Notes - On Writing

September 25, 2025

Chapter 1: Memoir of the Craft

The initial chapters of the book function as a curriculum vitae, offering the author's attempt to show how he was formed as a writer. This section is composed of disjointed memories and snapshots from his childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood. He emphasizes that he does not believe writers can be "made," as the foundational talent is part of the "original package," but he asserts that these talents can be "strengthened and sharpened".

Early Childhood and Lessons in Trauma

His earliest memory, from around age two and a half or three, is of imagining himself as the Ringling Brothers Circus Strongboy while carrying a cement cinderblock at his Aunt Ethelyn and Uncle Oren’s house in Maine. This moment of imagined glory ended with painful reality: he was stung by a wasp hiding in the cinderblock, and then suffered the far worse pain of dropping the block and mashing all five toes on one bare foot.

A year or so later, while living in West De Pere, Wisconsin, he recalls a teenage babysitter named Eula-Beulah, who was "as big as a house" and possessed a dangerous sense of humor. Eula-Beulah would hug and tickle him before "go[ing] upside my head hard enough to knock me down," only to resume tickling until they were both laughing again. The author insightfully notes that Eula-Beulah unintentionally prepared him for professional life: "In many ways, Eula-Beulah prepared me for literary criticism. After having a two-hundred-pound babysitter fart on your face and yell Pow!, The Village Voice holds few terrors". Eula-Beulah was fired after the author (age four) was dared into eating seven fried eggs, vomited on the floor, and was locked in a closet where he subsequently vomited onto his mother's shoes.

Encounters with Death and Illness

When he was five or six, his mother shared two grim accounts of death. She described hearing a 14-year-old girl drown off Prout’s Neck in the 1920s, screaming until her strength gave out. She also recounted witnessing a sailor jump off the Graymore Hotel in Portland, Maine, stating that he "splattered" and the contents that came out of him were "green".

During what should have been his first grade year, he missed most of school due to chronic illness, including ear infections. An ear specialist repeatedly punctured his eardrum with a long needle to drain fluid. The doctor promised, “Relax, Stevie, this won’t hurt,” a statement the author regards as "the lie for which doctors should be immediately jailed". The resulting pain was "beyond the world," only comparable to his recovery after being struck by a van decades later. This repeated experience led to one of his "life’s firmest principles": "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, shame on both of us".

The Birth of a Writer and First Earnings

Confined to home, he read constantly (comics, Tom Swift, Jack London) and began writing his own stories. Initially, he practiced imitation, copying Combat Casey comics. When he showed his mother a story, she was disappointed upon learning he had copied it from a "funny-book". She encouraged him: “Write one of your own, Stevie... I bet you could do better. Write one of your own". This inspired "an immense feeling of possibility". He wrote an original four-page story about four magic animals led by Mr. Rabbit Trick, who drove a car. His mother bought this story and four others for a quarter apiece. This was his "first buck... in this business".

Brotherly Influence and Electromagnetism

The author’s older brother, David, was highly intelligent (IQ in the 150s or 160s). David was adept at convincing his younger brother, Stevie, to join him in trouble. This dynamic led to the author using poison ivy to wipe himself "like the cowboys and Indians did it" after moving his bowels in the woods, resulting in six weeks of misery and humiliation.

For a high school Science Fair, David constructed "Dave’s Super Duper Electromagnet". Ignoring instructions, Dave bypassed a dry-cell battery in favor of household wall current and bade the author to plug in the bare-wired spike. The result was the destruction of "every light and electrical appliance in our apartment, every light and electrical appliance in the building, and every light and electrical appliance in the building next door".

Ideas, Rejections, and Persistence

The author notes he is part of the last generation of American novelists who learned to read and write "before they learned to eat a daily helping of video bullshit". He suggests turning off the television, stripping the wire, and plugging it into the wall to "See what blows, and how far".

His first really original story idea, "Happy Stamps," was born when two previously unrelated concepts came together: the idea of counterfeiting S&H Green Stamps and the sight of his mother's tongue tinted S&H green after she ran it out. This provided a foundational insight on creativity: "good story ideas seem to come quite literally from nowhere, sailing at you right out of the empty sky: two previously unrelated ideas come together and make something new under the sun. Your job isn’t to find these ideas but to recognize them when they show up".

After "Happy Stamps" was rejected by Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine (AHMM), he received the cold but useful advice, “Don’t staple manuscripts. Loose pages plus paperclip equal correct way to submit copy.”. For years, he hammered rejection slips onto a nail (later a spike) above his phonograph, viewing "optimism is a perfectly legitimate response to failure" when young. At age sixteen, he received his first handwritten encouragement from an editor: "This is good. Not for us, but good. You have talent. Submit again.".

The Shame of the Marketplace

He participated in his brother's newspaper, Dave’s Rag. Inspired by horror movies at the Ritz theater, he novelized the film The Pit and the Pendulum, printed it on the drum press (calling it a V.I.B. BOOK—Very Important Book), and sold copies at school for a quarter. It became his first "bestseller," selling three dozen copies.

