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T h e P l a n t

by Stephen King

part one of a novel in progress

p h i l t r um press

Bangor, Maine 

dddddddddddddddddddddddd

January 4, 1981

Zenith House, Publishers

490 Park Avenue South

NewYork, New York 10017

Gentlemen:

I have written a book that you might want to publish. It is very good. It is all scary

and all true. It is called TrueTales of Demon Infestations. I know all the things in it from

ﬁrst hand. Contents include stories from “The World of Voodoo,” “The World of the

Aether,” and “TheWorld of the Living Dead.” I include recipes for some potions as well,

but these could be “censored” if you felt they were too dangerous although for most peo-

ple they won’t work at all and in a chapter called “The World of Spells” I explain why.

I am offering this book for publication now. I am willing to sell all rights (except

for movie rights; I will direct the ﬁlm myself). There are photos if you want them. If you

are interested in this book (no other publisher has seen it, I am sending it to you because

you are the publishers of Bloody Houses, which was quite good), please answer with the

“SASE” I have enclosed. I will send the manuscript with return postage in case you

don’t like it (or don’t understand it). Please respond as soon as possible. I think “multi-

ple submissions” are unethical, but I want to sell True Tales of Demon Infestations as

soon as possible. In this book there is some “scary s**t!” If you know what I mean.

Yours sincerely,

Carlos Detweiller

147 E. 14th St., Apt. E

Central Falls, R.I. 40222

interoffice memo

to: Roger

f r o m : John

r e : Submissions / January 11-15th, 1981

A new year, and the slush in the slush pile grows ever deeper. I don’t

know how the rest of your toiling editorial minions are doing, but I contin-

ue to roll the existential rock of America’s unpublished aspiring—at least my

share of it. All of which is only to say that I read my share of crud this week

(and no, I haven’t been smoking what W. C. Fields called “the illicit spon-

duix,” either—I’m just having a prolix day).

With your concurrence, I’m returning 15 book-length manuscripts

which arrived unsolicited (see Returns, next page), 7 “outlines and sample

chapters” and 4 unidentifiable blobs that look a bit like typescripts. One of

them is a book of something called “gay event poetry” called Suck My Big

Black Cock, and another, called L’il Lolita, is about a man in love with a ﬁrst

grader. I think. It’s written in pencil and it’s hard to tell for sure.

Also with your concurrence, I’m asking to see outline and sample chap-

ters on 5 books, including the new bodice-ripper from that bad-tempered

librarian in Minnesota (the authors never snoop in your files, do they, boss?

Ordinarily it would be a flat submission, but the poor performance of His

Flaming Kisses cannot be justified even by our horrible distribution set-up—

any word on what’s happening with United News Dealers, by the way?).

Synopsis for your files (below).

Last, and probably least, I’m appending an odd little query letter from

one Carlos Detweiller of Central Falls, Rhode Island. If I were back at

Brown University, happily majoring in English, planning to write great nov-

els, and laboring under the misapprehension that everyone who publishes

must be brilliant or at least “real smart,” I’d throw Mr. Detweiller’s letter out

at once. (Carlos Detweiller? I ask myself even now, as I rattle the keys of this

ancient Royal—can that be a real name? Surely not!) Probably I’d use tongs

to handle it, just in case the man’s obvious dyslexia was catching.

But two years at Zenith House have changed me, Roger. The scales

have fallen from my eyes. You don’t really get heavyweights like Milton,

Shakespeare, Lawrence, and Faulkner in perspective until you’ve lunched

at Burger Heaven with the author of Rats from Hell or helped the creator of

Gash Me, My Darling through her current writer’s block. You come to real-

ize that the great edifice of literature has one fuck of a lot more subbase-

ments than you expected when you sneaked your first stroke-book up to your

bedroom under your shirt (no I have not been smoking dope!).

So okay. This guy writes like a moderately bright third-grader (all

declarative sentences—his letter has the panache of a heavyset guy walking

downstairs in construction boots), but so does Olive Barker, and considering

our creaky distribution system, her Windhover series has done quite well.

The sentence in the first paragraph which says he knows all of these things

“from first hand” suggests he’s a ding-dong. You know that. His assertion that

he’s going to direct the movie suggests that he’s a ding-dong with delusions

of grandeur. I think we both know that. Further, I’d stake my last pair of

skivvies (I’m wearing them, and mighty gray they are!) that, despite his dis-

claimer, every publisher in New York has seen True Tales of Demon

Infestations. Loyalty to one’s company can go only so far, chum; not even a

moderately bright third-grader would start at Zenith House. I’d guess this

letter has been patiently retyped and sent out by the indefatigable (and prob-

ably obsessed) Mr. Detweiller at least forty times, starting with Farrar, Straus

& Giroux, or maybe even Alfred A. Knopf.

But I think there’s a possibility—albeit an extremely thin one—that Mr.

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ThePlantbyStephenKingpartoneofanovelinprogressphiltrumpressBangor,Maine2000cCopyright©1982,s2000,gbynStephenfKing.pAllqrightsireserved.eddddddddddddddddddddddddJanuary4,1981ZenithHouse,Publishers490ParkAvenueSouthNewYork,NewYork10017Gentlemen:Ihavewrittenabookthatyoumightwanttopublish.Itisverygood.I...

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