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On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft
On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft
On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft
Ebook372 pages5 hours

On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars

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CELEBRATING 50 YEARS OF WRITING with fresh testimonials from fellow writers about why they love Stephen King and On Writing—and a few new words on the joy of writing from King himself.

*ONE OF TIME MAGAZINE’S TOP 100 NONFICTION BOOKS OF ALL TIME*

Immensely helpful and illuminating to any aspiring writer, this special edition of Stephen King’s critically lauded, million-copy bestseller shares the experiences, habits, and convictions that have shaped him and his work.

“Long live the King” hailed Entertainment Weekly upon publication of Stephen King’s On Writing. Part memoir, part master class by one of the bestselling authors of all time, this superb volume is a revealing and practical view of the writer’s craft, comprising the basic tools of the trade every writer must have. King’s advice is grounded in his vivid memories from childhood through his emergence as a writer, from his struggling early career to his widely reported, near-fatal accident in 1999—and how the inextricable link between writing and living spurred his recovery. Brilliantly structured, friendly and inspiring, On Writing will empower and entertain everyone who reads it—fans, writers, and anyone who loves a great story well told.

Editor's Note

Learn from the expert…

This isn't your typical, formulaic how-to-write book, but a description of how one writer approaches the craft. King writes as if it’s the only thing he was put on this earth to do, and it’s a fascinating look at a towering figure in the publishing industry.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherScribner
Release dateOct 3, 2000
ISBN9780743211536
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Author

Stephen King

Stephen King is the author of more than fifty books, all of them worldwide bestsellers. Among his most recent are 11/22/63, Under the Dome, and the Dark Tower novels Cell, From a Buick 8, Everything's Eventual, Hearts in Atlantis, The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, and Bag of Bones. His acclaimed nonfiction book, On Writing, was also a bestseller. He is the recipient of the 2003 National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. He lives in Bangor, Maine, with his wife, novelist Tabitha King.

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Reviews for On Writing

Rating: 4.252212181252048 out of 5 stars
4.5/5

6,102 ratings355 reviews

What our readers think

Readers find this title to be an excellent book, especially for aspiring writers. It provides a combination of Stephen King's autobiography and valuable advice on writing. The book is described as entertaining, informative, and filled with useful tips and insights. Readers appreciate King's writing style and his ability to share personal experiences in a relatable and humorous way. Overall, it is considered a must-read for anyone interested in the writing process, offering both inspiration and practical guidance.

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  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5

    Feb 20, 2018

    The best part about this book is that it humanizes the author. I think that's what people want when they read such books. They want to know who the hell these writers are. Style guides and writing manuals can give you the basics, but sometimes it's best to learn about something through the life story of a professional. Ironic, ain't it?There is some disagreement in here for everybody, but it's an honest book and a very quick and interesting read.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Feb 20, 2018

    I really enjoyed reading Stephen King's book about writing. I've observed several times that I know snobby people who won't touch his stuff: I kind of want to shove this book in their face and tell them that this, this book by this crappy bestselling author? This contains the Ten Commandments of writing. Stuff like kill your darlings (no, really, do) and don't say sugar when you mean shit, and write every day, write all the time. It even suggests a way of getting out of writer's block.

    (By snobby people, by the by, I don't mean people who have tried Stephen King and don't like it. That's fair enough, and, I think, as justifiable as my dislike of the Harry Potter books. I'm talking about people who refuse to ever read them, not because they don't like scary books or because they just can't get on with his writing, but just "on principle".)

    Two things I really, especially loved about this, though.

    1) He is up front and frank about this being just his experience. The book's a conversation with you about writing, and you've got room to disagree. He's just putting his thoughts on the table and saying, hey, if they'll help, I'm really glad.

    2) The idea of the Ideal Reader, his being his wife. It reminds me of stuff other writers have suggested (write a book to your favourite author, make your stories love letters to someone, etc) and King writes about it with feeling and also understanding. He doesn't pretend that Ideal Reader won't ever laugh in your face.