The principal, Miss Hisler, stopped him, calling the work "junk" and questioning why he would "waste your abilities". He was forced to give the money back. This experience introduced profound shame, leading to the insight: "I think I was forty before I realized that almost every writer of fiction and poetry who has ever published a line has been accused by someone of wasting his or her God-given talent".

Later, as high school editor of The Drum, he created a satirical paper called The Village Vomit with the motto “All the Shit That Will Stick,” resulting in a serious confrontation with a teacher, Miss Margitan, and two weeks of detention. He has "not trucked much with satire since then".

John Gould's Critical Lessons

His guidance counselor directed him to a job as a sports reporter for the Lisbon Weekly Enterprise. The editor, John Gould, promised him half a cent a word, his first writing wage. Gould taught him critical lessons by brutally editing his feature piece with a black pen, removing unnecessary words and clumsy phrasing.

Gould articulated the fundamental difference between drafting and editing:

"When you write a story, you’re telling yourself the story."
"When you rewrite, your main job is taking out all the things that are not the story."
He also advised: "write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open," meaning the work starts as a private creation but is polished for the public.

Marriage, Poverty, and the Genesis of Carrie

After working hard physical labor at Worumbo Mills and Weaving to put himself through college, he met Tabitha Spruce, a girl with a "raucous laugh" and red-tinted hair, while working at the university library in 1969. He fell in love with her during a poetry workshop, appreciating her disciplined approach to craft, which stood in contrast to the era's focus on spontaneous, unedited art. Tabitha's poem demonstrated a "work-ethic," linking writing to practical labor.

After graduation, he failed to find a teaching job and worked at New Franklin Laundry, dealing with sheets covered in rotting food and maggots from motel and restaurant linens, as well as finding gruesome "prizes" like human teeth in hospital laundry. He wrote short horror and crime stories for men’s magazines (the "titty books") to keep the family afloat. He recalls a low point returning home broke with a feverish daughter, only to find a $500 check in the mail for his story "Sometimes They Come Back," allowing them to afford medicine.

The idea for Carrie came from two previously unrelated ideas: a memory of the pink plastic shower curtains in the girls' locker room from a janitorial job, and a Life magazine article suggesting poltergeist activity might be telekinesis in adolescent girls. He drafted three pages, felt disconnected from the female characters and the story's emotional core, and threw it away.

Tabitha rescued the crumpled pages and insisted he continue, offering to help him navigate "Planet Female". Her support was unwavering, reinforcing the belief that "Writing is a lonely job. Having someone who believes in you makes a lot of difference. They don’t have to make speeches. Just believing is usually enough".

The writing of Carrie taught him that stopping a piece of work just because it is hard is a "bad idea". He drew inspiration for the title character from the tragic, ridicued lives of two real-life high school outcasts, Sondra and Dodie Franklin, both of whom later died young (Dodie by suicide).

The Turning Point: Carrie Advance and Personal Struggle

Carrie was eventually accepted by Doubleday. On Mother's Day 1973, he received the stunning news that the paperback rights had sold for $400,000, half of which was his share. This immense sum—the equivalent of four years of teaching salary—came while he and his wife were living in poverty.

The subsequent section details his long struggle with alcoholism and drug addiction. He realized he was an alcoholic in the early 1980s, noting the speed with which a garage bin filled with empty beer cans. He previously relied on the "Hemingway Defense," justifying his drinking as necessary to deal with "existential horror". His addiction problems eventually manifested in his fiction, particularly Misery and The Tommyknockers, which served as a "scream for help" through his monsters. He refutes the popular myth of the substance-abusing writer: "The idea that creative endeavor and mind-altering substances are entwined is one of the great pop-intellectual myths of our time. . . Substance-abusing writers are just substance abusers".

His wife staged an intervention, forcing him to choose between rehab or leaving the family. He chose sobriety, partly because he was tired of being Annie Wilkes's pet writer. He found that "Life isn’t a support-system for art. It’s the other way around". After sobering up, he replaced his previous massive "T. rex desk" (behind which he had sat "either drunk or wrecked out of my mind") with a smaller, handmade desk, placing it in a corner under the eave—like his childhood writing spot. He uses this final anecdote to instruct the reader: "put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn’t in the middle of the room".

Chapter 2: What Writing Is

The Nature of Writing as Telepathy

The author posits that writing is fundamentally telepathy. He finds it amusing that people have long argued over the existence of telepathy, when it has been available all along, "lying out in the open like Mr. Poe’s Purloined Letter". While all arts rely on telepathy to some extent, writing is considered to offer the purest distillation of this phenomenon.

The writer acts as a transmitter, sitting in a designated working area (referred to as a "far-seeing place," which for the author, is his desk under the eave, despite being physically a basement place). The reader acts as the receiver in their own preferred spot (like a couch, rocker, or blue chair). Since the author was writing this section in 1997 for publication around 2000, the act of communication necessarily happens over both distance and time.

Books are characterized as a "uniquely portable magic". The author recommends reading wherever possible, utilizing unexpected opportunities like mile-long lines, airport lounges, laundromats, or during medical waits, to provide an "escape hatch".

