Stephen King: On Writing, Parts 1 - 3

Stephen King’s memories of his childhood are unique because they are told from an adult perspective. One pictures young King as an astute, bespectacled child, somewhat naïve but full of all the wisdom of his elder incarnation. He relates his experiences with startling clarity, which shocked me a little bit, as I always assumed he only wrote about murderous dogs and snowmobiles. He connects his past to his present with such incredibly efficient brevity that it seems completely natural – “I screamed so long, and so loud that I can still hear it,” he says of an early, traumatizing run-in with a malicious doctor, “In fact, I think that in some deep valley of my head, that last scream is still echoing.” This particular statement, taken out of context, could be a line from any horror story – and yet, in such a flippant setting, it adds to the air of levity that surrounds his first memories. Somehow, I feel like only Stephen King could pull off a trick like that.

I also enjoy the way King points out how even his earliest experiences prepared him for his career in writing. When discussing his babysitter, Ulla Büla, he says that after having a large woman sit on his face and fart, yelling “pow,” no critic can phase you. It’s this kind of insight that proves King was always meant to be a writer.