Ending a Weekend of Horrors with a Weekend-Ending Horror

The worst part of accomplishing so much in a single weekend is realizing just how much you still have to accomplish before you can consider yourself "caught up" and ready to move onto something else. 

I managed to (finally) complete the art project that included some small pieces to adorn my living room wall, and this is nearly two months after the endeavor originally began. But I only read a couple chapters in Stephen King's The Stand, which puts me still in the first third and not having made much leeway in the novel since beginning it a couple weeks ago. 

I cranked out the last ideas for the LASCYPAA skit and got it typed up and emailed out, but I still have to revamp the sign-up charts and figure out the game for the TriState Fun Day that I'm helping coordinate with Sarah. 

The big task of the weekend was cleaning out both my hallway and bedroom closets, which I did with great speed, marveling the whole time that I've only been here since the end of January yet still managed to crank out a serious mess in each. I got to spend a little time with my mom (it's Mother's Day weekend, after all), but I didn't spend nearly enough quality time with Mary Louise, who I promised to give my undivided attention to as much as possible over the weekend. I slept in both days, but didn't stay up as late as I intended (and hoped) on either night. 

I got a little writing in, but I still have several chapters of Stories from the 318 to crank out, two articles to organize and write for Henry Harbor, and you can see for yourself how great I've been with the blog posts here. Shameful, right?

Still, the weekend was a success. I got to watch the premier of the Rosemary's Baby reboot on NBC, and I was pleasantly surprised to see what the filmmakers have done to bring one of my favorite classic horror novels and films to a new generation of viewers. I finally watched the British anthology film Asylum and I was disappointed in the experience. I'd had such high hopes for this well-spoken-of film. Finally, I get to end the night with the pilot episode of Showtime's new series Penny Dreadful. If it's any good, I suspect I'll either start paying for a Hulu subscription or adding the Showtime network to my cable line-up. The results remain to be seen.

Time Is Not On My Side

The longer I live, the more I realize that time is something of my enemy.

There's never enough of it. No matter how early I start, no matter how many lists I make and items I cross up, I always find myself in the same position: it's nearly 11:00 at night and I still haven't had the amount necessary to accomplish everything I wish I had.

I think it's time for another list at Henry Harbor.

Tomorrow, though. Right now, I'm too whipped.

Maybe if I didn't have to be up and ready to take on the world so early tomorrow, it would be different. But maybe not.

If this whole pesky sleep thing didn't always get in the way...

So... I've Basically Been Cheating on You With Henry Harbor

I don't seem to be able to maintain fidelity to my personal blog the way that I really ought to. The Stephen King in 2013 status posts have moved into a new wave at Henry Harbor, something I knew was bound to happen, but it seems awfully unethical for me to leave behind this great space that I've had going for so many years. Even if I haven't exactly been great about maintaining. Here's where I am with the Stephen King in 2013 endeavor. What should I call it now? Maybe The Stephen King Challenge? The Dark Tower or Bust? Regardless, here's where things stand...

Originally published on Henry Harbor on Monday, April 29, 2014

Following the unapologetic waste that was Fifty Shades of Grey, I desperately needed to cleanse my palate with the sorbet that is Stephen King — there’s nothing better than getting back to the roots of what really got me to be a reader in the first place, and it’s been several months since I dipped my nose into one of the grand tomes from the modern master of storytelling. Probably because of the Stephen King in 2013debacle. But the idea was something of an incredible endeavor. And a goal I never should have set for myself in the first place.

For Christmas 2012, my sister got me a boxed set of the first four books in the Dark Tower series, something that she and every other lover of Stephen King swears to be his magnum opus, his greatest work; however, in spite of being exposed to the author in the second grade (by the same chick who gave me the great Christmas present), I’d never once opened a single one of these particular volumes. I just assumed that it was in a realm of his mind that I never really cared to enter. There are others that fall into this sub-genre of his work. The Talisman and The Eyes of the Dragon are two other titles that come to mind. I’m an old school horror fan. I was raised on Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street, Stephen King’s haunted hotel and the story of Pennywise the Clown. I love the idea that “we all float down here” and the fact that “the Overlook hotel has a kind of a shine to it.” I loved watching Chris pull the cord and the bucket of pig blood dropping onto Sissy Spacek’s prom dress and Dee Wallace clutching her son in the stark heat of summer as a rabid dog attacks the car. I delight in picking out which one of the female actresses will end up being the final girl in the movie and outwitting the stalker. I like my terror fiction filled with ghosts and rain and misty evenings and demonic possessions and things that go bump in the night. I didn’t want my image of King tainted by fantasy and/or the suggestion of (gasp!) speculative fiction.

My sister was insistent, and she couldn’t wait for me to start reading so that I could find out what everyone else had so often told me: the Dark Tower series ties together every word and every work that the master of modern horror fiction has ever written. Any self-respecting fan MUST read them. Otherwise, he or she falls short.

So I started with The Gunslinger.

And I didn’t get it.

I didn’t dislike the book. I just noticed that the language was different. The story was different. And nothing on the pages felt inviting or familiar, like coming home to the old friend that exists in most of Stephen King’s work.

The worst part was that I knew I was supposed to get it. And I was supposed to love it. So I figured there was something missing, and there was only one way to really get it the way everyone else did: read everything that Stephen King published, in chronological order, and write about it in my blog along the way. That’s what anyone else would do, right?

