Inside the Mind of Stephen King

A short story I was inspired to write while reading the the forward to Stephen King's book "The Long Walk" The forward is titled "The importance of being Richard Bachman."

Inside the Mind of Stephen King

 

            As I crawl inside the delusional mind of a famous author, I come to realize this is sacred ground, but fame is not a pre-requisite to come here. This is hollowed ground open for those consumed by passion. Most of us as writers have never accepted this destiny�"much as people snub their nose at god�"because they don’t believe they deserve it. But I know we all have as much passion as Richard Bachman. Perhaps not as much talent, or a twisted enough mind, but every writer is born with passion or they would have given up long ago. So it is with a tender foot that I take my first step into the world where Richard Bachman lives.

            For years he hid in this secluded realm as the ultimate evil entity or UEI as I will coin the phrase. The concept of ultimate evil has been stumbling around in the back of my own broken mind for some time. I realize that is my weakness, going too big, so epic I lose sight of the fact my characters are human. Is there really perfect evil? Is it even attainable? Is Richard Bachman the villain we love to hate? Can I create the perfect antagonist? I dare say the answer is probably no. Still, Richard Bachman may be a serial killer so desperate to kidnap his readers he will stop at nothing. And indeed he is a smooth talker when it comes to tracking his victims. We fall almost desperately under his spell and thank him for the tender morsel of death he feeds us. I mean this with the utmost respect, in as much as a serial killer of his stature deserves respect. He is a Master Craftsman after all.

            His home is the fertile world of passion where all writers have a right to enter the open door. Some are afraid to face their own fatal flaw. Others can’t see the door through their own self obsessed arrogance, much like myself. Many stumble around with their eyes closed, seeking the success they have already worked far too hard to obtain. It is a world filled with delusional grandeur and constant interruption, but we must press on. Even failure will not stop us.

            We as writers should never attempt to copy the Master, that is a human becoming god, likewise, why bother copying Richard Bachman?  But an essence of his character in our minds as we write is something to be cherished. We emulate, foreshadow, or even forge new territory which his passionate heart could not envision. Every story is a retelling of another story, or so some say, which is why my effort to find ultimate evil is destined to fail. In that failure is freedom. Knowing I will never attain perfection leaves me content to tread in the eternal fog which surrounds Richard Bachman’s world. He has been living there perhaps for eternity, but he left a wedge in the door so anyone can follow. It is a dichotomy he expressed in his second essay when his true identity as Stephen King came out. “I was surprised, upset, and pissed off.” Still, he deliberately left a crack in the door. But he knew we would come, like dogs to their vomit, or lovers who sacrifice everything for one kiss, there was nothing he could do to deter us. Why does Richard Bachman love fog? Because there is no mystery in the light of day. There is no good without evil, no space without time.

            Why did we come to Richard Bachman’s mind space? We couldn’t help it, and of course he doesn’t own it. The reason we are here is we were born with passion. Some say it is a curse to write, but much like our characters, we remain blind to our own fatal flaw. Most are unwilling to give up on writing. We would rather sew our severed heart back into our chest, kick the killer’s teeth out and crawl through the morass of publishing to hold a bloody manuscript out from the grave for anyone who is kind enough to read it. And when they pry our life work form our hand and start turning the page, then our mission is accomplished.

            I can assure you even writers who think they write for fame are only fooling themselves. Of course we want to buy a new computer, spend the extra fifty on a lobster tail and a big tip, or pay off our house. But that’s only so we can get back to writing. Ultimately it all comes back to how we were created�"or how we evolved�"to keep an open mind. We were created with passion and some of us have an insufferable need to tell a tale of epic proportions and hopefully change someone’s life in the process!

            So my hat is off to you Richard Bachman! I’m so thankful you tried to hide, and the honor of being your victim is the highest honor, because your fatal flaw is you didn’t see us coming. Of course in real life you welcomed all who followed or you wouldn’t have left the wedge in the door. But the thought Stephen King has a fatal flaw at all is the beginning of a great story!

            So I found my self running between watching the kids fight over breakfast and reading “The importance of Richard Bachman,” a forward in the novel “The Long Walk.” I desperately want to incorporate what I’m writing now into one of my current novels in progress. Will it fit with my rainy day space vampire detective, born from an eternal gypsy virus 14.6 billion years ago, or the pert little princess of perfection which I have so lovingly birthed in the near future of our Milky Way Galaxy? Either way I know he is stalking me now. Richard Bachman the serial killer is breathing down my neck and I am thankful for it. In his sick and twisted need to kill me, he has sparked that dead passion which is rising up to save the world. Now the kids are punching each other and I want to write forever, no whiskey, just sunshine and passion born of atomic fury.

            I am thankful for the death I know is coming under Richard Bachman’s grimy hands. Those hands have killed so many before, and now that it’s my turn, I welcome his cold embrace. To know he is just a man like me, built of the same mettle which Deity has given us all. He is the same, yet so different. There went the dishes, but I can’t tear my self away or write fast enough. Let the heathens kill themselves so I can write another word and save the world! And even in my death, I will be resurrected to write again.

            This time the joke is on you Richard Bachman, because I the victim lured you in. I planned it all along and seduced you into killing me. I outsmarted the mastermind in one bold move which settled the score firmly in my favor. Even in death, I win.

THE END

Reviews

[Alma W. Reis]

You have truly honored the words of Stephen King through your own, with impeccable craftsmanship.
There is a lot to learn from this. Especially agree on "we as writers should never attempt to copy the Master", since copying is not creating, thus not godlike. Until we become gods, we must create something which does not exist - the mission of the writer, I believe.