At LitHub, Alex talks about Stephen King and parenting.

I sat up with a jolt. I couldn’t sleep. It was in early August of last year. I could hear the rain pelting our tiny motel room. My wife and I were staying somewhere in Massachusetts; we’d stopped on our way back to New York after our first vacation with our then-six-month-old son. Put mildly, the experience had been strikingly different from previous, pre-baby trips.

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