Well, I made it all the way through his first short story collection, Night Shift. All of the books, with the exception of Rage — which he published under his pseudonym from his early career — were some that I’d read before. I enjoyed going back, remembering, and picking up on aspects that I missed the first go-round.

Unfortunately, I fell off the wagon sometime around Thanksgiving of last year, and I went on a Stephen King-free diet. I never got around to the next title in the chronological bibliography, The Stand.

Until now.

So, here I am again. Giving this whole strict Stephen King diet another shot, and I want to encourage everyone to read along with me. I’m currently about two hundred pages into the “complete and uncut” edition, and I’m excited because this is one of his works that I’ve started several times in my life and never completely finished.

Maybe with a little accountability from you guys, I’ll make it all the way through this particular goal (and get back on the blog that started it all: People Are Afraid to Merge in LA.

Blogging

I'm really terrible at keeping up with this sucker.

I Could Write, But...

It's already 10:30, and I've yet to even have a bath (a new habit I've made for myself). I have a book to read and a bed to get into. ASAP.

Grateful, though.

May be time for another gratitude list.

Too Late to Write Anything Substantial

Started reading The Andromeda Strain.

It's later than I'd like for just popping in to write a post, but this is a significant period in my life. February always is. In less than an hour, I'll have been sober for two years. Two years without a pill. Without a bump. Nothing speedy. Nothing Earthly. Not a drop of alcohol.

Such a thing probably doesn't seem important to someone who is not an alcoholic, but it's important to me.

And Now for Something Completely Different

I finished In Cold Blood (at this rate, I'm never going to make my Goodreads goal for the year), and I have much to write about the various experiences that I've had while engrossed in the endeavor. They will have to wait until later (tomorrow, I hope) to be typed here.

I've got to go search my shelves for the next great work.

After 2001 and this last one, I really ought to go for something on the lighthearted/trashy side of literature, but I don't know that I'm quite ready to give 50 Shades of Grey another shot.

No Promises, But...

One of my February goals is to get back on track with my blog, first and foremost. Although there are a ton of other things that I need to vow to make progress with and to stay on top of, I feel like this is the best and most likely place to start.

About fifty (sixty? more?) pages remain until my completion of the Truman Capote work, In Cold Blood. I don't particularly care for the way the book is making me feel, something that was especially cemented when I feel asleep watching Infamous last night and was woken up by the terrified screams shaking the night during the murder scene. I had to get up and shut the window in my dining room, not because I think someone could break in, but because having an open window (when I'm actually thinking about it) really makes me feel watched.

Is it ironic that the big news of the day was the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman, the man who played Capote in the eponymous film? Coincidences like that happen, I guess, but I always believe that there's some sort of meaning when they occur in my life.

But who could say what it might possibly portend.

Presently...

I've gotten in this habit of having these interactive group text conversations with Angie and Sarah lately, mainly because I see much less of them both than I'd prefer (and partly because I feel like I'm becoming increasingly misanthropic in life - I won't write that I'm introverted, mostly because people who call themselves as such publicly are actually discounting that very idea... plus, I'm far from introverted - I'm just finding that I like the people in and around my life less and less). I'll pose a question or formulate some sort of swift observation ("...reasons that I'm nearly 35 and still single..."), just a little something to let them know that I'm thinking about them or what I'm up to, and I'll let the conversation carry whatever weight it will, but I'm not exactly in the mood to hang out for any sort of intense camaraderie. 

I don't know why this is. 

I've always been a lot more social and "out there" and more into hanging out and being around a litany of folks (the good, the bad, and the ugly - I'm usually indifferent to the fact that I don't really care for the majority of whoever's around), but for whatever reason I'm more content to get home from work, to throw on some pajamas, to edit for Henry Harbor, and to read (Truman Capote's In Cold Blood this week). 

I haven't even had the wherewithal to write lately, and that's not a good thing.

I blame the weather.

And the fact that this is the only real free time that I ever have. Once I've relaxed and completed whatever obligations I have for the night, I'm too tired for much of anything else.

I'm assuming it's the approaching birthday that's doing me in.

Dunno if that's an accurate or fair assumption, but it is what it is. Even this poor blog has been neglected lately. I get all sorts of great ideas throughout the day. I think of things I want to work on, projects I want to start, major endeavors I need to continue or complete, but when the time arrives...

Well, here I am. 9:45 and ready for bed.

What I really need is a good, solid snow day. I wonder what would happen if I prayed to be iced in and unable to drive to work tomorrow. 

Would the weather God smile down upon me and allow it to happen?

Doubtful, but it's a nice thought. 

The 2013 Challenge Was a Bust

But things could be better in 2014, right?

No posts have been composed because I haven't moved onto another Stephen King novel since I completed his collection of short stories this past fall.

I guess there's no better time than any time to get started with the reading and the free-flow writing. Too many of my thoughts are structured and worked to whatever form of perfection they can reach when I'm writing for Henry Harbor. My voice isn't stifled, but I'm not able to write as often as I'd like and as freely as I'd like.

Currently reading: 2001: A Space Odyssey, but I'm not certain that I'm incredibly into it.

And my list of the things that I really should be reading continues to grow.

We'll see if I can't make things a bit more stream-lined in 2014.

After all, we're only four days in.