Stephen King

This one... may be lengthy. But that's totally fitting because the subject is Stephen King, the wordiest mofo in the business.  I have a little story about Stephen King.  Actually, I have a bunch.  I'll most likely end up posting stories about him a few times.  For today, though, I'll just start at the beginning.  When I was a kid I read a lot.  I don't ever remember reading many picture books, just Little Critter and The Berenstain Bears.   I read a lot of chapter books about little kids like myself and I read them quickly. After I got tired of re-reading all my own books, I began to go to my mom's bookshelf and read whatever she had there.  Like I said, I was really young, so I forget what kind of books I read at first, but I clearly remember when I got to Cujo, my first King novel.  I was eight years old, and I was used to scary movies, so I was sure I'd be fine.  Just a few pages in I stopped where I was and took the book nervously to my mom.

"Mom, are you sure I can read this?" I asked.  "It has bad words in it."
"Hey, if you can read it... you're big enough to read it."

Now, clearly the 80s was a different time.  Looking back I realize that my favorite movie, The Goonies (and most kids' movies at the time), were filled with cussing.  I just never noticed until I went to show those old movies to my own kids.  Oops.  That doesn't fly nowadays.  Anyway, when I took that book back to my room to read it, I just sat at first and thought about what my mom had said.  It seemed I was done with the days where the grown-ups controlled what went into my head.  The fact that my skill level was sufficient to read this adult book meant that I was advanced enough to read anything anybody had ever written about anyone.  It meant that if I could sound it out, I could know it.

So there I was, eight years old, and I realized that I didn't need someone else to approve of my thoughts.  That's pretty liberating for such a little kid.  It's kind of exciting even now, and I'm glad I recognized it in the moment.  I don't know if everyone sees it that way, but I'd love to hear if anyone else has a similar story.  Put yours in the comments if you have one, because I'm very interested in reading it, and learning whether it was a book, a movie, music or something else altogether that did it for you.  You know, it's funny.  A few years ago he did a reading in New Orleans (through Octavia Books, found on Twitter at https://twitter.com/octaviabooks) and I was one of the first few people to buy a ticket.  My friend and I got there hours early and there were only about 8 or 10 people ahead of us.  We sat all afternoon and evening with a huge line forming behind us. 

When the woman who introduced him started to speak, I started to cry.  Yes, already.  I mean, not like Sanjaya Girl or anything. Just slow, silent tears that basically didn't stop until I was on my way home.  In my defense, I'd just had a baby and my hormones were all over the place.  Two years later I went to see The Jacksons while I was 8 months pregnant with my second one. Full. On.  Sobbing.  But that's a story for another day.  At the end of the Stephen King event, there was a Q&A and the line was crazy long.  I considered standing there anyway, but I just couldn't think of anything to say.  You read that right, as long winded as I am, as overdramatic with my stories, as talented as I am at pointless rambling... I couldn't even think of a single thing to tell the man I owe most of that to.  I just sat there trying to come up with something, anything to say.  I wish so desperately that it had occurred to me to tell him the story of how Cujo led to my own little renaissance and began to lead me out of the Dark Ages that I consider childhood to be.     

All I wanted at the time was something to tell him that would make him remember me.  After all, I'll remember seeing him for the rest of my life, you know? Of course, sitting on the front row in a room full of 1,000 people and silently weeping all Annie-Wilkes-style may have done the trick, so mission probably accomplished. 

*shrug*

Anyway, a few more pictures for your enjoyment: