Neil and King

I've been a follower of Neil Gaiman for...let's see...I guess since I was about 18 or 19. An ex-boyfriend mailed me his book American Gods. At first, I read it for the ex-boyfriend. There were things in it I loved and things in it I didn't love. And like some very rare things, after I read it I kept thinking about it. It crept up in my subconscious and I would think about it without realizing it. It still do to this day. I don't think I've read it again. I've started it a second time, I know that. But at the time, it wasn't the right time to read it again. Right now I have the urge and my only copy is loaned to a friend. Hopefully she will enjoy it and return it quickly.
But that first book did it. All of a sudden I was fascinated with this writer. I've since collected a variety of his works. I tried getting into the Sandman series but just couldn't go there. I loved Death's character but that's about it. The rest haunts me much like American Gods did. But it doesn't always leave the best taste in the mouth. I adored his Graveyard Book and his book with Terry Pratchett Good Omens was genius. When I first discovered his blog, I felt like I discovered a hidden treasure. Though it's anything but hidden (I can only imagine the fan-following), it sometimes feels like that; intimate and introspective and enjoyable, ENTIRELY enjoyable to read. I've never read a Neil Gaiman blog post and been bored as I have with other blogs. He's charming. And not many people deserve that title. But he does.
I just read his post about an interview he had done with Stephen King. Now...there is an author that has sparked my curiosity. Until now, I knew very little about him other than the fact he's written...well...everything. It seems like things keep turning up that he's written that I didn't know he wrote. And I have this deep URGE to read his stuff. But I'm afraid. You see...I'm chicken in many ways. I'm still this little girl that gets terrified by little bumps in the night. Just last night I asked John if he had ever read any Stephen King. He said no and asked if I wanted to read some. I said yes but that I was afraid to. He then jokingly suggested, "You should! Why don't you read some while I'm deployed next?" because he knows how paranoid I can get and how deployments are the worst. And those are the times I read the most too which is only too ironic; I read scary things and then have trouble sleeping because I'm alone in a dark house. The shotgun is one of my few comforts in those moments when I let my imagination take hold. I have quite the imagination. I've always said it's a good thing I am a moral person because this mind could wreak havoc. Anyway...Stephen King. I'll have to do some research. I feel as a writer and a reader, I'd be doing myself a disservice by never reading a Stephen King novel. But I also don't want to be haunted for the rest of my life by it. So I will have to choose very carefully (yes...I am THAT affected by things that I read and watch...there's a reason I don't watch horror films...half of it is I don't see the point and I don't really want that imagery popping up at random, because it will, and the other half is I know myself too well...and I don't like being afraid after the fact...if I'm afraid while watching it, that's one thing...but the lingering fear...no thanks). In the meantime...I have the sudden urge to write after reading their conversation. It's been a crazy semester. It's been a crazy year. Crazy in the BEST sense. I know that with the arrival of baby, life will again be crazy but in an entirely different way. And I'm okay with that. Maybe the lack of sleep will spark some writing brilliance once more. At least the urge is back.

Photo: American Gods found via PenDiggx