The Telepathy Demonstration

To illustrate this act of communication, the author performs a mentalist routine:

The Scene: He asks the reader to look at a table covered with a red cloth.
The Setup: On the table is a cage, described as the size of a small fish aquarium.
The Subject: Inside the cage is a white rabbit with pink eyes and a pink nose, contentedly munching a carrot-stub.
The Key Detail: Crucially, on the rabbit's back is the numeral 8, clearly marked in blue ink.

The author explains that while there will be individual variations in the perceived image (e.g., shades of red, type of cage material, such as wire mesh, steel rods, or glass), the most interesting part—the numeral eight in blue ink—is received accurately by all readers. He notes that descriptions use "rough comparison," but rejects "prissy attention to detail" because that results in an "instruction manual" rather than prose. The successful transmission of the image, especially the "blue eight," confirms that they have engaged in an act of "real telepathy".

The Call to Seriousness

The telepathy demonstration leads to the central mandate of the chapter: you must not come lightly to the blank page.

The author states that fear or excitement are acceptable approaches, as is the feeling of despair that one can never fully capture what is in the mind or heart. It is also fine to write because one wants a girl to marry them or because they want to change the world. However, writing must be approached seriously: "it’s writing, damn it, not washing the car or putting on eyeliner". If the reader cannot take writing seriously, they should "close the book and do something else", suggesting, "Wash the car, maybe"..

Chapter 3: Toolbox

The chapter begins with an analogy to carpentry, drawing on a John Prine lyric about a grandpa who was a carpenter and "level-on-the-level". The author's own grandpa, Guy Pillsbury, was also a carpenter who built houses and ensured the Atlantic Ocean didn't wash away the Winslow Homer estate.

The Carpenter's Toolbox

The author recounts memories of his Uncle Oren, also a carpenter, who inherited Grandpa Guy's massive, handmade toolbox.

Description: The box had three levels, cunning little drawers like Chinese boxes, and dark wooden slats bound by tiny nails and brass strips. The lid had large latches like a "giant's lunchbox," and the top inner lid was lined with silk featuring pinkish-red cabbage roses, fading into grease and dirt.
Weight: When fully loaded, the toolbox weighed between eighty and a hundred and twenty pounds.
The Lesson: Uncle Oren insisted on carrying the whole heavy box to replace a single broken screen, explaining: "I didn’t know what else I might find to do once I got out here, did I? It’s best to have your tools with you. If you don’t, you’re apt to find something you didn’t expect and get discouraged".

This leads to the central metaphor: writers must construct their own toolbox and build up enough "muscle" to carry it everywhere. The author suggests the writer’s toolbox should have at least four levels.

Level 1: Vocabulary (The Commonest Tool)

The common tools, or the "bread of writing," belong on the top shelf, starting with vocabulary.

Insight: The effectiveness of vocabulary is not about how much you possess, but "how you use it".
Examples of Diverse Vocabulary: The text provides examples from H. P. Lovecraft, T. Coraghessan Boyle, and Cormac McCarthy, noting that McCarthy’s work sometimes contains "great whacks of it that I don’t fully understand".
Examples of Simple Vocabulary: Ernest Hemingway's style is quoted ("He came to the river. The river was there"). John Steinbeck’s work is highlighted; a 50-word sentence from The Grapes of Wrath is cited, featuring 39 single-syllable words, yet maintaining complex structure.
Rule Against Affectation: Writers must never dress up vocabulary by searching for long words to replace short ones (e.g., don't use "emolument" when you mean "tip"). This is likened to dressing a pet in evening clothes, which is embarrassing.
Rule for Choosing Words: Use the first word that comes to your mind, if it is appropriate and colorful. Hesitation leads to a word that is often not as good as the first, or only a "cousin" to the intended meaning.

Level 1: Grammar and Usage

Grammar also belongs on the top shelf. While the author notes that he skipped a detailed grammar section because "if you don’t know, it’s too late", he emphasizes certain rules:

Nouns and Verbs: These are the two indispensable parts of writing. Any noun combined with any verb forms a perfect sentence, offering a safety net against complex rhetorical tangles (e.g., "Rocks explode. Jane transmits. Mountains float. Plums deify!").
Active Voice: Writers should avoid the passive tense. Passive verbs are favored by timid writers because they are "safe" and avoid troublesome action, sometimes lending a false sense of authority or majesty, particularly in business documents. Active voice is preferable (e.g., writing "The meeting’s at seven" instead of "The meeting will be held at seven o’clock").
Adverbs: "The adverb is not your friend." Adverbs (often ending in -ly) are used when the writer is afraid he or she isn’t expressing himself or herself clearly. The author compares them to dandelions: one looks unique, but if ignored, they will proliferate and cover the lawn.
Dialogue Attribution: Adverbs must be avoided in dialogue attribution in all but the rarest of occasions. Attributions like "she shouted menacingly" are weaker than simply "she shouted". Avoid "Swifties" or "steroid" attribution verbs like "grated" or "gasped". The best form of dialogue attribution is "said," as exemplified by Larry McMurtry.
Insight on Fear: The urge to grasp a passive verb or adverb stems from fear. Good writing is often about letting go of fear and affectation.

