Stephen King and Me
Stephen King wrote, “Writing is not life, but I think that sometimes it can be a way back to life.”
I know many people dismiss Mr. King as someone who writes horror and supernatural junk that’s totally unbelievable. I would dare say those people are very wrong. And I hate to debate. Avoid it at all costs. But this is one author who has written so much, and let’s be honest…some of it isn’t great. Perhaps, even cheesy at times. But some of it is REALLY, really good. Please tell me you have seen the movie, Stand By Me? Based on his novella The Body. If not, I highly recommend it. The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon is another one of my favorites. And side note, I find his writing amazing-it is usually the adaptations into movies that come off as more cheddar-y. This happens with so many books being made into movies in my opinion.
For whatever reason, I came across this article Personal History by Stephen King: On Impact | The New Yorker and was so drawn to it. It reads like his short stories, but it is the true story of how he was hit by a vehicle and nearly lost his life in 1999. It paints such a great picture of what he remembers, how he recalls it, and the blurs of memories in between.
The main reason I loved this article is because I can relate. I loved writing when I was younger, and during rehab, I rediscovered that love. It helped me cope. It helped me not be sad. It helped me escape. It helped me heal. It helped me survive. That sounds dramatic. It really does. But if you have ever been away from your home, your family, your life as you know it…you may be able to find some common ground with me here.
Surviving for me during rehab meant a lot of things. It meant accepting I was somewhere I sure as hell didn’t want to be, and no one put me there but me. It meant dealing with people I absolutely couldn’t stand. Surviving all the shit storms that come with random people co-existing with a truck load of emotional baggage, regrets, attitudes, undiscovered or unmanaged trauma, addictions, self-esteem issues, family conflicts…all the horrible things packaged into one group setting where I got to live for a month. Or maybe living isn’t the correct term–I was surviving.
I don’t want to compare my self-inflicted wounds to this talented author’s accidental ones caused by the actions of someone else. That would be rather insulting. I do, however, understand the struggle to regain the will to persevere and move forward. Taking a big blow and getting back up. Sometimes only to fall again.
Finding the strength to start writing again was one of his big feats, and he crushed it. I by no means think I am writing life-changing things, or the stuff movies are made of, but it is the tool I have found most useful in life. It worked when I was younger, and it seems to be working for me today. So, for now, I will keep it up.
“Writing did not save my life, but it is doing what it has always done: it makes my life a brighter and more pleasant place,” Stephen King.