I asked STEPHEN KING what he thinks of my story, “THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW” that you can get at half the price today only. What follows is an imaginary conversation, obviously. I didn’t actually talk to SK, only in my head, but not telepathically.

SK: Too short.
ME: What? The… Oh, you mean the story? Well, you know, I wrote it in like two days.
SK: I would have written a novella in two days.
ME: But I don’t want to write something long, just something that people can read in 20 minutes, get the blood pumping and make things swell…um…It’s uncomfortable talking male anatomy with you.
SK: Who cares about male anatomy? When is the monster going to come out?
ME: What monster? You mean the monster from the guy’s pants?
SK: No, no…The monster from under the woman’s bed. That will get the blood pumping.
ME: But that would ruin the erotic moment. Things must throb and thrust and all that to have a culminating moment.
SK: The heart throbs when it’s pulled from the chest. You have your culmination in the woman’s death.
ME: You’ve killed my story and my readers’s mood.
SK: Start writing real stuff.
ME: Frankly, I think the monster will have to be in the bushes with the guy. But he’s so good-looking, and in joggers – or is it shorts? – and I don’t have the heart to kill him while he’s watching a woman masturbate.
SK: That’s why the monster comes from under her bed and rips her heart out while he watches.
ME: No way!! Why does the woman have to die? I wish Walt Whitman was alive. He’d understand my erotica.
WALT WHITMAN materialized out of thin air: Who says I’m not alive?
ME (screaming and running away): You guys have ruined my Sunday!!!

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See you,

Misty