I’ve never been a big fan of scary stories, especially those involving the supernatural. Perhaps it’s because my cousin and I were allowed to view Alastair Sim’s film version of Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” (circa 1951) at a very early age. I still remember the spine tingle I felt when that silent “ghost of Christmas yet to come” appeared. Still do! But that’s about as far as I go with the horror genre, other than “Dead Again”, a masterfully done movie featuring Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson and Derek Jacobi. Although it’s based on the premise of reincarnation, (not a fan of that either), it made me sweat. But that’s it. No Chucky the Clown for this girl.
But on to Stephen King. I’ve not read even one of his books. Just not my thing. Until I picked up “On Writing” at a friend’s house and couldn’t put it down. What a humdrum title for a fascinating read. Much of it is the story of his journey into writing, rich with details of his up and down life from a very early age. We get a stunning portrait of his single mom, valiantly holding life together for him and his brother, cheering him on in his early efforts to capture words. I laugh out loud at his poison ivy misadventures, and cry as he describes two “loser” high school girls, brutalized by their peers. I laugh again at his ridiculous summer job in a Maine laundry where one day he finds a complete set of human teeth in the hotel sheets. I get more than a glimpse into his strong and nourishing marriage. It’s all refreshing, somehow.
And then, the textbook piece! A goldmine of instruction on the art of writing, colorfully written with warmth and enthusiasm for the aspiring writer. Replete with virtual pats on the back and serious advice. Examples? “The adverb is not your friend”. Yes, it makes sense when you think about it. And this piece of wisdom? Reading fuels writing. He provides no less than three of his own booklists in the appendix. So helpful.
There’s much more. Thank you, Stephen King. Highly recommend this read.