Rosemary and I arrived at the McArthur Gymnasium on the campus of Eckerd College in St. Petersburg, forty-five minutes before the doors opened. A couple hundred people were already in line waiting to hear Stephen King speak. King was there to kick off the second annual Writers in Paradise writer's conference. Standing in line I felt as if the crowd was already sitting on the edge of their seats in hopes of a good old fashion bloodletting. An ambulance or fire truck drove by, sirens fully engaged. The crowd with wide open eyes turned toward the street. I sensed a disappointment that no gore was to be seen with their brief glance. Just before the doors were to open, four women walked to the front of the line. Eight-hundred eyeballs began to smell blood. I grabbed my cell phone, ready to dial 911. I thought the rent-a-cops would be stampeded by the frenzied and raging crowd. I'm not sure a battalion of marines could have prevented these women from being disemboweled upon the spot. The doors opened however, and sure enough they snuck in.
The gym was small and intimate. Lloyd W. Chapin, Eckerd's dean of faculty introduced Dennis Lehane, Eckerd's writer-in-residence who in turned introduced Stephen King. My first impression of King was one of frailty. I suspect he still suffers from the accident incurred seven years ago. King began his talk by telling everyone the percent of chance that someone would break into their car that evening - and be lurking in the backseat. And if they weren't getting their car broken in, he relayed the statistical odds that their houses would be broken into - and someone would be lurking. While it was funny, one couldn't completely discount the chance it could actually happen. And that tiny little what if? is what I think makes King one of the greatest authors who has ever lived.
Next, King recited Willow, a brand new 7,500 word short story. I have no idea what it is about. I heard his words, but could not comprehend them. As everyone else in the gym seemed to understand, I will chalk it up to a newly discovered short coming. It's probably one of the reasons I do not listen to audio books. Oh well.
King finished the evening by answering questions the audience had written down. Dennis Lehane moderated. Here were some of the questions:
Were you a weird little kid?
"No, I led a normal childhood."
Did music influence your work?
King said yes. He listens to heavy metal while writing and believes music makes the world right.
Did poetry influence your work?
Indirectly. "I read poetry every night before I go to bed."
Who was your most evil character?
King replied in a nanosecond, "Randall Flagg."
What was your most scariest book?
In another nanosecond, "Pet Cemetery."
Two other questions: Do you like the music group Abba and Who will play centerfield for the Red Sox next year? Rosemary and I wanted to vomit. Here on stage was one of the best authors who has ever lived and he was being subjected to questions like these last two.
King volunteered himself the question he is asked most frequently, "where do you get your ideas from?" The jist of his answer centers on asking the question "what if?" He recanted where he got the idea behind his soon to be published book, Cell. While walking down a street in New York City, he spotted a person making wild gestations as he approached. King then noticed the guy was talking on a cell phone. He asked, "what if the voice on the other end of the phone was giving him directions to kill? And from that point his story develops. Neat tidbit to think about while you read this book, eh?
I have a few more observations regarding the crowd that I'll save for a separate post.
