![]() ![]() Misery begins with author Paul Sheldon celebrating having finished a new, “real” book. By signing up you agree to our terms of use Thank you for signing up! Keep an eye on your inbox. ![]() Of course what I was seeing could have just been the cold meds. ![]() But through all the dismemberment and my (somewhat morbidly delighted) disgust, I started to realize that there was something else going on between the lines in Misery with regards to Paul and his work. I flinched, I cringed, I tried to read while simultaneously not looking at the page (which doesn’t work very well). Don’t get me wrong, Misery is terrifying. The thing that struck me most about Misery was that the book was as much about writing and the writing process as it was about the horror of Paul’s predicament. Armed with orange juice, tissues, and a veritable armory of cold meds, I devoured King’s 1987 novel about obsession, madness, and the horrors of writing. It was during the Popular Culture Association conference in April, and I was stuck in bed in my hotel room (which was charmingly located above the entrance to the parking garage) down for the count with the conference crud. I read Stephen King’s Misery for the first time this year. ![]()
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