    So, I think this is definitely a book writers should read. If only to see if they can get their heads out of their asses and listen to all kinds of experience: if they can't, then they've got no business trying to write. It's got good advice, in his opinion and mine, and something obviously works because, hey, bestselling author.

    I also think that maybe you should give this to your Ideal Reader to read. Tabitha King sounds like exactly the kind of first reader an author needs.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Feb 20, 2018

    This is an EXCELLENT book. King gives you so many details about his childhood and personal life. He's hilarious without trying to be. The second part of the book is more like a grammar textbook; however, it's not like any english textbook you've ever read. King makes the rules of boring old grammar fun and entertaining. This is a great read!
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Feb 20, 2018

    I'm a huge fan of Stephen King and have dabbled in creative writing in the past, so I found this book particularly fascinating. I love the stories about how he first started writing, and the advice for writers is genuinely useful and easy to understand - it's always worth listening to someone who has sold a gazillion (probably) books since the 1970s! I would recommend this book to anyone who is similarly a King fan and would like some tips on how to improve your writing.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Feb 20, 2018

    An excellent reference book for all writers. Part memoir, part reference book, this is an interesting and easy read with loads of useful hints and tips. This will be a book I turn to when doubt and panic creeps in.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5

    Feb 20, 2018

    I actually struggled to get through this book. I was hoping for something to motivate me to get back into my writing and while it did do that in a sense, actually getting through this book before it was due back to the library was a hassle. I guess because it didn't really keep me hooked. Interested, but not terribly so. Probably just a mood I'm in on top of the exhaustion going on right now. There's good information in here, some things you've heard before and other that you might not have heard before. I learned more about publishing and agents then I knew. Recommended if you are a beginner writer hoping to publish something someday.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Feb 20, 2018

    I really loved this book especially the part about writing. The chapter about publishing is out of date, but otherwise a valuable read. Thanks for sharing Stephan.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Feb 20, 2018

    I was hesitant to read this book, as I don't really like Stephen King's type of writing, not into horror. After reading other people's reviews, I checked it out from the library and read it, then I bought my own copy and read it again. He really tells what the writing life is like, good and bad, rejections and acceptance. It helped me greatly. I think I need to read it again.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5

    Feb 20, 2018

    I liked this more than I expected to. I respect King more as a thoughtful writer after having read this book.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Nov 12, 2018

    Excellent read. Recommended for anyone wanting to learn how to write. Also a great memoir. King is descriptive and funny.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Feb 19, 2018

    Excellent book, even for non-writers who want to explore the writing process. The autobiographical section was very interesting, and the descriptions of being hit by a van and recovery after were at first horrible and then inspirational.. The info on writing was very good and contained explanations about his writing style and choices. This included why he doesnt create a plot, how he deals with characters, themes, 1st draft and 2nd draft, dialog, and the list goes on. It was time well spent in reading this memoir.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Sep 9, 2016

    awesome ..
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5

    Feb 4, 2017

    wooo woooo woooo woooo woooo woooo wooo wooo wooo wooo
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Mar 2, 2017

    Great memoir from a master. Good tips on the art and practicalities of writing. Very entertaining
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5

    Feb 7, 2017

    An entertaining book about writing. A big part of the book consists of Stephen's autobiography and his love for the writing. The other part explains how to write better, mostly fiction but can be applied to nonfiction as well.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5

    Jun 20, 2016

    Thats h elpful
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Jun 29, 2019

    It’s like having a chat with Stephen King. Great read!
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Dec 7, 2016

    Breathtaking...!! .
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Oct 25, 2016

    Its Nice .
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Jun 20, 2016

    excellent !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! .
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Sep 19, 2019

    Really entertaining and filled with good nuggets of writing wisdom. What more could you want?
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5

    Dec 28, 2018

    Impressive and oddly motivational! Some really great insights from the master. Ultimately it’s the story about what works for him and might work for you too. The memoir provided surprising and admirable context.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Nov 23, 2016

    Cool .
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Jun 27, 2016

    Remarkable...!! .
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Apr 4, 2016

    Excellent book i read ever throught out of my life...!!!
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Jan 20, 2018

    A very interesting reading for every artist in every field of arts. Highly recommended to clear hazy creative minds up.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Oct 26, 2016

    Nice .
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Apr 16, 2018

    Uma autobiografia com algumas dicas para escritores. Gostoso de ler.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5

    Sep 15, 2016

    He tells it straight. There's tons of great specific advice
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5

    Jun 10, 2016

    Excellent for me one of the best books =D !

