THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, October 25, 1994 TAG: 9410250036
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E01 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY DIANE TENNANT, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 208 lines
Children's author R.L. Stine visited schools and libraries in Williamsburg this month, thrilling legions of middle school fans. The best-selling author of the supernatural/thriller series ``Goosebumps'' and ``Fear Street'' gave three talks and granted an interview about his work and his 14-year-old son, Matt. Stine's books are easy to read and his. . . influence. . . can have strange effects. . . on other writers. . . so they write fictionalized accounts. . . full of factual biography. . . .
WELCOME TO DEAD House, Matt thought, as he walked toward his New York apartment after school.
It wasn't really called Dead House, but it made sense, since that was where R.L. Stine - Dad - wrote a Goosebumps book by that title. That was 33 titles ago, Matt thought ruefully, and his dad is still in there six days a week, 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., typing another supernatural/thriller book for kids on a computer.
Matt opened the door carefully and slipped inside. The coast was clear. He snagged the newspaper on the way to his room and glanced at the headlines.
Oh, no, he groaned, just like a character in one of his dad's books. Another story about best-selling author R.L. Stine. What's the big deal? Matt wondered, as he tossed the paper aside.
All my friends love these Goosebumps books, or the Fear Street series, he thought. I've only read one, and I hated it.
Fourteen-year-old Matt was just any other New York City kid coming home after school. He dressed, talked and acted just like thousands of other kids. But he was different.
Make that Dad who's different, he thought. All my friends love him, but sometimes I wonder. . . . He stays home all day. . . . He thinks about scary stuff, like monsters and people that turn into plants and bathtubs full of worms. It seems just a little weird.
Suddenly, Matt heard his father's footsteps in the hall. ``I am brain dead,'' he heard his father say. Matt ducked around the corner and listened to his father open the door and head out for his regular 4 p.m. walk through the park.
I wonder where he really goes? Matt thought, and a daring idea popped into his head. He slipped quietly through the door and started to follow his father, hanging back so he wouldn't be seen. But as his father reached the outside door, a board creaked under Matt's foot.
Mr. Stine turned to look over his shoulder.
``MATT!'' HE CALLED TO HIS SON, AND lifted an arm in greeting. ``Come walk with me. What did you do in school today?''
Oh, the usual, Matt said evasively. His father didn't seem to notice.
``What do you think is scarier? Spiders or jellyfish?'' he asked his son.
``Spiders, I guess,'' Matt replied.
``Where would it be creepier to find spiders? In your bed or in your scrambled eggs?'' Mr. Stine persisted.
Gross, Dad, Matt thought. ``In my scrambled eggs,'' he answered, darting a sideways look at his father.
``Do you think it would be scarier to find one on your fork in your scrambled eggs or to swallow one whole?''
Matt stopped and gave his dad a long look.
``I sit and I ask myself these questions all day long,'' Mr. Stine explained to his son. ``It's how I make up the plots of my books. What is scarier? Where should I put the dead cat? Should I put it in her locker or in her bed?''
``Sure, Dad,'' Matt said slowly.
His dad went on explaining. Those are the questions I asked the students at James Blair Middle School and at Berkeley Middle School in Williamsburg when I visited there a couple weeks ago, he said. It got them thinking about what hard work it is to be a horror writer, and about how I write these books that they like so much.
``You know, they sold $2,000 worth of my books at the school book fair this year,'' Mr. Stine said casually. They walked on.
Matt kept shooting glances at his dad. He looks so normal, Matt thought. He reads P.G. Wodehouse at night, because he loves humor, and he admires mystery writer Agatha Christie. He answers 1,200 fan letters a week.
Mr. Stine did look normal. A plaid shirt, open at the neck. A Navy blue sport coat. A bald spot on the back of his head. He could be anyone's 50-year-old dad.
But he was Matt's.
``The barbecue dinner they had for me at the Williamsburg Regional Library was really good,'' Mr. Stine continued. ``And the kids were great. Except this one girl, she was kind of weird. She ate the carnation out of the centerpiece. Yuck.''
Eating a carnation grosses you out? Matt thought. That's not the way the author of ``Monster Blood,'' ``Say Cheese and Die!'' and ``Welcome to Camp Nightmare'' should react.
Hey, maybe something really is going on around here, Matt thought. Is this my real dad? Is this really Robert Lawrence Stine?
He didn't realize he had spoken out loud until his dad screamed at him: ``Nobody calls me that!''
THEY CALL ME BOB, MR. STINE explained. They just use my initials on the book covers.
Bob. What a normal name. Like the name a guy would use to write scripts for that Nickelodeon TV show ``Eureeka's Castle.'' Like the name his dad used on his best-selling book of all time, ``101 Silly Monster Jokes,'' and on those Indiana Jones adventure books.
Most of the time, Matt thought, his dad did seem normal. He even liked to hang out with Matt and his friends, talking hip, listening to their music, soaking up the way real kids dressed and talked. I have to, his dad would say. The kids in my books have to be real, because the plots are so outlandish. If the kids don't seem real, my middle school fans won't accept them.
Matt and Mr. Stine strolled home together. As usual, his dad settled in for some reading after dinner. TV Guide, Matt noticed. That was where his dad had found the name for the ``Goosebumps'' series, in TV Guide. In an ad that said ``It's Goosebumps week on Channel 11.''
