Misery

The anger sparked again. Anger at her obdurate density, anger that she could actually kidnap him keep him prisoner here, force him into a choice between drinking dirty rinse water from a floor-bucket or suffering the pain of his hattered legs and then, on top of all that, find the nerve to criticize the best thing he had ever written!
What turns me on
You're good, she said gently. I knew you would be. Just reading your books, I knew you would be. A man who could think of Misery Chastain, first think of her and then breathe life into her, could be nothing else.
What turns me off
Please, he moaned. No, but please.