Level 2: Style and Paragraphs

After lifting out the top layer, the second layer contains the elements of style, with William Strunk Jr. and E. B. White’s The Elements of Style providing the best tools.

Paragraphs as Maps: Paragraphs are crucial both for what they say and how they look; they are "maps of intent".
Expository Paragraphs: The ideal expository paragraph is neat and utilitarian, beginning with a topic sentence followed by supporting and amplifying sentences. This form helps the writer organize thoughts and avoid "wandering".
Fiction Paragraphs: In fiction, the paragraph is less rigidly structured, acting as the "beat instead of the actual melody". The flow should be dictated by the story; revisions can be made later.
Single-Sentence Paragraphs (Fragments): Brief, telegraphic sentences can vary the pace, streamline narration, create tension, and keep the writing fresh. The author notes that "A series of grammatically proper sentences can stiffen that line, make it less pliable".
Writing as Seduction: The single-sentence paragraph more closely resembles talk than writing, which is valuable because "Writing is seduction. Good talk is part of seduction".
Basic Unit: The author argues that the paragraph, not the sentence, is the basic unit of writing, where coherence begins. Mastering this requires practice to learn the "beat".
The Quickening: Words have weight and accumulate into paragraphs. If the moment of quickening comes, it is at the level of the paragraph, where the writing begins to "breathe" and might resemble "Frankenstein’s monster on its slab" opening its eyes.

Level 3: Writing Real Fiction (The Magic)

Level 3 is where the writer moves into writing real fiction.

The work should be built a paragraph at a time, using the tools from Levels 1 and 2, ensuring everything is "level-on-the-level".
The author justifies the sheer length of fiction by pointing out that readers of vast epics (Gone with the Wind, Rings trilogy) often fall in love with the world the writer has made and never want to leave it.
Conclusion: Although writing is fundamentally about tools and carpentry, the results can be magic.

Chapter 4: On Writing

The Writer's Pyramid and the Two Theses

The world of writers forms a pyramid, starting with bad writers at the bottom, followed by competent writers, then really good writers, and finally geniuses (like Faulkner or Shakespeare) at the top. The author presents two core theses for aspiring writers:

Good writing is based on mastering fundamentals (vocabulary, grammar, style elements) and filling the third level of the metaphorical toolbox with the right instruments.
It is impossible to turn a bad writer into a good one, or a good writer into a great one, but it is possible, through extensive hard work and dedication, to make a merely competent writer good.

This perspective challenges critics who believe writing ability is fixed and immutable. The writer must do all the "grunt labor" because the muse—described as a "basement guy" who smokes cigars and has "a bag of magic"—does not provide inspiration without effort.

The Great Commandment: Read and Write

The most essential activities for a writer are to read a lot and write a lot. There is no shortcut around these requirements.

Learning from Reading: Reading is vital because every book offers lessons, and bad books often teach more than good ones. By encountering poor prose (such as a novel by Murray Leinster that overused the word zestful), a writer learns what to avoid, like receiving a "smallpox vaccination". Good writing, conversely, teaches style, graceful narration, and character development.
Reading Environment: If a writer lacks time to read, they lack the tools to write. Reading should happen anywhere—in waiting rooms, laundromats, or even via audiobooks while driving.
Television Avoidance: Aspiring writers must turn off the television, as it is ephemeral and consumes too much time. This requires "serious turning inward toward the life of the imagination".
Joy and Talent: Writing should bring joy; if there is no joy, it is just rehearsal, and it's "no good". Talent makes the idea of rehearsal meaningless; a talented writer will pursue the craft until their "fingers bleed" because they are happy, perhaps even ecstatic. The author advocates a strenuous program of reading and writing 4 to 6 hours a day.

Establishing a Habit and Environment

The necessary volume of writing varies (compared to Joyce's seven words a day versus Trollope's prolific output). For the author, consistency is key: he writes every day, including holidays. If he doesn't write daily, characters stale off, the narrative rusts, and the excitement fades, making the work feel like "work"—the "smooch of death".

Draft Timeline: The first draft of a novel should take no more than three months (the length of a season), corresponding to a goal of 2,000 words a day (or 10 pages).
The Closed Door: The writing space should be humble, requiring only a door which the writer is willing to shut. This act is a declaration that the writer "means business". The room should lack distractions like a phone or TV; the author uses loud music (AC/DC, Metallica) as a way to "shutting the door".
Creative Sleep: The daily writing schedule should be consistent to habituate the mind, making it ready to "dream just as you make yourself ready to sleep". The actual work is accomplished "One word at a time". The muse will eventually start showing up if he knows where the writer is going to be every day.

Subject Matter and Honesty

A writer should write about anything they want, provided they "tell the truth".

