The Constant Writer

The Constant Writer
July 15, 2009 Constant Readers

culpritStephen King, born 1947 in Portland, Maine, is perhaps the most successful novelist in the universe, with over 350 million copies of his books having been sold since 1974.

Pat: That’s our culprit.
Andrea: I don’t know if that is really endearing or really creepy.
Pat: It’s clearly a joke, perpetrated by him and Tabitha, who took the picture.
Andrea: On one hand, he looks like he’s saying “come have a sleepover with me.” On the other hand, it looks like he’s saying “come have a sleepover with me.”


Andrea: That should be our banner at the top of the page.
Pat: That says motorcycle guy more than horror writer. If the twain should meet, I suppose that’s Stephen King’s best Hemingway.
Andrea: Did you read his son Joe’s book? Heart Shaped Box? And there was another one, 20th Century Ghosts. Both were pretty good.
Pat: Never read them. His son? You must be Joe King!


Pat: That’s what I think people imagine when they think of Stephen King.
Andrea: He looks like a marmoset.
Pat: He’s sort of an evil Christopher Reeve.
Andrea: Please bear in mind that I don’t know what a marmoset looks like.


Andrea: What do you think Stephen King does at home?
Pat: He says what he does in On Writing. He writes in the morning, reads, then the rest of the day is his. I suppose the first part of the day was his, too, really.
Andrea: Yeah, but that came out a long time ago.
Pat: He probably watches baseball. Grows that beard out. He either does when it’s baseball season or when it’s not.
Andrea: Do we have to read his baseball book?
Pat: No, because I can barely tolerate watching baseball let alone reading about it.
Andrea: Does that set a dangerous precedent for skipping books we don’t feel like reading though?
Pat: That’s not a book like the books we’re reading. Novels, books on writing and the genre. Baseball doesn’t fit it. If this were a Murakami blog, I would never suggest we do What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, even though it’s a good read.


Andrea: Is that Stephen King? It looks like Christopher Reeve to me.
Pat: Stephen King: Christopher Reeve’s creepy doppelganger.
Andrea: It’s not? I never noticed that before today.

At this point, Andrea “ran out of Stephen King things to say,” confounding Pat’s picture project. Prone to distraction, he found himself on Stephen King’s official website, searching around a virtual version of the writer’s office.

Pat: I’m trying to find the ten-question quiz in this interactive office thing. I’m boggled. Wait, I can move around the office. That makes sense, what with the arrows and everything. 2 out of 10 questions found and answered correctly.
Andrea: What are you talking about? Send me a link.
Pat: On the official website, there’s an interactive office where you can search around for items that contain trivia questions.
Andrea: Oh, I don’t want to search around. I am lazy.
Pat: After you find all ten and get them right, you get something. A different status, above “bronze.” So far, these questions have been for bitches.

In an office that is literally designed to be full of distractions, Pat finds a map of King’s Maine, dotted with places like Derry, Castle Rock, and ‘Salem’s Lot.

Andrea: Huh. Interesting.
Pat: So, you click on a sledgehammer and block of wood, and it asks where it’s from.
An electric chair, the same. A test tube labeled “Captain Tripps.” A biohazard container that says “Arrowhead Project.” Oh god, I knew it. I clicked on a paper boat. WONDER WHAT THAT’S FROM.
Andrea: That is super easy. So far these are all questions I could’ve answered when I was 17.
Pat: I also know it was coated in paraffin, and that Billy boy couldn’t be bothered. This is clearly just here to keep out the riffraff, who I’d wager wouldn’t be wasting all this time in the first place.
Andrea: Hahahaha. Dumb.
Pat: I haven’t even read Duma Key and I guessed that a painting of a sailboat was from it. I might ask who the fuck they think they’re dealing with.
Andrea: Someone who ends sentences with prepositions.