Book preview

On Writing - Stephen King

Cover: On Writing, by Stephen King

Stephen King

A Memoir of the Craft

On Writing

Twentieth-Anniversary Edition with contributions from Joe Hill and Owen King

Praise for

Stephen King

and

On Writing

Donna Tartt

"Not only is Stephen King one of the writers whom I credit with making me a novelist, but he was also the writer who, at a key time, gave reading back to me. Even though I had an after-school job at the library in ninth grade, I was growing more and more frustrated because I couldn’t find any novels on the New Books shelf that were at all interesting to me. I’d check them out; I’d struggle through a few pages and give up. Now I realize they were too diligently realistic for a kid who’d grown up craving the shivers of dread and wonder that I got from writers like Robert Louis Stevenson; even today I find many literary novels of that period stingy and constricted in their views of reality, but in the 1970s it was so unacceptable for fiction to make even the slightest gesture toward the imaginal that I took these limits for granted and didn’t question them. Still, I felt shut out. Why weren’t people writing books I wanted to read? If I was going to be a writer someday, was I going to have to write books like this? Maybe I just didn’t like to read anymore? In dance class one day, I was talking about this to my ballet partner, Sheri, as we were doing our exercises together—about how hard it was to find a new book I liked—and she said: ‘I’ve just read a great new book, The Dead Zone by Stephen King.’ And she told me a bit of the story while we were working at the barre.

I thought The Dead Zone was great too—so great that I ended up recommending it to my mother (which was a serious deal for fourteen-year-old me, recommending a book with the F word in it to my mother), and she ended up loving it as much as I did. She says now that it is the first book I ever recommended to her, adult to adult; I think she is right. But for me particularly, as a kid wanting to write fiction, it was pivotal to find a contemporary novelist who had the courage to break away from the rigid realist template of the time (suburban affairs, suburban divorce) and sweep grandly back into the wide-open plains of terror and magic. As Stephen King says himself in On Writing: ‘I remember an immense feeling of possibility . . . as if I had been ushered into a vast building filled with closed doors and had been given leave to open any I liked.’

Since then, I’ve loved many more of Stephen King’s books. But though his novels themselves are wise and generous teachers for aspiring novelists, On Writing leads you directly in through the back door of that vast building, into the long hall of closed doors, and says: Go ahead. Try. You can do it."

Margaret Atwood

"King is a visceral writer, and a master of granular detail. He writes ‘horror,’ the most literary of forms, especially when it comes to the supernatural, which must perforce be inspired by already-existing tales and books. But underneath the ‘horror,’ in King, is always the real horror: the all-too-actual poverty and neglect and hunger and abuse that exists in America today. ‘I went to school with kids who wore the same neckdirt for months, kids whose skin festered with sores and rashes, kids with the eerie dried-apple-doll faces that result from untreated burns, kids who were sent to school with stones in their dinnerbuckets and nothing but air in their Thermoses,’ King says in On Writing. The ultimate horror, for him as it was for Dickens, is human cruelty, and especially cruelty to children. It is this that distorts ‘charity,’ the better side of our nature, the side that prompts us to take care of others. I think this is part of King’s widespread appeal. Yes, he shows us weird stuff, but in the context of the actual."

Stephen Graham Jones

"Ever since Stephen King ducked into the house of fiction fifty years ago, he’s been propping it up, making it stronger, building it to last. With On Writing, what he’s doing is kicking the door open for the rest of us to come in. Part craft book, part style guide, all memoir, this big little book is essential for anyone hoping to take part in the mystery and the muscle of storytelling."

