Tuesday, May 10, 2011
On becoming a writer
Several of my Facebook friends have recently been reading Stephen King's On Writing and because the book is on my 101 list, I decided it was time for me to start reading it. Except Sarah has hijacked it and is holding it hostage in her room. And since Sarah is your typical teenager who likes to sleep until dinner time and it was only 9:00 a.m., I didn't have access to it. But being the determined, impatient person that I am, I decided to download the free preview on my Kindle.
I'm not sure why I've never read this book. I bought it when it was first published and it's been sitting on the shelf ever since. Although I love Stephen King's books, I never seemed to get the urge to read about how he writes. And of course, I'm now wishing that I'd read it sooner. In typical Stephen King fashion, he immediately sucked me in by telling me relatable stories.
Mr. King starts off by telling memorable stories from his youth. One story revolved around his fat, farting babysitter he called Eula-Beulah. She liked to sit on him and fart. I had a boss like that once. We called her Tons of Fun. Her favorite past time was waddling into my cubicle, farting, and waddling back out. She's the only boss I've ever had that I don't have fond memories of.
Another relatable story was that as a child, Mr. King suffered from ear and throat infections. He tells the story of going to the ear doctor's office in a taxi to have his ear drum lanced. Repeatedly. I had the same experience. I even went in a taxi once. I'll never forget that. It was cold and snowy and our Rambler's car door had somehow frozen open. Open? Why was the car door frozen open? I guess that will have to remain one of the great mysteries of my youth. Anyway, I remember riding in that taxi, snuggled up to my mom, crying from both the pain and the knowledge of what was to come. Luckily for me, I liked my doctor. Actually, I was in love with him and planned to marry him when I grew up. He looked just like Dr. Spock from Star Trek. Another difference in Mr. King's & my experiences is that he says he has been terrified by the smell of rubbing alcohol ever since. For me, it's the smell of Bandaids. I really, really do not like the smell of Bandaids.
And that was the end of the free sample. Now, I just have to wait until dinner time when Sarah gets up so I can finish reading the book. I wonder how many more similarities we'll share.
I also wonder why I hate the smell of Bandaids so. I'm pretty sure they didn't slap a Bandaid on my ear drum. Weird.
Hmmm.... Since Mr. King and I seem to have so much in common, maybe I should become a writer too.
Or maybe I should just finish reading the book.