya feel me?"

Steve nods, a little disappointed. "I understand. Can't blame me for trying."

"No, I guess I can't." I smile in amusement and take another pull from my beer.
"So lets talk shop. Your brilliant, maybe the best writer ever. Now I have a book coming out soon and people are going to ask who my favorite writer is. I'm gonna say you, cause its the truth. When people ask you about me I don't want to hear you say some crap about how I can't write. Maybe you can get away with doing that to Stephenie Meyers, but I'm not going to let it slide."

Steve shakes his head and glances at me from the corner of his eye. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"Yeah, how can I be sure of that?" I twist on the stool and force him to face me head on.

"I read your stuff. My agent got an advance copy from your editor. He was hoping I could do a blurb or something. I gotta say, your good. Real good. If I'm the chicken fried steak of the literary world then you got to be the Texas Toast."

I laughed. Who doesn't like Texas Toast? "Thanks, Steve. That means a lot. Especially coming from you."

"Your welcome. I like you. You think you and your husband might want to come to dinner? Tabitha is a great cook and I'd love for the family to meet you."

I purse my lips in thought and glance over at my husband, still sitting patiently in the booth but beginning to look bored.
"I don't know, Steve."

"Ahh, now come on. Please?" His voice has a desperate quality. I can tell he doesn't want us to part ways yet.

"Ok, what the hell. We'll come over and hang out."

He clapped his hand down on the bar in excitement. "Great! We have so much to talk about."

I reached over and patted him on the shoulder. "Yeah, we do. Not the least of which is what your gonna say in that blurb......"

This scene was conducted entirely in my head.....its a happy place.

I Am Not Stephen King

I'm not....really. There are the obvious reasons why, of course.
I am not a man.
I am not in my sixties.
I am not a world famous, best selling author....yet.

Then there are the less obvious reasons. Stephen King oozes talent from every pore in his body. I have no doubt that he is one of the best writers in the history of the written word. For those of you who have not read his books or only tried one and then thought they were not for you, he is not just the 'Master of Horror'. He has an insight into the human condition that few of us ever achieve. He is brutally honest and completely fearless in his story telling. He has written some of the most heart wrenching beautiful stories I have ever read and the horror element is barely noticed at all.

The Green Mile
The Dark Tower Series
The Talisman
Insomnia

These are only a few examples. The majority of his work is dark but if you read on you will discover it is populated with acts of great love and sacrifice. He writes his characters so realistically that they could be your next door neighbor or your best friend....your obviously deranged psychopath best friend but still you get my point. He writes about real people and he knows that we are all capable of wonderful and terrible things.

For a long time he was my excuse not to write. Why bother when I could never achieve that level of genius? He is to this day the only writer that pulls me so deep into the story that my heart pounds, I break into a cold sweat, and when I'm through I know I have lived an adventure.

Stephen King's book 'On Writing' tells the story of his struggle to make it. Surprisingly, it did not happen overnight. He worked years for it and he earned it. The second half of the book is a tutorial for beginning writers. It is a must read with practical examples and good common sense advice. But he can't teach what was born within him. What pours out of him is not ordinary, cannot be taught or duplicated. He can tell us his process and maybe it works for some and doesn't for others but what we must do is find what works best for each of us. And the only way to do that is to write, and write, and then write some more.

After we rail against fate that we are not Stephen King.