I’ve just started my first Stephen King book, but it isn’t one of his novels. The book is “On Writing”. (The subtitle is “A Memoir of the Craft”.)
In various articles, online and in books, I’ve seen him quoted by others and from what I read he is someone who really understands writing. The first part of the book is kind of autobiographical while the second focuses on writing. I’m still going through the first part. So, to give a glimpse of the book, the following is what appears on the back cover:
“For years I dreamed of having the sort of massive oak slab that would dominate a room. . . . In 1981 I got the one I wanted and placed it in the middle of a spacious, skylighted study in the rear of the house. For six years I sat behind that desk either drunk or wrecked out of my mind. . . .
A year or two after I sobered up. I got rid of that monstrosity and put in a living-room suite where it had been. . . . In the early nineties, before they moved on to their own lives, my kids sometimes came up in the evening to watch a basketball game or a movie and eat pizza. . . . I got another desk — it’s handmade, beautiful, and half the size of the T. rex desk. I put it at the far west end of the office, in a corner under the eave. . . . I’m sitting under it now, a fifty-three-year-old man with bad eyes, a gimp leg, and no hangover. I’m doing what I know how to do, and as well as I know how to do it. I came through all the stuff I told you about. . . . and now I’m going to tell you as much as I can about the job. . . .
It starts with this: put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down to write, remind yourself why it isn’t in the middle of the room. Life isn’t a support-system for art. It’s the other way around.”