He’s sold more than 500 million books, writes two novels every year, lives like a prince and keeps his manuscripts in the fridge in case of fire
May 3, 2023 at 6:00 a.m. EDT
IRVINE, Calif. — Few American writers sell as many books, live better or worry more than Dean Koontz.
“There are days that you think, ‘I can’t do this anymore,’” says Koontz, 77, author of more than 110 books that have sold over 500 million copies in 38 languages. “Of all the writers I’ve ever known, I have more self-doubt. I’m eaten by it all the time.”
Fears? He has a few.
Koontz writes terrifying stories of murder and mayhem, yet is incapable of watching a gory movie. He hasn’t flown for 50 years after a flight he was on encountered serious turbulence and a nun on board proclaimed, “We’re all going to die.” He’s not big on boats, either, after an anniversary cruise coincided with a hurricane. Mostly, Koontz stays put in Orange County. Easier, safer.
He installed a towering fence, which partially obstructs the view, to protect his golden retriever Elsa from rattlesnakes. His 12,000-square-foot art-filled manse features the latest innovations to guard against wildfires. Still, every night Koontz places a freshly printed copy of whatever manuscript he’s working on in the fridge — just in case of a conflagration.
So, write what you know.
Koontz is billed as the “international best-selling master of suspense,” though he eschews labels and writes in multiple genres — supernatural, science fiction, young adult, manga, dog. Frequently, his books fuse several and are dusted with humor. “You can’t tie him down,” his friend and fellow best-selling author Jonathan Kellerman says. “He just works all the time. He has a lot of anxiety but manages to channel it into fiction.”
Ten hours a day, six days a week — more nearing the end of each book, “when momentum carries me like a leaf on a flood.” He revises constantly, an average of 20 times before he proceeds to the next page.
“When the writing is working, nothing stops me,” he says. He worked 36 hours straight — twice — creating “Watchers,” one of his most beloved books, first published in 1987. Due to stress and his former regimen of 13 Diet Cokes a day while writing, he developed a bleeding ulcer a decade ago and almost died. Koontz prohibits distractions. He doesn’t read emails — his assistant or his wife, Gerda, print them out — and won’t open a browser, even to check facts or the news.
“I never go online. Never. I don’t trust myself,” he says. “I know I’m a potential obsessive, and I don’t want to waste time.” Head down, nose to keyboard.
Koontz is warm, genial and prone to astonishing candor. Over lunch and a $135 bottle of his favorite Caymus Cabernet, he weeps several times recalling his harsh childhood in rural Pennsylvania, with a father of such spectacular cruelty that he sounds hatched from a Koontz novel, and recounts how Gerda, his high school sweetheart and wife of 56 years, saved him.
In the early days of their marriage, Koontz taught high school and worked in an anti-poverty program. He loved the students but was far from happy with the administrators. He sold a few science fiction short stories and novels published in paperback. Being a novelist was the long-held dream. Though he was raised in a house without books, writing became a refuge from the age of 8, when he would create stories and sell them to relatives for a nickel. Gerda made him a deal: write for five years and I’ll support you. She told him, “If you can’t make it in five years, you never will make it.” He did, beating her deadl