"Write What You Know" Interpreted: The saying "write what you know" should be interpreted broadly, recognizing that the heart and imagination also contain knowledge.
Avoiding Calculation: It is wrong to write something merely because it is believed it will impress others or make money. The writer who calculates the market like a "racetrack tout" produces "pale imitations".
Enriching the Story: Writers should write what they like and imbue it with personal knowledge of life, relationships, and especially work. John Grisham's success, for example, is attributed to his total (almost naive) honesty about the reality of corporate law, which he uses to enrich the story, not lecture the reader.
Brave Reporting: The writer's job is to "Map the enemy’s positions, come back, tell us all you know".

Story versus Plot (The Found Fossil)

A novel consists of narration, description, and dialogue; plot is purposefully excluded. The author distrusts plot because real life is largely plotless, and plotting is incompatible with spontaneity.

Stories are Found Things: Stories are "relics," like fossils in the ground, belonging to a pre-existing world. The writer's job is excavation.
Plot is a Jackhammer: Plot is described as clumsy, mechanical, and anticreative—the "dullard’s first choice" and the good writer's last resort. Using intuition and focusing on situation is better.
Situational Writing: Situational ideas involve putting characters in a predicament and watching them try to work free. The author does not manipulate the characters to safety; he just writes down what happens. This uncertainty is what makes him, the writer, the novel's first reader and ensures suspense.
"What-if" Questions: Interesting situations often spring from simple "What-if" questions (e.g., Cujo: What if a young mother and her son became trapped in their stalled car by a rabid dog?).
Exercise in Inversion: As an example of situational writing, the author offers an exercise: take the common story of an abusive ex-husband stalking his wife, and invert the genders (ex-wife stalks husband). Write this unplotted, relying on the situation and honesty about character behavior. Honesty is the crucial element; lying about what you know is the "great unrepairable fault".

Description: Creating Sensory Reality

Description makes the reader a sensory participant. This is a learned skill that involves finding a "happy medium" between thin description (bewildering the reader) and overdescription (burying them in details).

Visualization: Description begins with the visualization of what the writer wants the reader to experience.
Detail Selection: Focus on locale and texture over exhaustive physical descriptions or "wardrobe inventory". Over-describing a character's appearance (e.g., "sharply intelligent blue eyes") is "lazy writing" and bad technique. The author prefers letting the reader supply faces and clothing, thus strengthening the bond of understanding.
Economy of Detail: Good description consists of a few well-chosen details, often the first ones to come to mind. When describing a setting like the restaurant Palm Too, the key details are darkness and reflection, sawdust, caricatures on the walls, and the smells of cooking steak and fish. Too much detail slows the pace and breaks the fictional spell.
Figurative Language: The use of simile and metaphor is a delight of fiction, allowing the reader to see old things in a new way. Clichéd similes (e.g., "ran like a madman") should be avoided as they make the writer look "lazy or ignorant".

Dialogue: The Audio Portion

Dialogue provides characters with their voices and is crucial in defining character; talk is "sneaky" in conveying character traits of which the speaker is unaware. The cardinal rule of fiction applies: never tell us a thing if you can show us, instead.

Skill and Art: The ability to write good dialogue is a skill learned by listening and talking, picking up accents, rhythms, dialect, and slang. Writers who are loners, like H. P. Lovecraft, often write bad, stilted dialogue. Elmore Leonard, conversely, creates "street poetry" where conversation rings true, giving the guilty pleasure of eavesdropping.
Honesty and Profanity: To achieve realism, dialogue must be honest, even if it includes profanity or vulgarity. Substituting polite terms (like "Oh sugar!") for vulgar ones (like "Oh shit!") breaks the contract with the reader and is cowardly. When receiving criticism for vulgarity, the author asserts the goal is truth-telling, citing social realist Frank Norris, who stated: "I told them the truth".
The final test is how the talk "rings on the page and in the ear".

Character Development

Character development relies on observing real people and honestly transcribing that behavior.

Protagonist Perspective: Characters are not drawn one-to-one from life, but every character is partly the writer, combined with observed traits and "pure blue-sky imagination". Every individual regards themselves as the protagonist or "big cheese".
Showing Madness: When writing characters like Annie Wilkes in Misery, who seems psychopathic to the reader but sane and heroic to herself, the writer must show her madness (e.g., compulsive eating, dirty hair) rather than explicitly stating she is depressed. This makes her more frightening because she is closer to real.
Character-Driven Stories: The best stories are character-driven. The Dead Zone was designed to explore making the American bogeyman (the assassin) the reader's friend. The antagonist, Greg Stillson, was established as a dangerous chameleon in the opening scene (smiling while secretly kicking a dog to death).
If the writer does their job, characters will "come to life and start doing stuff on their own," solving many narrative problems.

Adornments: Symbolism, Theme, and Bells and Whistles

The writer should use any technique that improves the writing without getting in the way of the story. The author advises: "Murder your darlings"—toss anything, even if loved, if it doesn't work.

