I’d definitely say that it’s this one. Bare Bones: Conversations On Terror With Stephen King. It’s a collection of interviews that King has done for various sources (Penthouse, Baltimore Sun, etc.) on topics surrounding his work: horror, writing, his life, etc.
I love it because, since the late 80s, it’s been my go-to for inspiration. I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer. From high school onward, I was convinced I was going to be a horror writer. This book, which I picked up from the University bookstore during my first year of college, was a constant source of encouragement to me. When I was feeling down about my prospects, I’d read it. Just open to a random section, and go.
Here’s the weird thing: I am a writer. By any measure. I produce words for pay. I even produce fiction for pay. To anyone looking at my career, they would say that I achieved my goal.
But — I have yet to produce a novel. And the horror market imploded in the early 90s. So I don’t feel like a “real writer”, much less a horror writer.
And now I’m “staring down the barrel of 50”, to quote Henry Rollins, and the book stands as a stark reminder of unachieved goals, which makes me kinda hate it a bit.
Didn’t mean to get this deep on ya. But there it is.