I’m re-reading my copy of Stephen King’s Four Past Midnight, a collection of novellas written in 1989, published in 1990. One of the stories, “The Langoliers” was made into a dreadful TV movie, while “Secret Garden, Secret Window” was made into a decent Johnny Depp picture. As far as I know, the other two stories weren’t made into movies.
The following excerpt is from “An Introductory Note”:
“You may or may not know (or care) that I was paid a great deal of money to publish this book and the two which will follow it, but if you do know or care, you should also know that I wasn’t paid a cent for writing the stories in the book. Like anything else that happens on its own, the act of writing is beyond currency. Money is great stuff to have, but when it comes to the act of creation, the best thing is not to think of money too much. It constipates the whole process.”
I would love to make millions, or even hundreds of thousands, writing, but I don’t expect that will ever happen. I blog a bit, obviously, and I write poetry, and I have written a few short stories and flash fiction pieces, and I have started two or three stories that I plan to one day turn into complete novels or novellas. My big goal, hope, dream, for my writing is to see one of my stories published and on the shelf at a Barnes & Noble (or similar bookstore) without having to self-publish. At this point, I don’t think I have the willpower or drive to make writing a career, but who knows? Maybe getting one novel-length story finished will get the creative blood pumping to where I can’t stop writing. That would be great, as would not having to go into an office for the next thirty years. Until then, I’ll keep my day job, dream, and keep reading great authors, like Stephen King.