My best friend Ange knows I’m a Stephen King fan, and a couple of weeks ago she asked me if I had his book Full Dark, No Stars, and if not did I want it? My answer was a resounding YES (see my favorite thing #1, and please, forgive the fact that that is my only fave thing thus far; I’ve had writing issues.). She said her husband had been reading it and it was “too dark” for him.

Stephen King? Too Dark? As a seasoned King reader, my immediate response was, “Not possible.”

I was wrong.

Very.

Very.

Wrong.

I love to read. I can read a book in a day. If I’ve got a really good book (and yes, mother, I tried to find a picture to insert here of Steve from Blue’s Clues, holding A Really Good Book; alas, I came up empty, save for the image of how Steve has changed and am now scarred for life…but that’s another story), every spare minute I have, I’m reading it. When King’s Cell came out, I read it cover to cover in a handful of hours. So you can understand my surprise to find that it took me two weeks to read this book.

I had to make myself read the first story – 1922, the story of a man, Wilfred, and his confession of the murder of his wife (set in Hemingford Home, Nebraska, home of Mother Abigail, for those King fan’s who recognize it). I won’t reveal why he killed his wife, or how, or the events that transpired after. But I will tell you that rats creep me the hell out. I think that’s what made this harder for me to read – not the murder, but the appearance of rats. I never realized my fear of rats until I read Graveyard Shift, another King story that featured rats. I had hoped after reading that, that he’d be done with rats. I guess he wasn’t.

The second story in this novella, is Big Driver. Wow. Again, I struggled through this, reading only in the daylight hours. It scared me, because there are people like Big Driver in this world. Things like this really happen. And that’s what scared me; not so much what the main character, Tess, did in retribution, but what was done to her, and to many others. In fact, once it was clear what Tess was going to do, reading it became easier. I was cheering her on, feeling as if she were saving me just as she was saving herself, and that’s what made me able to finish the story.

Fair Extension came next, and this third story was my favorite and a fast read as well. Dark? Eh, yes. But not as much as the first two, and once I began to understand the character of Dave Streeter, and I was introduced to his friend, Tom Goodhugh, I was rooting for Dave and okay with the choices he made. Tom was a major douche, and the first time we meet him, he rubs his good fortune into Dave’s face, as if Dave needs reminding. I think my favorite part was the interaction between Dave and George Elvid, the man who gave Dave his fair extension, and to me, that set the story up perfect so it had a lighter feel to it.

The last story in the novella is A Good Marriage, and it tells the tale of Darcy Anderson, and her discovery that her good marriage maybe isn’t what it seems to be at all. It was both heartbreaking and frightening, and proved that you never really know anyone, no matter how long you’ve known them, or how close you are. It was more foreboding than the previous story, but it matched the first two in their sinister nature, so much so, that it still took me days to finish.

Now, this isn’t to say it wasn’t a good book. It was excellent, as expected; I’ve never met a Stephen King book I didn’t like. I’ve just discovered that I prefer a few thousand stars in my dark, please…and that this book will go on the back of the shelf, in the dark where it was created, and where I think it wants to live.

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them – words shrink things that seem limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said, or why you thought it was so important you almost cried when you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.

The above is the opening of Stephen King’s The Body, and it is just one more reason to add to my previous post as to why he is so wonderful. He get’s it. And by it I mean everything. I’ve lost track of the times that he’s written or simply said something that has really hit home with me; it’s the same for a couple of friends of mine as well. It’s like he’s a voice, speaking the things we can’t say, either because we’re afraid, or because we can’t even begin to put them into words. I think a lot of times it’s the former, that people are afraid of what he says in the above quote, that you’ll be looked at in a funny way, that no one will understand, that they won’t get why it’s important to you. I think everyone feels that way at some point in time. I know that I do. Even now, as I type this, I know there will be at least one person that doesn’t get it, that doesn’t even care. But for those of you that do get it, for those of you that feel the same: Speak up. Don’t be afraid. Someone understands. And you’ll never who they are until they hear you.

my hero

Writer. Actor. Musician. Master. Hero.

