Dean Koontz and I have many things in common. Sure, we are both writers (he of course, in a much different league than me) and yes I am a fan (not that we have that in common he doesn't even know I exist) but we do have many personal and geographic similarities in common, our six degrees of separation. But, that's for another post, not for this review of "Whispers". Dean Koontz completed the book "Whispers" in 1979, and he writes in the afterword, "Whispers was the last book I wrote on a typewriter." Imagine that in 2016 where you can type on a handheld phone or speak into a computer. "Whispers" was his last novel pounded out keystroke by keystroke on a typewriter. To me, that deserves more applause. "Whispers" was the first Dean Koontz book I ever read and I wasn't even close to being old enough to drive. It scared me; it excited me, and it had sex in it. My hands kept turning the worn pages of the paperback, and my eyes were a speed race going through the page in an up and down motion. I desperately needed to know the ending and the truth to the plot. Writing my first fiction novel, "A Deep Thing," I thought about the fast page turning of my experience with "Whispers" praying I could capture a second of such an exhilarating moment in a readers hand.
