Appalling behavior by Stephen King
Stephen King's LISEY'S STORY won the Bram Stoker Award for Best Novel and my own PRESSURE did not. I'm fine with that. No sour grapes. However, I very strongly object to Mr. King's abhorrent, juvenile behavior towards me after his victory.
It started Monday night when I finally got home from the World Horror Convention. I was exhausted and just wanted to get some sleep. But the phone rang around 2:30 AM, and I'll transcribe the conversation as accurately as I can remember.
ME: Hello?
KING: Is this Jeff Strand?
ME: Yeah.
KING: Congratulations on winning the Stoker, Jeff! You totally deserved it.
ME: Huh?
KING: Oh...wait...my mistake, it appears that I'M the one who took home Stoker gold this year. How silly of me. You're not JEALOUS, are you?
ME: Who is this?
KING [ignoring the question]: Poor little Stokerless Jeffie-Weffie. I bet you cried like a little girl whose Barbie doll got decapitated in an elevator mishap. [snickers]
ME: Is this Stephen King?
KING: Yes. I mean, no. [muffled giggling] Hey, wanna hear a riddle?
ME: It's the middle of the night!
KING: What do you call an author without a Stoker? Give up? Jeff Strand! Hee hee hee hee hee! [whispering] Shhhh, Tabby, he'll hear you...
ME: This is really unprofessional and inappropriate.
KING: [muffled hysterical laughter] You should write a sequel called PRESSURE II: WAAAH, LISEY'S STORY WON AND I SUCK! Looooooser! Here, you can borrow my Stoker. Psyche!!! No, really, I'll mail it in the morning. Psyche!!!
[Dial tone.]
He prank called me six more times that night, although I won't bore you with the details. I'm cool with that. He won, I didn't, and he has the right to gloat a bit, I suppose. But the next day I received a Federal Express package. Inside was a CD by the Rock Bottom Remainders, with a handwritten note that said "A special song just for you! -- Love, SK."
I put in the CD. As the song began, I immediately recognized Dave Barry on lead guitar and Ridley Pearson on tuba. Then Stephen King began to sing, to the tune of Queen's "Under Pressure."
Um boom ba bay
Um boom ba bay
Um um boom ba bay bay
Pressure
Was beaten by me
I put a frown on you, you're feelin' sore
I beat Pressure
Made you look like a clown
Snapped your big ego in two
Put you on the streets
Um ba ba bay
Um ba ba bay
Dee day duh
Ee day duh
You feel sorrow in knowing
Which Stoker you're without
Watching your good friends
scream "Let's all pout!"
Tomorrow takes me higher
Pressure's for people
Who can barely read
Day day day
Da da dup bup bup
Okay
I shut off the CD at this point, not wanting to tolerate any more of his childish antics. I want to make it perfectly clear that I did nothing to instigate this behavior, and in fact I would have continued to take the high road and kept this matter private. However, this evening was the last straw. I came home to find my front window broken. When I hurried inside, Stephen King was seated on my couch, drinking a Mountain Dew he'd stolen out of my refrigerator, with numerous Stoker statues spread out on the floor in front of him.
"My, my, my," he said. "Look at all of these lovely Stokers I've got. It's a whole neighborhood of them! What a friendly little community!"
I very politely asked him to leave, but he picked up one of the haunted house statues and rested it on his lap. "Look, the little door opens! How cool is that? Whose name is that on the plaque inside? Why, it's MINE! Oh, goodness, I'm sure that at least ONE of these must have your name in it! Let me check. This one? Nope. This one? Nope. This one? Nope. This one...?"
I asked him--once again, calmly and politely--to leave my home or I'd call the police.
"This one? Nope. This one? Nope. This one? Nope."
At this point, yes, I'll admit that I lost my temper. I said in a very stern voice that I expected him to pay for both the window he broke and the soft drink he consumed. Is that unreasonable? If he broke into your home and taunted you with his awards, would you just put up with it? I am not the bad guy here. But he just chuckled, gathered up his Stokers, and walked out through the front door, dropping the empty Mountain Dew can on my floor.
Look, I'm not asking anybody to quit buying Stephen King books. However, considering his poor sportsmanship, I think the best revenge would be if PRESSURE outsold LISEY'S STORY. LISEY'S STORY sold about 1.2 million copies in 2006, so this won't be an easy task; some of you will have to buy doubles. But we can't let Stoker winners treat those of us who came up short in such a shameful manner. Buy PRESSURE. Buy it now. Buy it often.