Well, he’s my hero at least. Which is why when I think of my favorite things, he pops into my head first thing. It helps, too, that I’m re-reading one of his books (Dreamcatcher) for the umpteenth time (seriously; I’ve read it almost three times in two weeks. I love that book). Sure, he’s had some flukes (the movie version of The Langoliers and Desperation come to the forefront of my mind). But come on, not everyone is perfect.

My earliest memory of Stephen is from when I was six or seven years old. It was night time and I was watching TV, watching Creepshow in fact, though at the time I didn’t know what it was. I got through three stories in the movie (Father’s Day, The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill, and Something To Tide You Over) before anyone knew I was watching it. I recall my dad walking in the room and turning it off, telling me I shouldn’t watch it and that I should be in bed. And maybe he was right. The image from Father’s Day of the father banging on the table demanding his cake right before his daughter bashed his head in with an ashtray was one that replayed itself in my head randomly throughout my younger years, and it wasn’t until I was a teenager that I watched Creepshow again and realized where that scene was from, and that Stephen King wrote it.

My second run in with Mr. King was actually a twofer: Silver Bullet and Stand By Me, two movies that would spark my crush on the two Corey’s. Silver Bullet introduced me not only to Corey #1, but to werewolves and the man who would one day become John Locke.

Stand By Me introduced me to the bonds of teenage friendships, leeches, why I will never enter or watch a pie eating contest, and not just Corey #2, but Kiefer Sutherland (who doesn’t love a good bad boy?).

(I figured pictures of leeches and pie puke could be omitted. You’re welcome.)

Anyway, I was hooked. And, on my next visit to my Nana’s house, I discovered he wrote novels as well. Nana had a bookcase hanging on her closet door, filled with the works of King, along with Dean Koontz and Peter Straub. I was only ten, but I was in heaven. Firestarter (the first King novel I ever owned, a gift from Nana), Cujo, Pet Semetery, IT, Misery…I ate them up, and as soon as I knew there were movies of the same titles, I watched them (admittedly, IT scared me the most. It wasn’t just Pennywise the clown, it was the balloons of blood that popped in the library). Different Seasons was the first book I re-read multiple times, The Body being my favorite, but Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption and The Breathing Method were close.

He weaves his stories like a web…like a dreamcatcher…creating intricate towns, filling them with incredible and vibrant characters that bring the books to life. I grieved with Sheriff Alan Pangborn in Needful Things, and hoped he could find love with Polly Chalmers. I shared anger and sadness with Clay, Tom, and Jordan when Alice is killed in Cell (and when my cell phone rang while I was reading it, I considered never answering it ever again). When Gard suffered from headaches in The Tommyknockers, I found myself plagued with headaches as well. I worried for Trisha when she was lost in The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. I crossed my fingers that Ted Brautigan would not be caught by the Low Men in Hearts in Atlantis, and I was relieved to see him alive when he reappeared in The Dark Tower VII: The Dark Tower to assist Roland of Gilead.

In everything I read or watched, I cared about the characters that sprung from King’s mind, perhaps as much as he did, for just because a book has ended, doesn’t mean that is the end of the story in King’s world. He has entwined his characters so intricately in his dreamcatcher, that they pop up in other stories – Ace Merrill from The Body returns in Needful Things; the story from IT is mentioned in several books; the events from Dolores Claiborne are mentioned in the mini series The Storm Of The Century; the town of Haven is the setting for The TommyKnockers, and the new Syfy series, Haven (based on The Colorado Kid); The Dark Tower series is tied into almost everything he’s written. What thought must be put into doing something on so grand a scale! I can’t even begin to fathom the process…and yet I try, because he is who I, as a writer, aspire to be like.

As my Nana and my mother shared Stephen King with me, I am passing him along to my own daughter, who’s first King novel was The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. Like me with my first, she was hooked. And like me, when reading King’s work, she lives for awhile among his characters, crying with them, laughing with them, loving with them, and yes, being frightened with them – but then that’s when you know that King has done his job, and done it well.