Symbolism: Symbolism does not need to be difficult or brainy. If the story is viewed as a fossil, symbolism is a pre-existing part of that fossil. In Carrie, the recurring imagery of blood (linked to menstruation, the pig's blood prank, and Sue Snell's period) was unconsciously created but later polished in the second draft to enrich the meaning (sacrifice, maturity, family traits). Symbolism should adorn, not create "artificial profundity".
Theme: Every novel worth reading is about something; the writer's job in the second draft is to clarify this meaning.
Story First: Good fiction begins with story and progresses to theme, almost never the reverse (except for rare allegories).
Thematic Revelation: The author discovered the theme of The Stand only after hitting severe writer's block 500 pages in. The solution—sending a bomb to destroy the good guys' technological rebirth in Boulder—came as a flash of insight, revealing that violence as a solution was woven through human nature.

Revision and the Ideal Reader (I.R.)

The author follows a routine of two drafts and a polish.

Draft 1 (Door Closed): Write as fast as possible, concentrating on the story, without any outside interference.
Rest Period: Allow the manuscript to rest for a minimum of six weeks so the writer can approach it later with objectivity, as if reading "the work of someone else, a soul-twin".
Draft 2 (The Read-Through): Read the manuscript, concentrating on housekeeping issues (inconsistencies, misspellings) and identifying "glaring holes" in plot or character motivation. The writer should ask: Is the story coherent? What are the recurring elements? How can I achieve resonance?.
The Formula for Cutting: A critical piece of advice received early in his career was the revision formula: 2nd Draft = 1st Draft - 10%. This teaches that every story is "collapsible" and that judicious cutting acts as "literary Viagra".
The Ideal Reader: After the second draft, the door opens to share the work with 4–8 trusted friends, especially the Ideal Reader (I.R.), who for the author is his wife, Tabitha. The I.R. is the one person the writer primarily writes for. If multiple readers agree on a problem (e.g., "the conclusion seems abrupt"), the writer must make changes.
Back Story: Back story must be introduced gracefully, not awkwardly (e.g., avoid "Hello, ex-wife, Tom said to Doris"). The I.R. helps identify boring back story that needs to be cut.

Research and Writing Courses

Research in the Back: Research is specialized back story and should be kept "as far in the background... as you can get it". The writer is writing a novel, not a research paper. The author, for instance, chose to invent details for From a Buick Eight in the first draft and planned to add only a few correct details later for "verisimilitude".
Writing Classes: The author is doubtful about writing classes because many critiques are vaguely worded and unhelpful. The constant need to explain oneself forces the writer to work with the door "constantly open". However, classes do provide the benefit of taking the desire to write seriously.
Agents and Professionalism: Beginning writers should seek an agent. Writers must become their own advocate by thoroughly reading the market (magazines and Writer's Market) and presenting their submissions professionally on good bond paper, double-spaced, with a brief cover letter. A writer should be wary of agents who charge fees to read manuscripts.

The Act of Writing as a Return to Life

The author confirms that he has never written "a single word down on paper with the thought of being paid for it". He writes for "the buzz" and "the pure joy of the thing," which allows one to do it forever. The second half of this book was written as an act of faith and a "spit in the eye of despair" following his near-fatal accident in 1999. Writing did not save his life, but it made his life "a brighter and more pleasant place". Ultimately, writing is about enriching the lives of readers and the writer's own life, serving as a way of "getting up, getting well, and getting over".

Chapter 5: On Living: A Postscript

This chapter serves as a postscript to the author's memoir, detailing a catastrophic event that occurred while he was writing the book—a severe accident—and how this incident reaffirmed the significance of writing in his life.

The Accident and Immediate Aftermath

The author describes his routine of walking four miles daily near his summer house in western Maine. Three miles of the walk are on dirt roads, and one mile is on Route 5, a two-lane highway.

On June 19, 1999, while walking on the gravel shoulder, facing traffic, a blue Dodge van driven by Bryan Smith came over a crest and struck him. The author had less than a second to react, thinking he was about to be hit by a school bus. Smith was distracted, trying to push his rottweiler named Bullet away from an Igloo cooler containing meat in the back seat. Smith later told an investigator he had been heading to the store for "Marzes-bars".

The author woke up in the ditch, wiping blood from his eyes. He realized his lap was twisted sideways. When he asked Smith, who was sitting nearby with a cane, if his leg was dislocated, Smith replied cheerfully that it was broken in "five I’d say maybe six places". This experience made the author realize he had nearly been killed by a character "right out of one of my own novels".

Injuries, Complications, and Recovery

The injuries were extensive, far exceeding Smith's initial guess. The author sustained:

Lower Right Leg: Broken in at least nine places, described by the orthopedic surgeon, Dr. David Brown, as being reduced to "so many marbles in a sock". Two deep incisions, called fasciotomies, were required to release pressure and prevent amputation.
Knee and Hip: A comminuted intra-articular tibial fracture (split knee) and an acetabular fracture (serious derailment) of the right hip.
Other Injuries: Eight chipped places on his spine, four broken ribs, and a laceration in his scalp that took 20 or 30 stitches. The collision with Smith’s windshield came less than two inches from the steel support post, which would have been fatal or permanently debilitating.

