I remember reading an interview with Joe Hill, Stephen King’s son. It was when I was reading his perfectly titled Heart-Shaped Box. In the interview he mentioned the kinds of things he thinks about when out and about in the world. His macabre thoughts are similar to mine.
Joe Hill, however, is a bestselling author. His father is one of the most successful writers currently alive. Even though Stephen King writes other than horror occasionally, now that October’s nearly over his classic works come to mind.
As does the dilemma of the unknown writer. My parents don’t write. One of them is deceased, so that is probably a good thing, but neither one of them was educated and writing is not something either enjoys/ed. Nobody could tell me how to get published.
I started writing at a young age. I attempted my first novel in middle school. It was also the first manuscript I ever tore up. I’ve had eighteen short stories published, mostly in online form on websites few have heard of. I have to solicit fan mail. What if my father had been a famous writer?
Not that such a scenario would guarantee that I’d have any talent. Some people have it, and some people don’t. Some have no interest in the literary life. Those who do often have to find their own way. Scary thought, but true.
I completed my first novel after my master’s degree. Unemployed, waiting for my wife to get home, I tapped away and produced a really rather awful novel that I use to scare myself at Halloween. But I didn’t stop.
With no Stephen King to tell me how, I fumbled my way onto websites that will serve as the tomb of the unknown writer. They don’t have to pay anything, and all it costs is electrons. Even so, most submissions aren’t even accorded that dignity.
My stories may be scary like Joe Hills, but the results of submission are even scarier.
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