I consider myself lucky on two counts. Firstly, I have always loved books and secondly, I was fortunate to have parents who encouraged me to read from a very young age. The third thing that I should also thank my lucky stars for was having a parent that believed that a child shouldn’t be constricted to reading material purely based on their age alone. If there was something that I wanted to read and as long as it was child appropriate, I was encouraged to read it. And so, at age nine, I learned about The Lord of the Rings and announced that I would like to read it. Rather than being discouraged and told that it was too difficult for a young child, my dad blew the dust from his old copy and together we embraced the long and winding journey through Middle Earth. Alas, the journey was short lived, and I barely made it out of the Shire. The language was beyond my understanding, some words and names were too complicated to “sound out” and the plot was a little too convoluted to follow with my limited life experience. My interest soon waned, and my attention wandered to other books on the shelves of my bookcase. However, my interest in all things hobbits and elves wasn’t diminished and if anything, my desire to complete the book had increased, although, at some level, I understood that it was beyond my reach as a nine-year-old. It would be another two years before I finished reading the book.
The years went by and my love of books and reading never abated. I progressed from Winnie the Pooh to Paddington bear and then onto Roald Dahl. However, the book that stood out for me, and I still re-read it occasionally, was Treasure Island. I still get a shiver when I imagine hiding in an apple barrel, holding my breath so as not to be discovered by cut-throat pirates. The boy’s-own adventure of the book was what enthralled me initially, but it was the slight frisson of fear that captured and held me.
I was twelve when I discovered the work of Stephen King. My friend’s older brother had a book which had a picture on the spine that mesmerised me. The picture was of a grotesquely twisted face, be-fanged and with piercing red eyes, the face of a vampire. I had to know what it was about and after promising to return it, my friend lent me the book. The book was Salem’s Lot by Stephen King. I was hooked and so began my forty-six-year adventure into the complexly beautiful world of a master storyteller.
I soon learnt that there was more than horror to the stories of Mr King. It was the characters that imprinted themselves on my memory long after the book was finished and returned to the bookshelf. I first discovered this whilst reading Christine. The story of a quiet, unassuming boy trying to navigate the turbulent waters of the ocean that is adolescence. Distracted by the opportunity to restore an old 1957 Plymouth Fury, the project soon becomes an obsession, and you are left wondering whether it is the car that is possessed or the boy as he is transformed into a sneering, maelstrom of rage and fury, far worse than the bullies and tormentors that he once feared and cowered from.
And so, my journey began. From The Shining to Pet Cemetery; from The Stand to Needful Things; from The Tommyknockers to Insomnia, my rapacious appetite never seemed to be truly sated. Every new book was eagerly anticipated and on finishing each one, my heart felt a heaviness as though saying farewell to an old friend.
For me, the real epiphany came with The Dark Tower series of novels. The first book, The Gunslinger introduces you to the initial two characters; a young boy named Jake, destined to a fate he could never begin to imagine, and a dusty, enigmatic cowboy named Roland who would become his reluctant mentor. The second book, The Drawing of the Three introduces Eddie and Odetta and the quest for the Dark Tower begins in earnest. There are five more books that take you on the most incredible journey to distant lands that lay nestled in alternative times and universes.
For me, Mr King’s skill is building and describing the characters in his books, and you don’t just feel like you know them, you feel part of the story. You care what happens to them. For me, the real skill comes in the empathy that you develop with these characters. Their hearts and minds are laid bare, and you get to share their every thought and emotion. You feel as though these are emotions that you yourself have had but have never shared with anyone and there they are laid bare on the pages of the book. It is though Stephen King has reached into your mind and is able to see into every dark recess and shadowy corner.
However, it is not my intention to write a review on the works of Stephen King. Plenty of these exist already, and I fear that any effort I might make would be inadequate in the extreme. Instead, my intention is to try and convey what an impact that art, and creative writing in particular can have on your life. My family and friends all know my love of books and I often get asked who my favourite books and authors are. If I had to list a “top 10”, some of the books that would make the list are Treasure Island (of course), 1984, Catcher in The Rye, Rebecca, Lord of the Rings and of course, The Dark Tower series. It is the mention of the latter that always seems to instigate the raising of eyebrows followed by, “what, Stephen King, the horror writer!” I used to feel compelled to point out that I bet some of their favourite films are The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile, Stand By Me and did they realise these are based on Stephen King books. Now however, I just smile, nod and say, yeah, that’s the bloke.
I suppose that brings me full circle and back round to my love of reading and that I blame Mr King for being a big part of the reason as to just why I love reading. For me, great books always has one common denominator – great characters. Characters that you can identify with, that speak to you on a personal level and that live on in your heart long after the book is finished. I don’t imagine for a single moment that my inane ramblings will every reach the attention of Mr King, but if they should, I would like to say one thing to him.
Dear Constant Writer.
You have given me joy and laughter. You have given me solace in times of sorrow. You have provided me with sanctuary at times when all I have wanted is to withdraw from the world. You have filled me with wonder just when I thought cynicism would consume me. You have fed my imagination and taken me to places that I could never have thought to exist. I read once that in order to create anything of true worth, you have to give part of yourself to it, no matter how painful this may be. It is for this that I thank you the most.
Thank you.