He was first stabilized at Northern Cumberland Hospital before being transferred via LifeFlight helicopter to Central Maine Medical Center (CMMC) in Lewiston. During the flight, his lung collapsed. An emergency chest tube was inserted, causing a loud "shloop-shloop-shloop" sound, and he realized he was "in death’s doorway". He realized he did not want to die because he loved his family, his walks, and he had a half-finished book on writing waiting on his desk.

The author underwent five marathon surgical procedures. He was fitted with a large steel and carbon-fiber external fixator (clamped to his leg with eight large steel pegs). Daily pin-care was intensely painful.

He began physical therapy alongside an elderly stroke victim named Alice. When he complimented her, she responded, "Your ass is showing, sonnyboy," emphasizing their shared struggle. He was discharged three weeks later on July 9, having dropped from 216 pounds to 165 pounds.

Regarding the driver, Bryan Smith was indicted for driving to endanger and aggravated assault, but pleaded guilty to the lesser charge of driving to endanger, resulting in a six-month suspended sentence and a one-year driving suspension.

The Return to the Craft

The author had started On Writing in late 1997 but put it aside for 18 months because he found the non-fiction writing a "kind of torture". Five weeks after the accident, on July 24, 1999, he resolved to return to work, despite intense pain and physical limitations (sitting was painful after 40 minutes). He felt he had reached a crossroads where writing might help him forget himself for a while.

His wife, Tabitha (Tabby), who "so often has [cast] the deciding vote at crucial moments," understood his need to work. She set up a workspace for him in the back hall outside the pantry, rigging his Mac, printer, and fan in a space reminiscent of the laundry room where he wrote Carrie and ’Salem’s Lot.

The first writing session lasted one hour and forty minutes. The pain was "just short of apocalyptic," and the writing felt terrifying. He progressed one word at a time, like "a very old man finding his way across a stream on a zigzag line of wet stones". The breakthrough was not miraculous inspiration, but "a kind of stubborn determination".

The Magic of Writing

The author acknowledges that his writing did not save his life (crediting Dr. Brown’s skill and his wife’s loving care), but it continued to do what it had always done: "it makes my life a brighter and more pleasant place". He found the words started coming faster, and his pain felt farther away.

The chapter concludes with his ultimate insight into writing:

Writing is not about "making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends".
It is about "enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well".
It is about "getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy".
Writing is magic and "the water of life".
The entire book serves as a "permission slip: you can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will".

Furthermore 1: Door Shut, Door Open

Purpose and Demonstration of Revision

This section serves to illustrate the revision process using an example of fiction, contrasting the raw first draft (written with the "door shut") with the revised second draft (prepared for the world, or "door open"). The first draft is described as the story undressed, standing up in nothing but its socks and undershorts.

The First Draft: "The Hotel Story"

The raw passage, titled "The Hotel Story," introduces Mike Enslin arriving at the Hotel Dolphin on Sixty-first Street, around the corner from Fifth Avenue.

The Manager: Mike sees Ostermeyer, the manager, sitting in an overstuffed lobby chair. Mike feels his heart sink and wishes he had brought his lawyer.
The Setting and Mood: The lobby is small but smart. A man and woman in evening clothes pass by, and the scent of the woman's flowery perfume seems to summarize New York. Someone is playing "Night and Day" on the mezzanine level.
The Office: Ostermeyer leads Mike to his oak-paneled office, which has pictures of the hotel (opened in October 1910) on the walls. The office has a Persian carpet, standing lamps, and a desk-lamp with a green lozenge-shaped shade.
Back Story/Affectation: Mike notices his last three books (paperback editions) next to a humidor on the manager's desk. Ostermeyer notices the unlit cigarette Mike keeps behind his right ear. Mike explains he hasn't smoked in nine years since his older brother died of lung cancer; the cigarette is "Part affectation, part superstition," meant for lighting in case of nuclear war.
The Conflict: Mike realizes Ostermeyer isn't just playing a part; he is genuinely afraid of Room 1408.

The Second Draft and Editorial Insights

The revised copy is referred to as "1408" and involves significant cuts and refinement, likened to the story "putting on its clothes, combing its hair, maybe adding just a small dash of cologne".

The changes and the reasoning behind them include:

Title Change: "The Hotel Story" was a temporary title; the final title "1408" was chosen because it is a "thirteenth floor" story and the numbers (1+4+0+8) add up to thirteen.
Name Change: "Ostermeyer" was changed to "Olin" via global replace. This shortened the story by about fifteen lines and was done because the author anticipated reading the story for an audio collection and did not want to repeat the longer name constantly.
Omit Needless Words: Most changes were cuts aimed at increasing pace and adhering to William Strunk's advice to "Omit needless words," aiming for the formula: 2nd Draft = 1st Draft - 10%.
- An overly long section explaining what the reader was thinking was cut from five lines to two lines because most readers "can think for themselves".
- Clumsy back story, excessive stage direction, and trite language (like the business of Cuban cigars, which is "what bad guys are always saying in bad movies") were removed.
The Lucky Hawaiian Shirt: An important prop, Mike's lucky Hawaiian shirt, was moved from appearing around page thirty (in the first draft) to the opening, following the theatrical rule: if a gun is on the mantel in Act I, it must go off in Act III; conversely, if an item is important later, it must be introduced early.
The Surviving Adverb: The adverb in the phrase "Well," Mike said heartily was intentionally left in. Although the author generally advises against adverbs, "heartily" was permitted because it shows Mike is making fun of Mr. Olin, acting as the exception that proves the rule.
Final Output: The full story "1408" is available in the audio collection Blood and Smoke.