Tom Perrotta

"On Writing only gets better with age. It’s a complex and engaging book, full of practical wisdom and illuminating anecdotes, grounded in a lifetime of storytelling experience. Stephen King knows what he’s talking about, and it’s a pleasure to hear his advice about the art and craft of writing. He’s funny and opinionated and passionate about what he does—he knows that writing is hard work and also that it’s magic—and the joy he communicates on every page of this book is contagious."

John Grisham

For the past thirty-five years I’ve been lucky enough to live the writing life that Stephen describes in such wonderful detail. I know firsthand that he is spot-on. His advice is sharp and practical, and his experiences are icing on the cake for those of us who continue to enjoy his work. If you dream of writing novels, start with this timeless book.

S.A. Cosby

"Stephen King opened his soul in On Writing. He showed us all through his wisdom and his candor not only what epiphanies writing can bring to the reader but also the author. On Writing is a touchstone for the artistic life. A life that chooses us despite all our flaws. It is a gift beyond measure."

Victor LaValle

How did some horror stories set in Maine make it into the life of a kid from Queens, New York? I don’t know exactly, but I feel fortunate they did. First book I read was a mass market paperback, Skeleton Crew, bought by my mother who thought the toy monkey on the cover looked creepy. How rare to find a writer who rewards you at thirteen years old and thirty years old and fifty years old. His work meets you where you are, and somehow also waits for you, farther up the road. Whenever it meets you, the greeting is always warm, its embrace companionable, but the things it whispers? My god. They change you like few other books ever will.

Dana Spiotta

"On Writing is a generous and honest book about how hard work and creativity can transform a life. King dispenses his advice with a winning, self-deprecating wit that makes this book much more than a how-to guide. On Writing convinces because the author seems to get so much pleasure and satisfaction from his imagination. And his description of how essential his work ethic is to his success—he works every single day—should inspire writers at every level of accomplishment."

Lauren Groff

"Stephen King’s On Writing is my favorite book about the art and life of a writer. When I teach the book, its clarity, honesty, and gentleness always help to demystify the craft for my anxious beginners; and when I am alone in my room with my own work and the doubt begins to swallow me whole, I turn to it to remember that a writer should always be humble, hardworking, and grateful to live the life of the imagination. The rest of us can only strive to live up to the example Stephen King sets in this, his finest and most beautiful book."

Michael Chabon

This is a special book, animated by a unique intelligence, and filled with useful truth.

Tajja Isen, The Atlantic

"King’s nonfiction craft book, On Writing, ostensibly fulfills the promise of its subtitle: A Memoir of the Craft. King calls the book ‘a kind of curriculum vitae’ that blends autobiographical scenes with practical advice. (One particular tidbit that stayed with me as a younger writer: Every author has a single ideal reader, whom they should keep in mind as they work). Yet King cannot stop himself from employing horror. As a child, he was prone to illness and taken to the doctor for painful eardrum lancings, which he describes in graphic detail. The terror only grows as King narrates the pitfalls of his adulthood, such as his addictions and then his unexpected, grueling recovery from a near-fatal accident. What begins as a book on writing with some personal material woven in ends up feeling like—what else?—a Stephen King novel. Readers who come to it for the advice alone will be rewarded and shaken by the storytelling that follows."

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On Writing, by Stephen King, Scribner

Honesty’s the best policy.

—Miguel de Cervantes

Liars prosper.

—Anonymous

First Foreword

In the early nineties (it might have been 1992, but it’s hard to remember when you’re having a good time) I joined a rock-and-roll band composed mostly of writers. The Rock Bottom Remainders were the brainchild of Kathi Kamen Goldmark, a book publicist and musician from San Francisco. The group included Dave Barry on lead guitar, Ridley Pearson on bass, Barbara Kingsolver on keyboards, Robert Fulghum on mandolin, and me on rhythm guitar. There was also a trio of chick singers, à la the Dixie Cups, made up (usually) of Kathi, Tad Bartimus, and Amy Tan.

The group was intended as a one-shot deal—we would play two shows at the American Booksellers Convention, get a few laughs, recapture our misspent youth for three or four hours, then go our separate ways.

