"I have a sense of injustice that came, I think ... My mother was a single parent. Her husband deserted her when I was two, and she went through a lot of menial jobs. We were the little people. We were dragged from pillar to post, and there was none of this equal opportunity stuff going on at that time. We were latchkey kids before there were latchkey kids, and she was a female wage earner when, basically, women did scut work and cleaned up other people's messes. And she never complained about it a lot. But I wasn't dumb and I wasn't blind. And I got a sense of who was being taken advantage of and who was lording it over the other people. A lot of that sense of injustice stayed. It stuck with me, and it's still in the books today." ~ Interview in 1988.
I was born on September 21st, 1947 in Portland, Maine, and I come from a somewat broken family. My father deserted us when I was two. He said he was going out for a pack of cigarettes, but the last time any of us saw him, was when he stepped out our front door. This left my mom to provide for us. She worked many jobs, and my step-brother David and I, saw very little of her. We learned to entertain ourselves, so David read to me until I learned how. Then we took turns reading to each other after school and on weekends. I always loved a good action story.
I remember a time long ago, where I snuck downstairs to listen to a radio program that my mom deemed too scary for me. But, I wouldn't listen to her. I sat downstairs, and quietly listened to the description of faces dripping off, and corpses slowly rotting. You can bet that I didn't sleep in my bed that night. I layed down in the hallway, where I had a light bulb, shining black spots in my eyes.
It was a simple phone call that changed my life. The person on the other end, said that they sold the paperback rights for Carrie for $400,000, and I was to receive half.
We-my wife, Tabitha, and our three children-were living in a small trailer, in a town in Maine. And soon, the bonus' I got from writing short stories, and selling them to magazines, became crucial.
Pretty soon, I had an idea for a longer story. I thought, I could write about an awkward girl with lots of spunk and attitude, no older than fifteen, but unbalance her, with telekinetic powers. Then I remembered a girl back in high school. She was overweight, had greasy hair, and bad acne, and I began to tell her story.
About two pages into it, my mind wandered off, and the ghosts of two girls, brought themselves forward again. I'd rather not mention their name, so we'll call them Tina White, and Sandra Irving.
Tina, was the forgotten kid, in the back of the room, who never said a word. She was the outcast of the school. Not because she was stupid, because she wasn't, and not because her family was a little strange, but because she wore the same outfit to school, all year long. A red headband, in her hair, a white (though yellowing) sleeveless blouse, and a black, and rather unflattering skirt, down to her shin.
Sandra was a very...religious girl and so was their family. I had never understood how far that went until Sandra's mom wanted me to do a little bit of work, and I saw a cross, on top of the couch,- so big, that if it fell of somebody, the would most likely be killed,- with a ghostly white, paled figure, loosely hanging from painted bindings, blood draining down his sides, and staining his limbs a deep red. Her religion is what drove most people away from her.
Neither girl saw the age of thirty. Tina committed suicide in her attic, and Sandra died from one of her seizures. But sometimes, I wish they could still be alive, to read the book.
I molded the three personalities into one girl, and then, didn't just tell the story of one, out of the ordinary girl, but told the story of three girls.
However, I wasn't satisfied with how it began, so I stopped where I was, and chucked the draft into the trash. Tabitha, must have seen the manuscript in the trash, because she dug it out, wiped the ash off of it, read it, and urged me to continue. But even though I was displeased with how it turned out, I submitted it anyway, for Tabitha's sake.
After we obtained the $200,000, I decided to try to get something nice for Tabitha. After all, we had the money. I went window shopping, for something that she might like, but my mind was elsewhere. I still couldn't believe that we just earned two hundred thousand dollars, from a story that I didn't particularly care for. I was, literally, freaked out. I had looked around, and I decided to give Tabitha a hair dryer. It wasn't my first choice, but she knew me well, and I knew that she would understand, what I was trying to tell her.
I believe, the strangest thing I've ever been asked is what I might be like if I was a girl. Honestly, I would be one prissy girl, but you couldn't pay me enough to go back in time and fit the role of a middle school girl. Regardless, I would have a short wild black bob, with ice blue eyes, and too pale skin. I would be a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl. I would, probably be scared easily, but enjoy the cinima arts, including horror, weather it scared me or not. I can imagine myself into screenwriting, and perhaps trying my hand at directing a cut or two.
Before I became a full time writer, it was my goal in life, to become a full time writer. I love my job, and I take the nessicary steps, to write around two thousand words a day, and I don't stop until that is done. I've inspired the people around me, to love literature again, and I've done it through a series of horror, with a twist of fantasy, and sci-fi. And that, is what I cherish most in my work.