Furthermore 2: A Booklist

Context and Purpose

This section addresses the frequently asked question: "What do you read?". The list comprises the best books the author read over the three or four years during which he wrote The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, Hearts in Atlantis, On Writing, and From a Buick Eight. The author suspects that each book on this list influenced the works he wrote. While cautioning that he is "not Oprah" and this is not a book club, he suggests the list might entertain readers or show new ways of working.

The Booklist

The listed books are:

Abrahams, Peter: A Perfect Crime, Lights Out, Pressure Drop, Revolution #9.
Agee, James: A Death in the Family.
Bakis, Kirsten: Lives of the Monster Dogs.
Barker, Pat: Regeneration, The Eye in the Door, The Ghost Road.
Bausch, Richard: In the Night Season.
Blauner, Peter: The Intruder.
Bowles, Paul: The Sheltering Sky.
Boyle, T. Coraghessan: The Tortilla Curtain.
Bryson, Bill: A Walk in the Woods.
Buckley, Christopher: Thank You for Smoking.
Carver, Raymond: Where I’m Calling From.
Chabon, Michael: Werewolves in Their Youth.
Chorlton, Windsor: Latitude Zero.
Connelly, Michael: The Poet.
Conrad, Joseph: Heart of Darkness.
Constantine, K. C.: Family Values.
DeLillo, Don: Underworld.
DeMille, Nelson: Cathedral, The Gold Coast.
Dickens, Charles: Oliver Twist.
Dobyns, Stephen: Common Carnage, The Church of Dead Girls.
Doyle, Roddy: The Woman Who Walked into Doors.
Elkin, Stanley: The Dick Gibson Show.
Faulkner, William: As I Lay Dying.
Garland, Alex: The Beach.
George, Elizabeth: Deception on His Mind.
Gerritsen, Tess: Gravity.
Golding, William: Lord of the Flies.
Gray, Muriel: Furnace.
Greene, Graham: A Gun for Sale (aka This Gun for Hire), Our Man in Havana.
Halberstam, David: The Fifties.
Hamill, Pete: Why Sinatra Matters.
Harris, Thomas: Hannibal.
Haruf, Kent: Plainsong.
Hoeg, Peter: Smilla’s Sense of Snow.
Hunter, Stephen: Dirty White Boys.
Ignatius, David: A Firing Offense.
Irving, John: A Widow for One Year.
Joyce, Graham: The Tooth Fairy.
Judd, Alan: The Devil’s Own Work.
Kahn, Roger: Good Enough to Dream.
Karr, Mary: The Liars’ Club.
Ketchum, Jack: Right to Life.
King, Tabitha: Survivor, The Sky in the Water (unpublished).
Kingsolver, Barbara: The Poisonwood Bible.
Krakauer, Jon: Into Thin Air.
Lee, Harper: To Kill a Mockingbird.
Lefkowitz, Bernard: Our Guys.
Little, Bentley: The Ignored.
Maclean, Norman: A River Runs Through It and Other Stories.
Maugham, W. Somerset: The Moon and Sixpence.
McCarthy, Cormac: Cities of the Plain, The Crossing.
McCourt, Frank: Angela’s Ashes.
McDermott, Alice: Charming Billy.
McDevitt, Jack: Ancient Shores.
McEwan, Ian: Enduring Love, The Cement Garden.
McMurtry, Larry: Dead Man’s Walk.
McMurtry, Larry, and Diana Ossana: Zeke and Ned.
Miller, Walter M.: A Canticle for Leibowitz.
Oates, Joyce Carol: Zombie.
O’Brien, Tim: In the Lake of the Woods.
O’Nan, Stewart: The Speed Queen.
Ondaatje, Michael: The English Patient.
Patterson, Richard North: No Safe Place.
Price, Richard: Freedomland.
Proulx, Annie: Close Range: Wyoming Stories, The Shipping News.
Quindlen, Anna: One True Thing.
Rendell, Ruth: A Sight for Sore Eyes.
Robinson, Frank M.: Waiting.
Rowling, J. K.: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azakaban, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.
Russo, Richard: Mohawk.
Schwartz, John Burnham: Reservation Road.
Seth, Vikram: A Suitable Boy.
Shaw, Irwin: The Young Lions.
Slotkin, Richard: The Crater.
Smith, Dinitia: The Illusionist.
Spencer, Scott: Men in Black.
Stegner, Wallace: Joe Hill.
Tartt, Donna: The Secret History.
Tyler, Anne: A Patchwork Planet.
Vonnegut, Kurt: Hocus Pocus.
Waugh, Evelyn: Brideshead Revisited.
Westlake, Donald E.: The Ax.