I’ll be honest, this was not one of my favorite Stephen King books. Granted, it’s a non-fiction book so there’s no story to suck you in. His other non-fiction work, On Writing, was amazing and I love reading his forwards to his fiction book, so I thought I would like this a lot more than I did. Maybe it’s because this book was originally written in 1981 but it seems to be missing that ‘spiciness’ I’ve come to love when reading Stephen King. He’s not afraid to say ‘fuck’ and he’s honest about life. This book is almost like reading a really long lecture (which might be because it was based off of a class he taught while in the process of writing this book), though I felt the last chapter was one of the best of the book. I probably won’t read it again, but I do plan on reading the books he talks about in this book, so in the end I still came out ahead with a long list of horror books to read.