They're animals, all right. But why are you so goddam sure that makes us human beings?

And in real life endings aren't always neat, whether they're happy endings, or whether they're sad endings.

I've killed enough of the world's trees.

There's one novel, Cujo, that I barely remember writing at all.

A little arrogance (or even a lot) isn't such a bad thing, although your mother undoubtedly told you different. Mine did. "Pride goeth before a fall, Stephen", she said... and then I found out - right around the age that is 19 x 2 - that eventually you fall down, anyway.

They were trying to run, trying to hide. But the rock would not hide them; the dead tree gave no shelter.

Write what you like, then imbue it with life and make it unique by blending in your own personal knowledge of life, friendship, relationships, sex, and work. Especially work. People love to read about work. God knows why, but they do.