Thursday, May 20

Open letter to Stephen King

It's not you; it's me.

Really...I hate to let you go, after all, you were my first author-love. At age 13 I picked up Nightmares and Dreamscapes and I was hooked. You drew me into a completely new world. A dangerous one that I hid from my parents. My first "secrets."

As soon as I had the money, I began collecting your books (and I'm embarrassed to say, stealing the older ones in paperback from the library). Over the years I was obsessed with reading everything your pen put to paper. My friends gave me crap about my single-mindedness, but I knew you and I were connected. We had something special they just didn't understand.

As in all relationships, we had our ups and downs -- you had some greats (The Stand, The Dead Zone, Hearts in Atlantis) and some serious stinkers (Insomnia, Regulators/Desperation). I didn't let it bother me - I knew that everyone has their faults, and I forgave you.

I saw you once in person when I was in college - you drove your Harley onto the stage and I knew what it was to get hot for someone I admired and respected. You did not disappoint. Totally the highlight of my Freshman year. I'll never forget that moment.

This is so hard for me to say, but we've grown apart. I'm sure you've noticed it too - how could you not? I've gotten older, found more interests. I've come to realize that death is no laughing matter and we're all too close to it as it is; I just don't want to read about gratuitous violence, no matter how creative and slightly amusing. I no longer carry a vision of my own immortality. I know death can be ugly. I don't need the adjectives from you to draw the pictures for me.

We just don't have anything in common! I thought I'd give it one last try and I picked up "Under the Dome." I tried to read it, I swear. I really, really did! But I have to confess, I only made it to into the 70s...I even scanned ahead, hoping to get drawn back in...and I was so disappointed when all I saw was more of the same. (Misunderstood, outsider hero. Large, mean, stupid bad guy, who I assume later is discovered to be just the little bad guy and there is a much worse one in the plot. Oodles of know. The usual.)

I'm sorry, but I just can't do it anymore. I need authors with more meat in their stories than just appendages being cleaved off. I need more emotion than fear, hate and loathing. When you write well, it's a dream come true. I miss the feelings you gave me when I first picked up "Nightmares." Maybe it's not fair of me to put that on you, but it's for the best that I move on.

I packed up your things. What I didn't sell or donate, I left in a box in my basement. Feel free to come pick them up.

Just call first.

Sunday, April 18

"Gone off blogging"

So I logged in to my blogger account today, and saw a comment from a few weeks back...someone sent me well wishes in my real life since "you've gone off blogging" and I thought, Damn, I HAVE gone off blogging. I'm a tweeter now, and I put up a daily Facebook comment. I try to not be particularly trite, which is why this blog is so hellishly outdated. I've been feeling trite lately.

I'm enjoying reading my friends' blogs, which are much more interesting than I thought possible (sorry). But really, the biggest thing lately is that life is busy, I'm traveling or have dinner mtngs for work several times a month, when I'm hom ein the evenings I want to be HOME and not in computer-land. Plus, Chee is on the home computer a LOT in the evenings, which means my time here is limited. (I'm hoping to add a laptop to our little family soon.) Basically, I have all the excuses in the world to not write in this little diary to the Internets.

I feel I'm at a fork in the road...this blog lacks focus. If I could reign it in and concentrate on one thing (work? family? books? news I find interesting? link sharing?) maybe I could keep it better updated.

But really, let me just think on that one.