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Feb. 25th, 2004 06:29 pm
I resent a publishing industry where a writer's most important asset isn't his skill or his heart, but rather his franchise. His name as a trademark. Stephen King could get a nosebleed and the reprints of his used handkerchief would sell more copies in a week than I could hope to sell of my stuff in a lifetime. Tom Clancy can put out a dog like SSN and not only remain unashamed, but go on to plaster his name on so many other things; "Tom Clancy" books Tom Clancy never wrote, Tom Clancy computer games, Tom Clancy underwear for all I know. Until the only difference between Tom Clancy and Betty Crocker is what box the name goes on. I wonder how many kids buying Tom Clancy computer games know he's a real person, let alone that he ever wrote a book.
Much as I resent the system, though, I do not and never have resented Stephen King himself. This guy is a professional, folks. He writes his ten or twenty POUNDS of horror, and he's all there for every page. Some of his things are better, some are worse, but you can tell he's really trying his best, always.
In spite of which I've never been much of a King fan. Oh, I've read some of his books-- who hasn't? But, to tell you the truth, I get creeped out too easily to enjoy the standard Stephen King horror novel.
That said, I guess it's no surprise that my favorite King books are a bit off his normal formula. I liked Bag of Bones because it's a decent King with a minimum of gruesomeness, but also because it tells a lot about the publishing industry. In fact, that's why I read it; a friend recommended it to me for those insights. Then King came out with On Writing: A Memoir, and I just ate that up. I found it especially reassuring as King admitted he writes vaguely the same way I do. He starts out with some characters and he lets them go and follows where they lead. Here all these years I thought I had it all wrong, because I never sat down and outlined a gosh-darned thing, or decided on a theme, or a subplot, or any of these things my English teachers (who, be it noted, couldn't write, as far as I know) told me were necessary.
Then there's the other reason I respect King so much. Like me, he writes other things but he has one work that is his baby, one he's passionate about to the end. Although it sold well-- it was by King, after all!-- it was as never as popular as his other works. It's called The Dark Tower, and it's a novel in seven volumes.
I read the first one or two when they came out, but it was so long between volumes that I lost track of it. Then I did a bad thing. Monday, I went to the bookstore and I discovered they had the first four volumes in deluxe hardcover reissue. With the fifth on order. With the sixth and seventh in editing-- still not published, but at least WRITTEN, so I know that assuming I live long enough I WILL get to read them. Since Mr. King nearly died between books 4 and 5, that issue was in question for a while.
Broke as I am, I had to have them. Out came the credit card.
So now I'm lost in that surreal landscape again, where Roland of Gilead, the Last Gunslinger, continues his eternal pursuit of The Man in Black across an infinite desert landscape, where space and time shimmer and flow like the mirages on the cruel sands.
Why not get a copy and join me? Mr. King doesn't need the money, but perhaps your mind needs the journey.
Much as I resent the system, though, I do not and never have resented Stephen King himself. This guy is a professional, folks. He writes his ten or twenty POUNDS of horror, and he's all there for every page. Some of his things are better, some are worse, but you can tell he's really trying his best, always.
In spite of which I've never been much of a King fan. Oh, I've read some of his books-- who hasn't? But, to tell you the truth, I get creeped out too easily to enjoy the standard Stephen King horror novel.
That said, I guess it's no surprise that my favorite King books are a bit off his normal formula. I liked Bag of Bones because it's a decent King with a minimum of gruesomeness, but also because it tells a lot about the publishing industry. In fact, that's why I read it; a friend recommended it to me for those insights. Then King came out with On Writing: A Memoir, and I just ate that up. I found it especially reassuring as King admitted he writes vaguely the same way I do. He starts out with some characters and he lets them go and follows where they lead. Here all these years I thought I had it all wrong, because I never sat down and outlined a gosh-darned thing, or decided on a theme, or a subplot, or any of these things my English teachers (who, be it noted, couldn't write, as far as I know) told me were necessary.
Then there's the other reason I respect King so much. Like me, he writes other things but he has one work that is his baby, one he's passionate about to the end. Although it sold well-- it was by King, after all!-- it was as never as popular as his other works. It's called The Dark Tower, and it's a novel in seven volumes.
I read the first one or two when they came out, but it was so long between volumes that I lost track of it. Then I did a bad thing. Monday, I went to the bookstore and I discovered they had the first four volumes in deluxe hardcover reissue. With the fifth on order. With the sixth and seventh in editing-- still not published, but at least WRITTEN, so I know that assuming I live long enough I WILL get to read them. Since Mr. King nearly died between books 4 and 5, that issue was in question for a while.
Broke as I am, I had to have them. Out came the credit card.
So now I'm lost in that surreal landscape again, where Roland of Gilead, the Last Gunslinger, continues his eternal pursuit of The Man in Black across an infinite desert landscape, where space and time shimmer and flow like the mirages on the cruel sands.
Why not get a copy and join me? Mr. King doesn't need the money, but perhaps your mind needs the journey.