It didn’t happen that way, because the group never quite broke up. We found that we liked playing together too much to quit, and with a couple of ringer musicians on sax and drums (plus, in the early days, our musical guru, Al Kooper, at the heart of the group), we sounded pretty good. You’d pay to hear us. Not a lot, not U2 or E Street Band prices, but maybe what the oldtimers call roadhouse money. We took the group on tour, wrote a book about it (my wife took the photos and danced whenever the spirit took her, which was quite often), and continue to play now and then, sometimes as The Remainders, sometimes as Raymond Burr’s Legs. The personnel comes and goes—columnist Mitch Albom has replaced Barbara on keyboards, and Al doesn’t play with the group anymore ’cause he and Kathi don’t get along—but the core has remained Kathi, Amy, Ridley, Dave, Mitch Albom, and me… plus Josh Kelly on drums and Erasmo Paolo on sax.

We do it for the music, but we also do it for the companionship. We like each other, and we like having a chance to talk sometimes about the real job, the day job people are always telling us not to quit. We are writers, and we never ask one another where we get our ideas; we know we don’t know.

One night while we were eating Chinese before a gig in Miami Beach, I asked Amy if there was any one question she was never asked during the Q-and-A that follows almost every writer’s talk—that question you never get to answer when you’re standing in front of a group of author-struck fans and pretending you don’t put your pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. Amy paused, thinking it over very carefully, and then said: No one ever asks about the language.

I owe an immense debt of gratitude to her for saying that. I had been playing with the idea of writing a little book about writing for a year or more at that time, but had held back because I didn’t trust my own motivations—why did I want to write about writing? What made me think I had anything worth saying?

The easy answer is that someone who has sold as many books of fiction as I have must have something worthwhile to say about writing it, but the easy answer isn’t always the truth. Colonel Sanders sold a hell of a lot of fried chicken, but I’m not sure anyone wants to know how he made it. If I was going to be presumptuous enough to tell people how to write, I felt there had to be a better reason than my popular success. Put another way, I didn’t want to write a book, even a short one like this, that would leave me feeling like either a literary gasbag or a transcendental asshole. There are enough of those books—and those writers—on the market already, thanks.

But Amy was right: nobody ever asks about the language. They ask the DeLillos and the Updikes and the Styrons, but they don’t ask popular novelists. Yet many of us proles also care about the language, in our humble way, and care passionately about the art and craft of telling stories on paper. What follows is an attempt to put down, briefly and simply, how I came to the craft, what I know about it now, and how it’s done. It’s about the day job; it’s about the language.

This book is dedicated to Amy Tan, who told me in a very simple and direct way that it was okay to write it.

Second Foreword

This is a short book because most books about writing are filled with bullshit. Fiction writers, present company included, don’t understand very much about what they do—not why it works when it’s good, not why it doesn’t when it’s bad. I figured the shorter the book, the less the bullshit.

One notable exception to the bullshit rule is The Elements of Style, by William Strunk Jr. and E. B. White. There is little or no detectable bullshit in that book. (Of course it’s short; at eighty-five pages it’s much shorter than this one.) I’ll tell you right now that every aspiring writer should read The Elements of Style. Rule 17 in the chapter titled Principles of Composition is Omit needless words. I will try to do that here.

Third Foreword

One rule of the road not directly stated elsewhere in this book: The editor is always right. The corollary is that no writer will take all of his or her editor’s advice; for all have sinned and fallen short of editorial perfection. Put another way, to write is human, to edit is divine. Chuck Verrill edited this book, as he has so many of my novels. And as usual, Chuck, you were divine.

—Steve

C.V.

I was stunned by Mary Karr’s memoir, The Liars’ Club. Not just by its ferocity, its beauty, and by her delightful grasp of the vernacular, but by its totality—she is a woman who remembers everything about her early years.

I’m not that way. I lived an odd, herky-jerky childhood, raised by a single parent who moved around a lot in my earliest years and who—I am not completely sure of this—may have farmed my brother and me out to one of her sisters for awhile because she was economically or emotionally unable to cope with us for a time. Perhaps she was only chasing our father, who piled up all sorts of bills and then did a runout when I was two and my brother David was four. If so, she never succeeded in finding him. My mom, Nellie Ruth Pillsbury King, was one of America’s early liberated women, but not by choice.

