I thought it’d be appropriate to finish out the year reading Stephen King’s “memoir of the craft” of writing. The whole reason I wanted to spend the year reading so much is to try and understand the act of writing more thoroughly, and hopefully improve. King is a disciplined man, among the great voracious readers of our day (some of my former professors, and Art Garfunkel also come to mind). He averages 80 to 90 books a year, which makes a goal like mine seem far less ambitious in comparison.
But in addition to reading, he writes like a madman (I’d be happy to adapt just a little of the dedication he speaks of in this book). It shows, too. I still haven’t read one of King’s novels (honest), but some of the movie adaptions have been great, and his tough-love book for writers straight up slaughtered me. (I also never plan to receive a $300,000 advance for my first published book, but unlike me, King probably deserved every penny.)
On Writing has its sad, funny and educational moments. It was #52 in my quest to read a book every week 2009, meaning I am done. Party hats, people.
An archival of every title will be coming soon-ish, right when I figure out how to go about it (it’ll be mostly for my own enjoyment—patting self on the back). 2010 will be slightly different on the writing/reading front. I still plan to read a ton, but I’ll be writing more, and most likely won’t blog about everything I consume. If you’re interested in reading something with me, talk to me here or on Goodreads. Thanks for reading!