A Writer's Words - Who’s for Dinner?

Hocus Pocus and All That 

Who’s for Dinner? 

By Maureen L. Bonatch

February is the month everyone is thinking about love, where they’d like to go to dinner for a special date, and who they might go with. There is someone I’d like to take to dinner, but not as a Valentine. But more for some interesting conversation.

There’s no doubt about it. I’m a great, big scaredy cat.

While growing up I never watched, or read, anything frightening—let alone terrifying. I immersed myself in the wholesome stories of The Little House on the Prairie, or Sweet Valley High, and then slowly weaned into a world of fantasy with the Lord of the Rings series and Madeleine L’Engle.

That was, until I found Stephen. Stephen King, that is.

I refer to him as Stephen to my friends and family, as if we’ve met before and are good friends. In my mind, I’ve known Stephen for what seems like forever. Yet I’ve never had the pleasure of actually meeting him, or having him for dinner. 

Although quite different from my usual choice of reading, from the moment I read one of his novels, I was hooked. At dinner I’d explain to my literary idol about how I began devouring his horror stories and begging for seconds more thoroughly than the lovely meal we would enjoy. I’d avoid ordering pie for dessert due to thoughts of his novel, Thinner, written under his pseudonym, emerging in my mind.

Then I’d ask him about his story, The Stand.

What inspired him to re-release it as an even longer uncut story. The only book I’ve ever read a second time. Technically, it was the new extended version so it wasn’t the same book, but it came close enough for me—a person who has way too long of a TBR list to re-read a book. I’d chuckle and share with him how since the day I hefted that massive tome of a novel, I’ve been unable to look at a crow without thinking of Randall Flagg.

I’d like to listen to his replies.

To see if his responses sounded as seamless and believable as his unbelievable storylines. Then I’d inquire what promoted him to insist upon a cameo appearance when his novels were made into film, and how it felt to actively participate in one of his stories.

I’d shake my fist in jest.

Then politely demand he explain his rationale for almost always breaking the unwritten writing rules by infuriating the reader with a cruel ending. Yet it never chased this reader away, but instead left me begging for more.

If the conversation was going well, I’d probe a bit about just how personal Lisey’s Story might be, and if he wrote this envisioning what might happen after his own demise. As dinner wound down, I’d hint how much I’d love an invite to his writing room, as if it might provide a peek into the recess of his mind and how he successfully inspired me to seek the extraordinary in the world for my own stories.

I’d dip my head and push into line with countless other writers and tell him how his book On Writing inspired me to gather courage and pursue my own writing dreams.

I’m still a wimp.

I jump at anything that goes bump in the night. But would I like another ruthless, extraordinary, horror story from Stephen?

Yes, Please. I’ll have second helpings.

*Post originally appeared on author Diane Burton’s blog.

© 2019 Maureen L. Bonatch All Rights Reserved Maureen Bonatch grew up in small town Pennsylvania and her love of the four seasons—hockey, biking, sweat pants and hibernation—keeps her there. While immersed in writing or reading paranormal romance and fantasy, she survives on caffeine, wine, music, and laughter. A feisty Shih Tzu keeps her in line. http://www.maureenbonatch.com/