I couldn't be Paul Sheldon (The author from Stephen King's Misery)

The other week I got surgery on my toe. A year back I had fucked up my big toe dropping a weight on it. It wasn't even in the gym, it was one I had bought to lift at home. And it wasn't even while I was working out, it was while I was moving out of my old place.

Fast forward to the present day and the only remaining extent of my toe problems was the worst ingrown toenail known to man. At least that's what it felt like. Post-surgery, I was healed! But as a result, bed-ridden for a few days. Which, of course, made me think, made me realise...

I couldn't be Paul Sheldon. You know, the author from Stephen King's Misery.

It's not the first time Misery had passed though my mind. The book/movie, I mean. Misery in general is just a way of life. A few years ago I was in a hospital bed for way too many days after having jaw surgery. The perks of modern-day orthodontics. In that time, I had just one book with me to keep me company.

Misery, by Stephen King.

If you're familiar with the story, you'll realise that being bed-ridden and reading Misery is like living on a boat but the only DVD you have is Jaws. Critically acclaimed and terrifying. A review I could only dream of.

I could break down the intricacies of Misery for you, but the broad scope of the story is thus: Paul Sheldon is an author not too dissimilar to King himself or even Arthur Conan Doyle of Sherlock Holmes fame, yearning to break free of the writing hole he's fallen into, looking forward to killing off the character that made him famous, only to fall into a horrific bed-based prison created by the most crazy of fangirls.

There are many ways I could not be Paul Sheldon before, during, or after Misery. Chief of all is that I rather treasure my feet. Not in a Quentin Tarantino way; in a way where I'd very much not to suffer Sheldon's fate. Thing is, I had watched the movie before reading the book, so I was not prepared for the book to be worse. In that hospital bed years ago, my jaws wired shut, I nervously turned each page leading up to this major moment, and I swear, when I got to it, it made me crawl, it made me feel the power or words.

I cannot be Paul Sheldon and suffer what this fictional character suffered. I cannot be Stephen King and write something that will make a scared 20-year-old freak out in bed.

As a writer in my own right, I can only aim to be as prolific as King, but horror is something I do not have a grasp over. I did write a story, inspired by my own experience trapped in a hospital bed with my mouth wired shut, but that's it.

These days, however, things are less extreme. Ingrown toenail surgery is the worst at the very beginning and then suddenly everything is amazing. Local anesthetic going into your toe feels like you've been injected with an inflating toe to replace your current one. It's not fun. After that, it's sunshine and rainbows and putting your feet up at your doctor's reccomendation.

Paul Sheldon did not have local anesthetic. Even in that way, I am glad that I couldn't be him. Successful and prolific enough to have a crazed fan keep me hostage. One that's a nurse - that once again, is not Hello Nurse from Animaniacs - who's bad at their job. To make an understatement.

Whether it's in a hospital hooked up to a bed with wired jaws or my own bed at home with my feet up, I'm just glad I couldn't be Paul Sheldon from Misery. I wish I could be Stephen King, or even his son Joe Hill, but unfortunately I am not.

Which is fine! Life imitating art and art imitating life are just that. Imitations. My short story, Wires, is just Misery but with jaws instead of feet. King and Hill wrote a short story called Throttle that's just Duel. And Duel was Steven Spielberg just warming up to knock Jaws out of a park.

Which, funnily enough, would definitely be the only DVD I'd bring to my girlfriend's parents’ boat.