I started this blog months ago for a lot of reasons…as a way to express myself, to keep my muse refreshed and flowing, to get random thoughts out of my head to make more room for other random thoughts, and to rant about my favorite TV show, LOST. Sadly, LOST is over, and with that ending my blogging kinda took a nose dive. I lost my drive to really do anything with it.

But thanks to a revamped look – and some awesome graphics courtesy of one of the best bestie’s evah, Mellie (YOU ROCK!) – I am feeling creative again. So if you are one of the few who have been kept awake at night, lying in bed staring up at the ceiling wondering “When will Sarah blog again?!”, then stay tuned. It’s coming.

Advertising nowadays, I think, has taken a turn for the worse. Just turn on your TV to any channel and you’ll see what I mean. Off the top of my head I can think of three that have freaked me out instead of made me want to buy the product. They are:

The Burger King. I used to be freaked out by the one where the couple woke up in bed and the Burger King was sitting next to their bed with breakfast. I’m sorry, but if I woke up and the Burger King was in my bedroom I’d either die of fright or I’d kill him. But my fear of that one was easily surpassed by the King tipping one. Who the hell decided that was a good commercial? It seriously gave me nightmares. Scariest. Thing. Ever.

That Chocolate Axe Guy. First, He’s made of chocolate and he’s got creepy eyes. Second, he gets eaten every where he goes. If a giant chocolate man came anywhere near me, I would not take a bite out of him. I like chocolate as much as the next person, but if that freak was in my vicinity I’d light a fire and melt him.

The Ikea Lady. You know, the commercials with that scary old lady sitting in the homes of people who had bought furniture from Ikea. Now, I know a lot of people who love Ikea – it seems like half my facebook friends have at one time or other gushed about going to Ikea. I have never been there. And I probably never will go there. I’d be terrified that creepy lady would appear in my room while I slept.

But it seems the advertising geniuses have really outdone themselves now.

It’s summertime and the weather is getting warmer (finally; I thought it was going to be winter again), so I thought I’d get my kids something fun to do on the days that get really hot. I bought a Slip N’ Slide. It wasn’t until I got home and I was looking at the box that I discovered something scary:

Whose idea was it to put a demon child on the package? (Not to mention a demon child with such sculpted eyebrows!) Shouldn’t the child on the box look like he was having fun? And not look like he was thinking of ways to slit your throat and get away with it?

After showing this picture to Mellie today, she immediately went for the salt; which I think is a good idea. The Demon Child, as we call him, looks like he’d be waiting at the end of the Slip N’ Slide to eat you – head first, Mellie said, and his eyes would glow red. You’d be hurtling towards him, his razor sharp teeth glistening in the sun, unable to stop. And after he ate you he’d lick his lips with a forked tongue and wait for the next kid’s turn.

Needless to say, I’m kinda afraid to open the box. What if he’s in there? Waiting?

Mellie says I should let someone else open it. Outside. Away from my house.

Any takers?

Looking back, I’ve always been one of those die hard Lost viewers that was eager for answers. I not only wanted them, I needed them. Or, I thought I did. With last nights series finale, I realized I was wrong. Like Jack, what I needed was a purpose. And I got it.

All along, Lost was, at the very core, about life, death, rebirth – the very thing that Mother said was the heart of the Island, the source. It was represented in so many ways in the last six years, and yet it took to the very end for that realization to truly come to the surface, for us to see that the show was not simply about survivors of a plane crash and their trials, that there was a deeper more powerful meaning to it all.

And that meaning was beautiful.

For me, the idea that we go on after this life, that the people we had connections with would be there, that we would have another life with them, whether our connection with them was one of love or friendship or dislike, is both touching and comforting. It gives you hope. Hope that you can correct mistakes, right wrongs, find those that you lost too soon. Hope that it was not all in vain. Hope that there is something better.