But when he looked at his dad again, Mr. Stine was just staring into space. Thinking. Thinking up scary things to write about. Like earwigs, nasty little buggy things that can only crawl in one direction.
``If they get in your ear,'' Mr. Stine murmured, ``they can only go toward your brain. I hate when that happens.''
Matt looked at the bookshelf. It was full of horror books. I can't believe Dad has written 33 Goosebumps books for middle school kids, and 40 Fear Street novels for older kids, he thought. He thinks up enough scary stuff to turn out two books a month, and he has three years to go on his publishing contract. Each book has an initial printing of 300,000 copies. That's a lot of gross.
Matt looked at the row of books again. Boys who sit in bathtubs full of worms. Cameras that take pictures of the future. Baby sitters who get scary phone calls. Dads who grow leaves on their head instead of hair.
Matt looked hard at his dad's dark, curly hair. Can this really be my dad? he wondered.
His flipped through the pages of ``The Haunted Mask.'' Wait a minute, he thought. This happened to me! I got a Frankenstein mask stuck on my head! And dad turned it into a horror book?
Matt grabbed another book off the shelf. The kids in these books, he thought, horrified. They all have my friends' names! Does this mean that my dad - or whatever he is - is turning my friends into horrible monsters?
Matt snatched up ``Good Night Kiss.''
``Oh, my gosh!'' he thought. ``The vampire is sinking his teeth into - me!''
STARTLED, MATT SLAMMED THE BOOK shut. Mr. Stine looked up mildly.
``Is something wrong, son?'' he asked.
``Dad!'' Matt cried, gesturing at the bookshelf. ``How can you do this?''
Well, Mr. Stine replied, closing his own book in his lap, first I think up a title. Then I decide what the surprise ending will be, and who did it. Then I sit down and write a 20-page outline of the book, choosing the characters, giving them personalities, finding a cliffhanger for the end of each chapter.
That's the hardest part, Mr. Stine said, his voice rising. I hate outlining! But once the outline is done, it's easy to go back and write the book!
``I write 20 pages a day!'' he shouted. ``I can write a `Goosebumps' in eight days, a `Fear Street' in 10 days! I never dreamed I'd have to work this hard! But I'm getting big bucks for it, and last May, I had 20 books on the USA Today list of the top 150 best-sellers in the country! I have 20 million books in print right now, and two publishers!''
Over his father's shouts, Matt heard little clicking noises, and felt something raining down around him. Snails! he gasped. Dad is sweating snails, just like the monster in his newest book, ``The Horror at Camp Jellyjam!''
Matt began to sweat, too. Something horrible was happening at his house.
HE HEARD MR. STINE SHOUTING about the cover art for his next book, how he would send some real kids to a photo studio, and have them pose like they were really scared. Then those photos would be sent to an artist, who would paint the cover picture.
Real kids, in real clothes, Matt thought nervously, glancing at the book in his hand. Dimly, he heard his father shouting about a live-action TV show based on the ``Goosebumps'' series, about the deal he had signed to write his first adult horror novel and movie.
Suddenly, Matt realized his dad was looking straight at him. ``Why don't you head for bed and grab some Z's,'' Matt suggested nervously. ``You look like you need some rest.''
``I'll just have more boring dreams,'' Mr. Stine said, suddenly calmer. ``Those dreams about eating a Snickers bar, or making a bologna sandwich. I never dream scary stuff.''
That's weird, Matt thought. A horror writer should dream his plots.
``Never,'' his dad said, laughing. ``I'm just a normal guy. I drive an Acura. I live in an apartment. I work all day, six days a week.'' Mr. Stine walked to the window and looked out on the street.
``Maybe,'' he said softly. ``Maybe if my characters lived on Happy Street, they'd be OK. But they don't. They live on Fear Street. Fear.''
The look in his eyes made Matt gasp in terror.
``DO YOU THINK IT'S EASY BEING scary?'' Mr. Stine screamed. ``The toughest part is coming up with new cliffhangers. I can't just end each chapter with `He looked into the room and gasped in terror.' I sit in hotel rooms when I'm on the road, visiting schools and libraries and autographing books at stores, and I think about things like shrunken heads.
``I've always been this way! I grew up reading Norse fairy tales and Greek myths. When I was 9 years old, I found a typewriter in the attic and started writing my own stories. You think it's easy being interviewed by People magazine, being famous, seeing your name in the newspaper all the time?''
Mr. Stine glanced around, and saw the newspaper that Matt had been reading earlier, folded open to the latest story about him.
``Did you see this, Matt?'' he shouted. ``Here's another one. All these stories, seeing my name over and over and over; that's what made me this way.''
Mr. Stine paused, and Matt let go the breath he had been holding. ``Look here,'' Mr. Stine said, scanning The Virginian-Pilot. ``Here's your name, Matt. This story is about you. You're famous now, too.
``And maybe. . . you'll turn out just like me.'' ILLUSTRATION: Staff color photo by PAUL AIKEN
Color photo
Bookjacket
``Fear Street''
R.L. Stine
KEYWORDS: INTERVIEW PROFILE
by CNB