Scaring people, especially in our day and time, is one of the hardest things on earth, as far as I am concerned.
There's one novel, Cujo, that I barely remember writing at all.
How life did imitate art sometimes. And the cruder the art, the closer the imitation.
It's a writer's job to carve with language, to hew close to the bone.
When you write a book, you spend day after day scanning and identifying the trees. When you’re done, you have to step back and look at the forest.
At the time we’re stuck in it, like hostages locked in a Turkish bath, high school seems the most serious business in the world to just about all of us. It’s not until the second or third class reunion that we start realizing how absurd the whole thing was.