King me

13 March 2012

I have always enjoyed reading. From an early age, I was consuming every word on cereal boxes. (At this point in life I should consider myself an expert on the ideal potassium and sodium levels, based on a 2000-calorie diet, one gains from Cookie Crisp, Trix and Lucky Charms.) From the days of cardboard literature, I have read loads of books. This year alone, I have made my way through several works:

  • The Gathering Storm by Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson
  • Towers of Midnight by Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson
  • Improvise: Scene From The Inside Out by Mick Napier
  • Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion
  • How To Be Death by Amber Benson
  • god Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything by Christopher Hitchens
  • Stardust by Neil Gaiman
  • Mark Of The Demon by Diana Rowland
  • Seize The Day by Saul Bellow
  • Nation of Rebels: Why Counterculture Became Consumer Culture by Joseph Heath and Andrew Potter
  • No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July

It may then come as a surprise that I have never read a Stephen King novel.

My friend, Clay Foster, always seemed to be reading a King novel during middle and high school. Clay seemed to have no trouble reading the books. I, however, could never bring myself to read one. My basic constitution can be summed up as easily startled and easily frightened. I never watch horror movies because (a) loud bumps and noises, especially during periods of suspenseful silence, always make me jump and (b) the disturbing images stay with me, indelible marks of fear on my brain. I watched The Exorcist before moving to Colorado for graduate school. Big mistake. I would lie in my bed on the top floor of the duplex near the corner of Cherry and Meldrum with the tangible fear that some demon from hell or demonically-possessed human would come to my windowsill. In that same room I swore I heard Frank, the rabbit from Donnie Darko, on the street below calling my name.

It is with intense and understandable (I hope) trepidation that I will read my first Stephen King novel.

Due to some part of my nature I do not fully understand I want to start with the scariest of his novels. I shared my thoughts with GF’s family and they began working to feed my fear. I walked upstairs one morning to find a pile of Stephen King books on the kitchen table. GF’s family informed me the most frightening of King’s novels is either The Shining or Pet Sematary. I got chills as soon as I picked up the latter. Reading the author’s introduction confirmed that this is the book to read if I want to be disturbed and scared “shitless” as they say.

In an attempt to temper what I am sure will be many nights of tiptoeing around shadows and running through darkened hallways to jump under covers, I will blog my journey of reading the book. I fully expect to lay awake thinking every sound is sadistic and every movement malevolent. And I’m taking you with me.

Quick note: I could have started reading the book nearly a week ago, but have been reading other books to forestall the fright fest. Now I have no reason to not read the book. I cannot promise I won’t stall again. Whatever happens, you will know.

3 thoughts on “King me

  1. Pingback: Reading Pet Sematary: Day 1 | Cringingly Personal

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