Fun with Stephen King

No one can give me a good ol’ crotch-tingling like Stephen King.

“I laugh because I’m amazing.”

Oh wait. I’ve just been alerted it’s called a “spine-tingling”. Well, that definitely explains a lot. My apologies. Although, “crotch-tingler” is definitely more fun to say.

And get.

I like to imagine Samantha Jones saying this.

In honor of spooky-horror-season I wanted to pay a little homage to one of my favorite horror writers.

Yes, you all know I have a love affair with Stephen King. I’ll admit it. I’m kinda amazed by him. The reason for this is something Fox Mulder would appreciate.

X-File references will not be denied.

 

He makes you believe. And he makes you believe without question. The first book I read of his was The Stand and throughout the entire book there was no polite pondering of, “Huh, this seems unlikely to happen…” from me.

Although in real life it’d be something vulgar like, “What the fuck, yo?”

All his stories contain the unthinkable, the odd, the creepy, and I’ve never once scoffed. Like the little girl taking candy from that unusual clown down the street, I’m accepting and grateful with a teeny bit of terrified tossed in.  I believe without question.

Cell phones turning people into zombies? Shit yeah. A gypsy and cursed pies? Hells yes. In fact, break me off a piece of that throbbing pie. I’ll eat it. A town trapped under a dome? Well, we’ve all seen The Simpsons move. And since The Simpsons deem it so…

He makes the unthinkable real. Brings it to an acceptable level. That’s an admirable trait.

The question is how he does this.

Lucky for you, I have a semi-cogent answer (drinking doesn’t start until 3pm).

What he does that brings out the horror is incorporating real world things. Life. His stories are in the here-and-now. Wikipedia, Google, Rob Lowe (speaking of throbbing), have all got mentions in his stories. Sure a lot of authors do this…but this real stuff combined with the unreal fixes itself in a kind of this-could-be state in your mind. And then you shit your pants.

You’re welcome.

Another thing this author does to me that no one has ever done…

 

Pervs.

…is make me cry tears of fear. I’m not kidding. I’m for real-real. You ever been that scared? The scared where your eyes widen, letting in more light, where you sit frozen, reading, a tear slips from your eye and then all of a sudden your husband has to change the sheets.

No?

Well, I’ve been there. Minus the bed-wetting part, because that’s so very 1982 of me.

 

And by “1982” I really mean 2012.

 

Take for example this quote from my most recent King read, 11/22/63. The quote is referring to the fictional town of Derry, Maine…that is quite literally alive.

“…but I can tell you one more thing: there was something inside that fallen chimney at the Kitchener Ironworks. I don’t know what and I don’t want to know, but at the mouth of the thing I saw a heap of gnawed bones and a tiny chewed collar with a bell on it. A collar that had surely belong to some child’s beloved kitten. And from inside the pipe—deep in that oversized bore—something moved and shuffled.

Come in and see, that something seemed to whisper in my head. Never mind all the rest Jake—come in and see. Come in and visit. Time doesn’t matter in here; in here, time just floats away…”

I just pooped my pants.

The claw marks signal sweet desperation.

This town is FICTIONAL, people. But it’s still creepy. Creepy like that one time you saw your dad wearing mommy’s makeup. This place guts you raw. He’s done something with that town that stays with you.

THIS KIND OF SOMETHING.

King is damn good. I admire him for his skill, his craft, and his ability to make me cry into couch cushions. C’mon, they don’t call me a pillow biter for nothing.

Now reading is all subjective. King isn’t the only horror genre writer out there – Lovecraft, Poe, even Gaiman – but I’ll admit, I’m stuck with my man. I like my King; so help me out people. Who is your favorite scary writer? This Halloween, turn me on to some new ones.

And by on, I mean Samantha-Jones-on.

Just kidding, I really want recommendations.

Musica Fantastica and Cake.

Ask me what I love.

If you said cake then you are correct and if you said Rob Lowe than you are correct as well, so let me rephrase the question. Ask me what I love outside of food and 1980s teen stars.

 

This is Rob Lowe’s I-Like-Cake face.

Wait for iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit: The wide world of music.

Tunes. Vibrations. Something with soul and grit.

 

Cosby Sweater agrees. “Herp, dur, derp…”

I am a big music lover. I’m not picky or exclusive in my music choices either. I can sing show tunes with the best of them. Yes, my iPod holds Spice Girls (ah, fond/embarrassing memories) and John Mayer (shudder) but it also holds Creedence Clearwater, Neko Case and Cold War Kids.

