An open letter to Stephen King

Hello, Mr. King.

I am sure you will never read this, but I would like to set my words free to the world none the less. I am nothing but a Brazilian girl who has fallen in love with writing. I am part of a – I imagine so at least – large group of people who have been influenced by your work. I have known that for a long time now, but it wasn’t until my father’s untimely death that it became clear to me just how much you – most of all – has influenced my work.

Let me tell you a bit about him first. I have a strong belief that the two of you were very similar people, not only because you actually look alike, but because of who he was and who he has become through his love of literature.

My father was not an easy man. He had a rough childhood surrounded by abuse from those who were meant to nurse him, and he became a rough adult as a consequence from it. He had a drinking problem he never quite admitted to and a cocaine problem that he was forced to face when it pushed away the one girl who would fight him – me, at the age of 15. Even if he did quit the cocaine, alcohol remained as a constant concern for me until he was diagnosed with the throat cancer that killed him.

My father was also raised in a very poor environment, the kind that forced him to drop out of school at 6th grade to find work and provide for his family, a responsibility he took to heart right up until he met my mother, the love of his life, and the woman who pushed him to pursue his greatest passion - cinema - and so he did, becoming one of the best at everything he did because he would never accept being less than everything he could be.

His escape from reality, aside from drugs, was always literature, and he fell in love with your work at an early age, identifying himself with your flawed heroes and the metaphors that related to his life. I was only 12 the first time he exposed me to your work. To be fair to him, he tried to take it slow by handing me his copy of “The Long Walk” but I was so hooked and so fascinated by it, a week later I was standing at a bookstore buying my own copy of one of your books just so I could feel like it had been my choice – it was conveniently “Carrie”, by the way, in its original English publication, something my father could never offer me – and that changed me forever.

By the time I was 21, I had read over 50 of your novelas, 5 short story compilations and I was in love. I inherited all of my father’s 36 Portuguese translated books and added over twice original English paper backs to it. You had changed me forever and I didn’t even know it yet.

Now, a bit about me: I was a troubled girl. From the age of 13 I was a fucking mess. The only thing that kept me grounded was sharing your books with my father. It didn’t matter how I was experimenting with sex, alcohol and drugs, because at the end of each day I had something else in common with the man who was raising me – we had you.

A few of your novelas moved me beyond expectation, “Insomnia” being the one thing that both my father and I loved the most. And then, there was “The Stand”. Honestly, I hate the ending of that book – sorry – but I’ve always felt the end doesn’t negate how a good story is told. That book inspired me. Also, there was my hate for the Kubrick “The Shinning” version, which I have hated with passion since I was a girl, as I felt it failed to understand the complexity of a book that so closely portraied my difficulties with my own alcoholic father. Those two seemingly independent things alway stuck with me.

When I was 26 I managed to finish writing my own very first book. It’s not a long book, or a complex book, but it was finished. So I took everything I had in terms of courage and I self published it online. It’s a zombie apocalypse book, by the way, but as it was inspired by the horror books I had read as a child, it was nothing more than a metaphor for a childhood trauma – I was raped at the age of 14 and needed to translate it into art. And it was the only time in my entire life my father told me he was proud of me.

So, before I let myself extend my welcome even more than I already have, I wanted to thank you.

You were the bridge that connected me to my father, before and after his death, as his old books are the one thing that keep me close to him until this day, 5 years gone. You were the one person that influenced my work and made me capable of creating beautiful things out of a troubled mind. You inspired me, you made me brave. You made me find the courage to put pain into words. From you, I have learned that beauty is hidden in the darkness and, even if these words never reach you, my truth is here. I would not be able to be myself if you had not come into my life, all the way across the continent. Thank you.

Love always.