The Horror... The Horror: An Autobiography

The Horror... The Horror: An Autobiography

Language: English

Pages: 124

ISBN: B00D1WQKEO

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The Horror... The Horror: An Autobiography

Language: English

Pages: 124

ISBN: B00D1WQKEO

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Available for the first time, The Horror... The Horror provides a look into the life and mind of author Rick Hautala. From his days as a child in Massachusetts, to his days in college at the University of Maine in Orono, to the early days of his writing career along with Stephen King's involvement, and ultimately to where his life and career stood in 2009, his autobiography is a compelling read to be enjoyed by friends and fans alike.

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instead of elated by the success of Nightstone. So when Warner Books threw an offer at me that made my head spin ($75,000 for two books with the usual 8%/10% split), I went for it. The first danger looming on the horizon was that prior to the success of Nightstone, I had signed a contract for two more books with Zebra. I was already well into — if not finished with — the first of these two books, Little Brothers (My original title, and I still like it). So I would owe Zebra one more book after

Amazonian Basin today (for the record, I’m writing this section on August 18, 2009), I’m heading out to the deck to smoke a cigar and do some reading. I’ll pick this up tomorrow. Okay, I’m back. Where was I? I’ll re-read the last paragraph and pick up where I left off. That’s how I do it, anyway. Don’t think you have to do it this way. It’s just what works for me, and if it doesn’t work for you, fine. Go find your own method. The key is to keep writing. Push on to the end. Don’t worry about

My friends and I, I’m sure, had our own tensions building in our pants. We hoped against hope that we would maybe even get to put an arm around our girl’s shoulders and — if we were really, really brave — maybe even kiss her. No French kissing and certainly no “copping a feel,” much less rainbow parties like junior high kids have today. All we wanted was to touch a real live girl, and getting her to a horror movie seemed like the easiest way to get her to cuddle. I had a problem, though. I was

particular, would talk to anyone. He always smiled, he had a million stories, and over the years, off-and-on, we remained friends. He was one of the first authors who sat down and told me about the world of writing from the other side. Through successes, the problems when the mid-list crashed, his growing love of screenplays – he was candid, helpful, and full of enthusiasm. He was one of the most self-effacing writers I've ever encountered, with one of the biggest hearts, and he left a huge mark

when we had anti-war rallies, it seemed like Steve was often the first to grab the microphone and start ranting away against the war. I envied him his “extroversion.” Look, Steve had raw writing talent even then, and he was gregarious, and he hung out with the “cool” people on campus — the people who snubbed me and who wouldn’t accept me. I didn’t really know that. I assumed they were too cool for me. I may have been cool, too, but I doubt it. I was just a fear-filled goober who read S.F. During

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