Life has been very busy lately, and not merely because I'm still struggling to write daily on a new novel. I've got major projects to finish before the end of the year and a freelance piece I intend to finish tonight and miles to go before I sleep...While procrastinating about 10 minutes ago (before this arguably more valuable procrastination), I read a review of Stephen King's new collection of short stories, Just After Sunset. At the same time, I found another writer's MySpace page and she had cool background music, which has put me into a mellow mood (cue the single malt!).
So I read the review and took it in. And you know what? This guy is right: Stephen King's power as a writer is his honesty. I mean, anyone who knows how to write knows that King's work isn't a stellar example of art — and King knows how to write. Get it? Stephen King is an honorable craftsman, and I enjoy his work — even those that are pedestrian, like Dreamcatcher. He wrote to pay the bills, to get his wife a birthday gift, to feed his alcoholic needs while those terrors enlivened his early writing. He kept writing because it's all he really knew to do. I respect that. Even the drinking part. (The coke habit I can do without, thank you.) He kept writing because it's what he was meant to do. And he believed. Amen.
Read the review on your time. I'm going to put my time in to finish this profile. Because I need the money, and I've done the interview, and it's interesting. And I'm the only one who can write it right now the way it's supposed to be done. So be it.
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