Hail to the (Stephen) King! Or: $#*! Stephen King Says

You can’t be a horror writer from Maine without being asked the inevitable question: Do you know Stephen King? Since I write paranormal horror novels and stories, most of which, like THE CHLOE FILES and GRIMM, take place in small Maine towns, and since I live in a seaside Maine town myself, folks just assume I know the other two writers living in the state, which at this moment happens to be Tess Gerritsen and Stephen King. Never mind the million other folks and plethora of talented authors residing in the state. We do have more than black bears and lobsters prowling about. I’ve even heard we had a resident Bigfoot creature, but can’t personally verify this, though I do smell things…

But I suppose when you reach the superstar status of those two authors, you deserve to be on the state’s top textile export list or whatever it is.

I did see Tess Gerritsen in a restaurant once, but I guess that doesn’t count. She’s not a writer of the supernatural, so we’ll leave it there. She is kinda hot, however, so if she’s listening, please have my baby…

Ahem, I digress.

Stephen King on the other hand—who isn’t quite so hot, but a fine looking gent in his own right—is another story.

My gym buddy, who, as I have mentioned before, reads some of my books, brought up the Revered One a couple months back.

“How’s Chloe?” he asked, as he always does. Also as I mentioned in a previous blog, he considers Chloe and actual (hot) person. And she is. Or she has become such.

“She’s kicking demon ass,” I said. “Oh, and she asked me to give you a message.”

‘Dude! Really?” His eyes brightened.

I set a dumbbell on the floor and peered at the one I was talking to. “She said if you don’t quit stalking her she’s going to kick YOUR ass.”

“Sweet!” My gym buddy doesn’t always crank on all cylinders, but that’s why I love ‘im—he’s quirky, like my characters and the guy who writes them. “So,” he added after another moment, the look on his face turning serious. “You know Stephen King, right?”

Sigh. “Because I’m a horror writer from Maine?”

“Yeah. You guys all hang, right? All you writers. It’s like a writer mafia or something.”

“Sure, I see dad every so often…” I tried not to smirk, but when both his brows hoisted skyward I almost lost it.

“Dude, Stephen King’s your dad?” He knew I was joking, of course, but it makes gym time go faster.

“Well, I’m his illegitimate son.”

“What?” Or maybe he didn’t know.

“I’ve filled out the adoption papers. Just waiting for him to sign them.”

Suspicious eye. “Doesn’t he already have a son who writes?”

“Sure—me!”

“You’re full of $#*!”

I chuckled. “$#*! Stephen King says…”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.” He’s too easy.

“So he’s not your dad. Duh.”

“Not yet,” I said. “But I’m working on it.”

“Dude, that’s messed up.”

I laughed, harder this time. “No kidding. But in a way he’s Dad to all of us in Maine writing spooky stories. He made horror writing mainstream and accepted. He gave Maine writers something to aspire to and learn from.”

“Does HE know Snooki?” Gym buddy’s biggest question after Chloe is always about Snooki. He’s got a thing for loud-mouthed Oompa Loompas.

“I have no idea, but some terrible experience must have inspired his horror.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.”

“So, you know him?” he said.

I wasn’t getting much weight lifting done. “No, I don’t know him. My dentist says he went to college with him, and I have met him a couple times, though he has no idea who I am.”

“Where’d you meet him? What was he like?”

“He came through the Jetport in South Portland back in the early ‘80s, when I worked there as a security guard and had to check carry on baggage before people could board their planes. I checked his. He seemed very personable and friendly. That was right before he got super big. His wife was with him.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He said, ‘Don’t throw books.’”

“What?”

“His wife tossed a book to him through the metal detector. He chuckled and told her not to throw books.”

“So he knows you?”

“No, I doubt he’d have any memory of the two-minute meeting and there were two other guards, and we weren’t introduced. I recognized him from his book jacket and from the fact the female guard with me was jumping up and down saying, ‘Oh my God, that’s Stephen King!’”

“Dude, if you had a rack like Snooki’s he’d remember you.”

“If I had a rack like Snooki’s I’d have other things to worry about, though maybe from a promotional angle it couldn’t hurt. Maybe I could get on Dancing with the Stars.”

“You’re weird, Dude.”

“Not news, and you brought it up.”

“So he’s overrated, right?” Gym buddy asked.

“Have you read any of his books?”

He shook his head. “Nah-uh. Too long.”

“He’s not overrated. He got where he got for a reason. All us writers learned a lot from his skill with characters.”

“I hear people trash him all the time. They say he’s lost his mojo.”

“Trust me, he hasn’t. All writers change, or have weaknesses. What he does, he does better than most everyone else writing. When you’re on top there’s a lot of petty jealousy and certain types looking to find fault to make themselves feel superior. In fact, along with Dark Shadows, my novel NIGHT DEMONS shows some Stephen King influence. Guy returns to his small Maine hometown of Dark Harbor, finds demons from his past, both supernatural and personal, waiting for him.”

“I bet he knows Snooki.”

Sigh. “Will you get off Snooki!”

Big laugh. “I’d like to get off—”

“—Uh-uh-uh!” I quickly said.

“He’s a Red Sox fan, you know. You’re a Yankees fan.”

I shrugged. “He’s an excellent writer. I never said anything about his taste in baseball teams.”

“You joking?”

“Mostly.” I grinned. “The team rivalry is part of the fun.”

The conversation drifted to baseball, but I believe the point, when I look back on it, is that there are worse things for a Maine horror writer than getting continually asked if you know Stephen King. And certainly worse things than getting even remotely compared to him in your writing for whatever reason, as has actually happened to me a couple times.

What King has accomplished is nothing short of phenomenal and he’s earned our respect as horror writers, in fact, as writers period. We may not always agree with the things he says—Red Sox who?!—but I for one owe him a tremendous debt for putting Maine and horror writers on the map, and for teaching us scary stories aren’t always all about the scare. They’re about the people involved in the tale.

Many of my books include a strong element of grief and loss—Chloe Everson from THE CHLOE FILES certainly has experienced her share as has Arlo Grimm from GRIMM—and that comes from works such as Pet Sematary and The Dead Zone. What would a scary story be without the character?

Stephen King taught us that.

So hail to the King. Stephen King.

Click the link—Read the book—Escape reality…
Three-hundred years ago, the tragic events that occurred in Salem, Massachusetts set free an Evil that escaped the Witch Trials and cursed the small seaside town of New Salem, Maine. That Evil now claims its due and the dark secrets long buried are rising to the surface. The war has begun. And exotic dancer, demon-ass kicker Chloe Everson is the front line between Hell on Earth and Salvation.
The Chloe Files...$2.99 on Kindle and Nook
The monkey thanks you...
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004WLCRYK