Introduction
I go through cycles of insomnia - a fact that won't surprise people who've
read the novel chronicling the adventures of Ralph Roberts - and so I try to
keep a story handy for those nights when sleep won't come. I tell these to
myself as I lie in the dark, writing them in my mind just as I would on a
typewriter or a word processor, often going back and changing words,
adding thoughts, deleting clauses, making up the dialogue. Each night I
start over at the beginning, getting a little further before I drop off. By the
fifth or sixth night I've usually got whole chunks of prose memorized. This
probably sounds a little nuts, but it's soothing and as a time-passer, it beats
the shit out of counting sheep.
These stories eventually wear out, just as a book will after it's been read
over and over again. ("Throw it out and buy a new one, Stephen," my
mother would sometimes say, turning an irritable eye on a well-loved comic
book or paperback. "That one's read to rags.") Then it's time to look for a
new one, and during my bouts of sleeplessness, I hope a new one will come
soon, because sleepless hours are long hours.
In 1992 or '93, I was working on a bedtime story called "What Tricks
Your Eye." It was about a man on death row - a huge black man - who
develops an interest in sleight-of-hand as the date of his execution draws
near. The story was to be told in the first person, by an old trusty who
wheeled a cart of books through the cell blocks, and who also sold
cigarettes, novelties, and little notions like hair tonic and airplanes made out
of waxed paper. At the end of the story, just before his execution, I wanted
the huge prisoner, Luke Coffey, to make himself disappear.
It was a good idea, but the story wouldn't work for me. I tried it a
hundred different ways, it seemed, and it still wouldn't work for me. I gave
the narrator a pet mouse that rode on his trolley, thinking that might help
matters, but it didn't. The best part of it was the opening: "This happened in
1932, when the state pen was still in Evans Notch and the electric chair, of
course - what the inmates called Old Sparky." That worked, it seemed to
me; nothing else about it did. Eventually I discarded Luke Coffey and his
disappearing coins in favor of a tale about a planet where people for some