idea, that he doesn't even exist at all. So it's like he's a ghost, which makes it real easy to get to these famous writers.
But the hero is smart, he doesn't kill them or anything. That would be too easy. And they would be famous forever, and readers and critics would never know the lie behind the success stories. So the hero gives the writers bad ideas, sneaks in at night and alters their manuscripts, gives them a mild enough case of writer's block that they get desperate. I thought about calling the book 'Desperation,' but that one guy is so good he steals my titles before I even come up with them.
Pretty good idea, huh? Well, the doctor snatched it right out of my head, and if you pick up the latest 'Publisher's Weekly,' you'll see that he just got a six-figure advance on an outline and sample chapter. It can happen to anybody, if you get a good idea. If you steal them from me.
See how well I'm controlling my anger? I'll bet you wouldn't be so calm, if you were in my shoes. But I'm used to it by now. I'm the idea man. I could almost be happy with that, and accept my place in the literary landscape. But the thing that bugs me the most is that nobody else knows. I'm not getting any credit.
And there's one more thing. I'm a writer. And some day I'm going to get around to actually writing. One day soon, you're going to let me have a pencil and some paper, maybe even a typewriter after I prove I'm not a threat to myself or others.
And I will write down my ideas, all the ones I kept locked away all these years. I have a lot of them. I'm going to be rich. Nobody thinks you're crazy when you're rich, even if you're a horror writer.
And after I'm cured, when you think about what I've said and realize I'm right, you're going to rubber-stamp my papers and I will be on the outside again. I know, I said a while ago that walls work both ways, but that was crazy talk, and you can see that I'm no longer crazy. You are such a good doctor that you are curing me. I'm feeling much better.
No, if I get out, I certainly won't go after all those writers who got rich off of my ideas. That would be acting paranoid. Anyway, I'll be too busy writing down my new ideas, which will be much better than the old ones. In fact, the readers will forget about all those other writers.
So that will be my only revenge. I'll knock them off the bestseller lists. And I'll let them have only my worst ideas. I'll make millions, and the critics will eat those 'ooh-la-lahs' alive.
Oh, I may do one more thing. After you let me out, I'm going to fly to the Merseyside. I'm going to hunt down that writer who satired me. I'm not going to stalk him or anything, and I won't be carrying any sharp objects, except maybe a writing pen.
Maybe I'll come up to him in a grocery store, or at a bus stop, or in a dark pub. I'll look him in the eye and see if it twinkles. I'll say, 'Do you know me yet?'
And I'll wait for him to ask for my autograph.
See me smile.