Thank you for letting me vent.
--Jeff
It started Monday night when I finally got home from the World Horror Convention. I was exhausted and just wanted to get some sleep. But the phone rang around 2:30 AM, and I'll transcribe the conversation as accurately as I can remember.
ME: Hello?
KING: Is this Jeff Strand?
ME: Yeah.
KING: Congratulations on winning the Stoker, Jeff! You totally deserved it.
ME: Huh?
KING: Oh...wait...my mistake, it appears that I'M the one who took home Stoker gold this year. How silly of me. You're not JEALOUS, are you?
ME: Who is this?
KING [ignoring the question]: Poor little Stokerless Jeffie-Weffie. I bet you cried like a little girl whose Barbie doll got decapitated in an elevator mishap. [snickers]
ME: Is this Stephen King?
KING: Yes. I mean, no. [muffled giggling] Hey, wanna hear a riddle?
ME: It's the middle of the night!
KING: What do you call an author without a Stoker? Give up? Jeff Strand! Hee hee hee hee hee! [whispering] Shhhh, Tabby, he'll hear you...
ME: This is really unprofessional and inappropriate.
KING: [muffled hysterical laughter] You should write a sequel called PRESSURE II: WAAAH, LISEY'S STORY WON AND I SUCK! Looooooser! Here, you can borrow my Stoker. Psyche!!! No, really, I'll mail it in the morning. Psyche!!!
[Dial tone.]
He prank called me six more times that night, although I won't bore you with the details. I'm cool with that. He won, I didn't, and he has the right to gloat a bit, I suppose. But the next day I received a Federal Express package. Inside was a CD by the Rock Bottom Remainders, with a handwritten note that said "A special song just for you! -- Love, SK."
I put in the CD. As the song began, I immediately recognized Dave Barry on lead guitar and Ridley Pearson on tuba. Then Stephen King began to sing, to the tune of Queen's "Under Pressure."
Um boom ba bay
Um boom ba bay
Um um boom ba bay bay
Pressure
Was beaten by me
I put a frown on you, you're feelin' sore
I beat Pressure
Made you look like a clown
Snapped your big ego in two
Put you on the streets
Um ba ba bay
Um ba ba bay
Dee day duh
Ee day duh
You feel sorrow in knowing
Which Stoker you're without
Watching your good friends
scream "Let's all pout!"
Tomorrow takes me higher
Pressure's for people
Who can barely read
Day day day
Da da dup bup bup
Okay
I shut off the CD at this point, not wanting to tolerate any more of his childish antics. I want to make it perfectly clear that I did nothing to instigate this behavior, and in fact I would have continued to take the high road and kept this matter private. However, this evening was the last straw. I came home to find my front window broken. When I hurried inside, Stephen King was seated on my couch, drinking a Mountain Dew he'd stolen out of my refrigerator, with numerous Stoker statues spread out on the floor in front of him.
"My, my, my," he said. "Look at all of these lovely Stokers I've got. It's a whole neighborhood of them! What a friendly little community!"
I very politely asked him to leave, but he picked up one of the haunted house statues and rested it on his lap. "Look, the little door opens! How cool is that? Whose name is that on the plaque inside? Why, it's MINE! Oh, goodness, I'm sure that at least ONE of these must have your name in it! Let me check. This one? Nope. This one? Nope. This one? Nope. This one...?"
I asked him--once again, calmly and politely--to leave my home or I'd call the police.
"This one? Nope. This one? Nope. This one? Nope."
At this point, yes, I'll admit that I lost my temper. I said in a very stern voice that I expected him to pay for both the window he broke and the soft drink he consumed. Is that unreasonable? If he broke into your home and taunted you with his awards, would you just put up with it? I am not the bad guy here. But he just chuckled, gathered up his Stokers, and walked out through the front door, dropping the empty Mountain Dew can on my floor.
Look, I'm not asking anybody to quit buying Stephen King books. However, considering his poor sportsmanship, I think the best revenge would be if PRESSURE outsold LISEY'S STORY. LISEY'S STORY sold about 1.2 million copies in 2006, so this won't be an easy task; some of you will have to buy doubles. But we can't let Stoker winners treat those of us who came up short in such a shameful manner. Buy PRESSURE. Buy it now. Buy it often.
Thank you for letting me vent.
--Jeff
posted by Jeff Strand at 8:15 PM
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