{"id":593,"date":"2017-05-26T14:38:49","date_gmt":"2017-05-26T18:38:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.durkota.net\/?p=593"},"modified":"2017-06-23T11:52:07","modified_gmt":"2017-06-23T15:52:07","slug":"stephen-king-terrorizing-me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/durkota.net\/?p=593","title":{"rendered":"On Stephen King Terrorizing Me Telepathically"},"content":{"rendered":"

I started reading On Writing<\/em> a chapter or so at a time for the past couple weeks. I needed some inspiration. Perhaps some consolation. I intended to post a review. I enjoyed King\u2019s insight, his early failures, his inspirations, his eventual success. I smiled when he equated writing to telepathy, the ability of writers to put thoughts in the heads of readers over a vast span of time and space. King described a rabbit with the number eight on its back; he wrote, \u201cIt\u2019s an eight. This is what we\u2019re looking at, and we all see it. I didn\u2019t tell you. You didn\u2019t ask\u2026 We\u2019ve engaged in an act of telepathy.\u201d The concept was fun to think about.\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

But then I reached the middle of the book where he began to speak about the craft of writing. What it means to be a writer, the investment it requires. King wrote, \u201cIf you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot.\u201d Of course, I agreed with this. I even agreed with him when he wrote, \u201cWhen you find something at which you are talented, you do (whatever it<\/em> is) until your fingers bleed and your eyes are ready to fall out of your head.\u201d<\/p>\n

I almost tweeted, \u201cFuck you, Stephen King.\u201d<\/p>\n

Why was I so angry? I was angry because he expected me to read and write for four to six hours a day. Write 2000 words a day, read a novel each week. I was quite proud of my 55K words this year until he talked about the 180K he pumps out in just three months. The implication was that if I did anything less I was either not committed to the craft, or I lacked talent.<\/p>\n

If only I scored an early success in the literary lottery, Mr. King. If only I had even a fraction of your bank account, Mr. King. If only I didn\u2019t have to work 12 hours a day just to pay the bills.<\/p>\n

I wanted to explain to Mr. King that I wrote most of my first novel while working as a security guard on the night shift. I drank coffee by the pot and I wrote; I acted out scenes in the parking lot with a dozen or so bats swooping over my head. I went straight from there to my job at the registrar\u2019s office helping veterans submit GI Bill claims. Sometimes I went to class. I got home around five and puked out freelance ad copy; I wrote product reviews at $20 a blurb until I fell asleep at the computer. Sometimes I made it into bed before the alarm sounded and another night of guard duty began.<\/p>\n

Years later, not much has really changed. Yes, I did add my very own novel to my bookshelf; a few people that aren\u2019t family have even read it. But nowadays I work a day job with an hour-long commute. I eat dinner, catch up on email, and do my own book marketing. I struggle to get an hour at the computer to write; my goal is a measly 500 words a day. I fall asleep with my Kindle on my lap; my battery life is horrendous and the damn thing thinks it takes me four hours to read a single page.<\/p>\n

I wanted to ask Mr. King that if all of that isn\u2019t commitment, what is? I wanted to scream, \u201cYou suck, Stephen King!\u201d<\/p>\n

And then\u2026\u00a0 Stephen King contacted me\u2026 Telepathically.<\/p>\n

He said, \u201cToughen up, cupcake<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

The words vibrated through my skull. I looked around the room and no one was there but me. My phone and the computer were both off. I was reading a paper copy of his book since my Kindle was still charging.<\/p>\n

I thought, \u201cWhy are you so mean and condescending, Mr. King? Why crush my dreams?\u201d<\/p>\n

He said, \u201cI\u2019m a bully. I like bullying writers<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought, \u201cYou make me so angry. What do you do when you are not destroying inferior writers?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI kill kittens and harvest their blood for my fountain pen<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are evil, Stephen King.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you expect? I’m Stephen-fucking-King. Are we done here?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

And that was all. The voice was gone. I sat in the dark of my office and wondered if I had imagined it all. It didn\u2019t matter though. Mr. King had won. Those few chapters of his book angered me so much that I pounded out this blog out at 1:19 A.M. after I slogged through about 1500 words of my second novel. Yes, he inspired me to triple my productivity. I will probably have to give up sleep and jeopardize my job. But, I am a writer. Writer\u2019s write. I\u2019ll keep churning out words in hopes I finally arrange them in some divine order. Thank you, Mr. King. I guess.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re welcome. Now stop whining and keep writing<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n

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I started reading On Writing a chapter or so at a time for the past couple weeks. I needed some inspiration. Perhaps some consolation. I intended to post a review. I enjoyed King\u2019s insight, his early failures, his inspirations, his eventual success. I smiled when he equated writing to telepathy, the ability of writers to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5,10,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-593","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-miscellany-entertainment","category-musings","category-writery-things"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t