Music is my necessary survival skill. It’s a must have for everywhere I am.  Cooking? Cleaning? There’s music. Driving with the Mother? Woman, hold your tongue, MUSIC IS PLAYING. Co-workers, do you see these earbuds in my ears? They ain’t for decoration, bitches. I got music goin on.

The most important role music plays in my everyday, wine-drenched life is when it makes sweet, dangerous love to my writing. I am one who cannot write without music. I use it to fuel my mood and my stories.

 

This is how you create music, right? RIGHT?

 

When I write I need my music to be inspirational, but I’m not talking about Yanni or Mozart-inspired. Something with oaked-soaked words and languorous vocab.  Pumped, upbeat, expressive. For me, it’s all about damn good lyrics.  

Fiona Apple. fun. Janis Joplin. Jimi.  Alanis Morissette. Amanda Fucking Palmer. Feist. Fitz & the Tantrums. Sublime. Annie Lennox.  Coconut Records. Elvis Presley. The Doors. Rilo Kiley. Jenny Lewis. Loretta Lynn. The Velvet Underground. Garth Brooks. The Grateful Dead. Tom Waits. The Dresden Dolls. Regina Spektor…

The list could go on and on.

Kind of like Dog the Bounty Hunter, music also tracks my frame of mind and mood. Every month I start a new Playlist: February 2012, March 2012, April 2012…etc.

I like this.

Because when I write a specific story and I go back to the playlists I remember my mood. I remember the angst or the giddiness, the fist pumping or the writer’s block. A good or bad blast to the past I’ll take.

Sometimes I’ll find a two-year old playlist, listen, and be like WTF? Was I on the verge of slitting my wrists while downing Drano? Then I’ll remember what I wrote during that time frame and it all makes sense. It makes you remember. It’s a great growth curve.

 

Pains so good.

 

It makes me wonder how other writers use music. The authors who thank the musicians they’ve listened to in their acknowledgements for the inspiration.

Yeah. That’s me.

How about you?

2012 Goals, Easy as Your Mom

Let’s talk 2012 goals.

And not those pesky ones either, like how you’re going to join a gym this year and swear off carbs or how you’ll only reverse-speak to your co-workers while you do some sort of fantastic eyeball-popping dance like that dwarf in that one Twin Peaks episode we all worship.

Oh wait, that's just me

What I want to talk about are the goals you will make in 2012 for your passions. Your true loves. And if you’re reading this blog, they probably have something to do with reading and writing, like my own.

 

Read More Books by Women Authors

I am making it a goal to only read works by female authors during the first three months of 2012. After reviewing my book tally for 2011 (more on this later) I realized the majority of those authors have dicks. That’s all fine and dandy but I need to expand my horizons; get into books of a female mindset and support female authors.

I am crediting this idea to Inga Muscio, author of Cunt, who says, “It’s not a bad idea…to focus solely on the artistic expressions of women for at least one year. That way you notice not only the…prevalence of male artistic expression much more, but the mother lode of inspiration and brilliance our grandmothers, mothers and sisters have produced.”

While I’m not willing to give up Stephen King for a year, I am ready and able to immerse myself solely for three months. And after that three months, incorporate more female authors into my reading diet.

Bring on Dorothy Parker and Mary Roach and Kathy Fish.

 

Finish my Zombie Novella

Not much to say on this. Just, in the words of Larry the Cable guy, “Git-er-done.”

Pray for me.

Not you, Willem DaFoe

 

Join a Writer’s Conference

I recently read an awesome article on a blog I follow called 5 Reasons to Sign Up For a Writer’s Conference (check it out, it’s a great resource).

And I’m gonna do it.

Maybe.

I found one that’s in Arizona at ASU in February and while I want to do it, it is a bit nerve-wracking. Thoughts like, “Am I ready for this?”, “Can I pass as a writer?”, “They’re all gonna laugh at me,” do run through my brain from time to time, but like Rob Lowe* starring in the Drew Peterson: Untouchable story, I think I can get over it.

But just barely.

I-I really have no words for this

 

I think it would be a good thing. Writing is so solitary, it would be nice to emerge, blinking into the light and interact with some writers. Share writing, make connections, and learn from these experiences.

Now to get the time off work and the cold hard cash.

Apparently, Emilio Estevez really takes writing conferences seriously

 

See that? Three goals, easy as your mom. And while I am lazy and could probably shell out some more ideas, I’m keeping with three goals because I feel they are doable.

Any more would probably wreck my sanity (not that that’s saying much) and impede on my daily slackerness.

So tell me your tales. Tell me your goals. What do you hope to accomplish in 2012, personally and/or professionally?

 

 

*And yes. I try to make a Rob Lowe reference at least once a month.