Mary Karr presents her childhood in an almost unbroken panorama. Mine is a fogged-out landscape from which occasional memories appear like isolated trees… the kind that look as if they might like to grab and eat you.

What follows are some of those memories, plus assorted snapshots from the somewhat more coherent days of my adolescence and young manhood. This is not an autobiography. It is, rather, a kind of curriculum vitae—my attempt to show how one writer was formed. Not how one writer was made; I don’t believe writers can be made, either by circumstances or by self-will (although I did believe those things once). The equipment comes with the original package. Yet it is by no means unusual equipment; I believe large numbers of people have at least some talent as writers and storytellers, and that those talents can be strengthened and sharpened. If I didn’t believe that, writing a book like this would be a waste of time.

This is how it was for me, that’s all—a disjointed growth process in which ambition, desire, luck, and a little talent all played a part. Don’t bother trying to read between the lines, and don’t look for a through-line. There are no lines—only snapshots, most out of focus.

– 1 –

My earliest memory is of imagining I was someone else—imagining that I was, in fact, the Ringling Brothers Circus Strongboy. This was at my Aunt Ethelyn and Uncle Oren’s house in Durham, Maine. My aunt remembers this quite clearly, and says I was two and a half or maybe three years old.

I had found a cement cinderblock in a corner of the garage and had managed to pick it up. I carried it slowly across the garage’s smooth cement floor, except in my mind I was dressed in an animal skin singlet (probably a leopard skin) and carrying the cinderblock across the center ring. The vast crowd was silent. A brilliant blue-white spotlight marked my remarkable progress. Their wondering faces told the story: never had they seen such an incredibly strong kid. "And he’s only two!" someone muttered in disbelief.

Unknown to me, wasps had constructed a small nest in the lower half of the cinderblock. One of them, perhaps pissed off at being relocated, flew out and stung me on the ear. The pain was brilliant, like a poisonous inspiration. It was the worst pain I had ever suffered in my short life, but it only held the top spot for a few seconds. When I dropped the cinderblock on one bare foot, mashing all five toes, I forgot all about the wasp. I can’t remember if I was taken to the doctor, and neither can my Aunt Ethelyn (Uncle Oren, to whom the Evil Cinderblock surely belonged, is almost twenty years dead), but she remembers the sting, the mashed toes, and my reaction. How you howled, Stephen! she said. You were certainly in fine voice that day.

– 2 –

A year or so later, my mother, my brother, and I were in West De Pere, Wisconsin. I don’t know why. Another of my mother’s sisters, Cal (a WAAC beauty queen during World War II), lived in Wisconsin with her convivial beer-drinking husband, and maybe Mom had moved to be near them. If so, I don’t remember seeing much of the Weimers. Any of them, actually. My mother was working, but I can’t remember what her job was, either. I want to say it was a bakery she worked in, but I think that came later, when we moved to Connecticut to live near her sister Lois and her husband (no beer for Fred, and not much in the way of conviviality, either; he was a crewcut daddy who was proud of driving his convertible with the top up, God knows why).

There was a stream of babysitters during our Wisconsin period. I don’t know if they left because David and I were a handful, or because they found better-paying jobs, or because my mother insisted on higher standards than they were willing to rise to; all I know is that there were a lot of them. The only one I remember with any clarity is Eula, or maybe she was Beulah. She was a teenager, she was as big as a house, and she laughed a lot. Eula-Beulah had a wonderful sense of humor, even at four I could recognize that, but it was a dangerous sense of humor—there seemed to be a potential thunderclap hidden inside each hand-patting, butt-rocking, head-tossing outburst of glee. When I see those hidden-camera sequences where real-life babysitters and nannies just all of a sudden wind up and clout the kids, it’s my days with Eula-Beulah I always think of.

