The Unhappy Sock Puppet

What should an Author tell his or her mother when they read something as disturbing as “Donny in the Maize”? Any decent mother will know the obvious, but so many people jump to an erroneous conclusion, and automatically assume the Author is somehow just as awful and vicious as the monsters they describe. Certainly, for a few minutes they have to retain the hideous identity of the monster, but the Author has the luxury of spending the rest of the time taking a nap, or trying to keep the dog from chewing up their slippers.

I once saw this bloke driving around Santa Cruz California with a van covered in anti-Stephan King propaganda and had the misfortune of being hooked into a conversation with the eminently odd person. I probably should have stayed away from the boorishly painted van in the first place, but like the cat, I couldn't resist a casual inspection.

MAN

Did you know Stephen King was the man on the grassy knoll?

ME

No, I didn't. Wouldn't he have to be pretty young for that sort of thing?

MAN

He is older than he says he is. He also killed John Lennon.

By now I've got the gist of this guy's lunacy and decide to throw a wrench into the guy's engine of insanity.

ME

That wasn't Stephen King, that was Barney the Purple Dinosaur.

MAN

No, it had to be Stephen King! I saw it all in a dream. He was working for the CIA and they wanted him dead because he was a communist.

ME

So, you are telling me, that nice guy who hates to travel, killed John Lennon? How did he get there? Are you off your meds?

This was the wrong set of questions to ask, especially the one about the meds. I was expecting a candid camera to pop up from behind a parked car at any moment, but after a tedious and increasingly insane series of disjoint lectures, I finally got angry and said:

ME

Stephen Kin writes about monsters and awful people, but he isn't any of those things he writes about. If anything, I would think he is probably more afraid of those things in his books than you are. Why don't you paint your van, shut your mouth, and take a bath!

I happen to like the human being Stephen King, and was feeling somewhat miffed at this foul smelling miscreant's claims. Stephen once signed my copy of “The Tommy Knockers” and the gentle man behind the table didn't look like the sort who would ever stand on the grassy knoll and shoot a president at the age of fifteen.

My point is, the author is not the monster, the monster is a fabrication, and thank goodness for that.