Was she as hard on my brother David as she was on me? I don’t know. He’s not in any of these pictures. Besides, he would have been less at risk from Hurricane Eula-Beulah’s dangerous winds; at six, he would have been in the first grade and off the gunnery range for most of the day.

Eula-Beulah would be on the phone, laughing with someone, and beckon me over. She would hug me, tickle me, get me laughing, and then, still laughing, go upside my head hard enough to knock me down. Then she would tickle me with her bare feet until we were both laughing again.

Eula-Beulah was prone to farts—the kind that are both loud and smelly. Sometimes when she was so afflicted, she would throw me on the couch, drop her wool-skirted butt on my face, and let loose. Pow! she’d cry in high glee. It was like being buried in marshgas fireworks. I remember the dark, the sense that I was suffocating, and I remember laughing. Because, while what was happening was sort of horrible, it was also sort of funny. 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.

I don’t know what happened to the other sitters, but Eula-Beulah was fired. It was because of the eggs. One morning Eula-Beulah fried me an egg for breakfast. I ate it and asked for another one. Eula-Beulah fried me a second egg, then asked if I wanted another one. She had a look in her eye that said, "You don’t dare eat another one, Stevie." So I asked for another one. And another one. And so on. I stopped after seven, I think—seven is the number that sticks in my mind, and quite clearly. Maybe we ran out of eggs. Maybe I cried off. Or maybe Eula-Beulah got scared. I don’t know, but probably it was good that the game ended at seven. Seven eggs is quite a few for a four-year-old.

I felt all right for awhile, and then I yarked all over the floor. Eula-Beulah laughed, then went upside my head, then shoved me into the closet and locked the door. Pow. If she’d locked me in the bathroom, she might have saved her job, but she didn’t. As for me, I didn’t really mind being in the closet. It was dark, but it smelled of my mother’s Coty perfume, and there was a comforting line of light under the door.

I crawled to the back of the closet, Mom’s coats and dresses brushing along my back. I began to belch—long loud belches that burned like fire. I don’t remember being sick to my stomach but I must have been, because when I opened my mouth to let out another burning belch, I yarked again instead. All over my mother’s shoes. That was the end for Eula-Beulah. When my mother came home from work that day, the babysitter was fast asleep on the couch and little Stevie was locked in the closet, fast asleep with half-digested fried eggs drying in his hair.

– 3 –

Our stay in West De Pere was neither long nor successful. We were evicted from our third-floor apartment when a neighbor spotted my six-year-old brother crawling around on the roof and called the police. I don’t know where my mother was when this happened. I don’t know where the babysitter of the week was, either. I only know that I was in the bathroom, standing with my bare feet on the heater, watching to see if my brother would fall off the roof or make it back into the bathroom okay. He made it back. He is now fifty-five and living in New Hampshire.

– 4 –

When I was five or six, I asked my mother if she had ever seen anyone die. Yes, she said, she had seen one person die and had heard another one. I asked how you could hear a person die and she told me that it was a girl who had drowned off Prout’s Neck in the 1920s. She said the girl swam out past the rip, couldn’t get back in, and began screaming for help. Several men tried to reach her, but that day’s rip had developed a vicious undertow, and they were all forced back. In the end they could only stand around, tourists and townies, the teenager who became my mother among them, waiting for a rescue boat that never came and listening to that girl scream until her strength gave out and she went under. Her body washed up in New Hampshire, my mother said. I asked how old the girl was. Mom said she was fourteen, then read me a comic book and packed me off to bed. On some other day she told me about the one she saw—a sailor who jumped off the roof of the Graymore Hotel in Portland, Maine, and landed in the street.

He splattered, my mother said in her most matter-of-fact tone. She paused, then added, The stuff that came out of him was green. I have never forgotten it.

That makes two of us, Mom.

– 5 –

Most of the nine months I should have spent in the first grade I spent in bed. My problems started with the measles—a perfectly ordinary case—and then got steadily worse. I had bout after bout of what I mistakenly thought was called stripe throat; I lay in bed drinking cold water and imagining my throat in alternating stripes of red and white (this was probably not so far wrong).

At some point my ears became involved, and one day my mother called a taxi

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