That is exactly what the Losties got. Each and every one of them had something in that afterlife that they did not have in their life, in most cases things they wanted badly and could not for whatever reason, have. Miles having a relationship with his father. Daniel getting to play the piano. Eloise getting to let her son have the life he wanted. Hurley having luck – and Libby. Locke got to be with Helen. Jin and Sun weren’t married but they were in love and happy. Sayid, while not with Nadia, got to see her have a life that was not perfect, but it was a life – and he got to reunite with Shannon, who he truly loved. Desmond had Widmore’s acceptance, and eventually Penny. Dogen had his son, alive and well. Sawyer made better choices and while he still felt the loss of his parents greatly, he was in a better place than he was before, and he reunited with Juliet (who was right – it did work, just not the way anyone expected).

Jack it seemed, had a better life as well. He had a son, and he was trying to be the father he never had, and it looked like he was succeeding. He had an ex-wife he got along with. He had a sister he was forming a relationship with. He seemed happier. He seemed as if the failure in his previous life had not touched him.

Ben’s life took just as big a turn as Jack’s. He had a better relationship with his father. He had a job he enjoyed. He had Alex in his life. He had an opportunity to befriend Locke and make things right, and he took it – and I think he was going to take that same chance to make things right with Alex and Danielle when he told Hurley he wasn’t going yet. His chance to do all of this began not in the afterlife, but on the Island, in the present day, when he agreed to stay and help Hurley. Finally, Ben had a purpose, he was needed, and you could see from the look on his face how much that meant to him.

Just as Jack needed his time on the Island to have had a purpose, and he found it as well. All his life he tried to fix things, made it his mission, and failed so often – but at last he succeeded, fixing the hole in the Island’s heart, and saving those that he could save. The way that he stumbled to the very same spot in the bamboo thicket that he had woken up at in the Pilot, where he laid down and died with Vincent at his side, was a stunning moment. The plane that he sees flying overhead just before he closes his eyes, I think, could be Ajira 316…but it could also be Oceanic 815, flying overhead and landing safely, as it did in LA X, where Jack could join the people he loved in the afterlife.

Is it sad, to think that everyone died? Yes. But as Christian put it so perfectly, “Everyone dies sometimes, kiddo.”

I realize that that explanation leaves more unanswered questions. When did those that got away – Lapidus (miraculously alive after letting us think he was dead for two episodes!), Miles, Sawyer, Kate, Claire and Richard – die? How did Desmond get off the island and when did he and Penny die? Hurley was the new Jacob, with Ben as his Alpert – when did they die?

Like Christian said, now doesn’t matter. When doesn’t matter. And neither does how. What matters is, they are all together, and they are okay. And that, for me at least, is a beautiful end…and the start of an even more beautiful beginning.

Lost is no stranger to killing off characters. We lost Boone too early in season 1. Shannon in the beginning of season 2 and Libby at the end. Eko was a victim of ol’ Smokey and Charlie sacrificed himself in season 3. Season 4 took Alex, Karl, Rousseau and Locke – and in season 5 we lost Locke again, as well as Charlotte, Faraday and Juliet. Season 6 has been no different. First, they made us relive Juliet’s death because she didn’t die the first time and then Ben killed Jacob, psycho style. They then proceeded to show us Locke was dead – again – and to kill Dogen, Lennon and a bunch of other Others, Richard tried to kill himself, and then Ilana blew herself to smithereens ’cause Jacob forgot to tell her to get some explosives training. (Yes, I purposefully left Ana-Lucia, Michael, Nikki and Paulo off of that list. No one liked them anyway.) But the clincher was last night’s episode, The Candidate.

They killed not one, not two, but presumably 4 beloved characters, all in a row.

All along I’ve said that I think each character should get the ending that they deserve. And I hold to that. But did they have to smack us with four of them in a row like that? Really? I knew someone would die, given the fact that they were on a sub, with a bomb, and no way to stop it once Sawyer proved to be the biggest asshat ever by pulling the wires instead of like, listening to Jack who is obviously the next Jacob.

Let’s look at these deaths in the order that they occurred.

Sayid. Our favorite Iraqi Torturer. This was actually the second time Sayid died this season. But after succumbing to the wound to the gut he got from Roger Linus back in ’77, he came back to life as a vegetarian zombie. He seemed all right at first, like lovable ol’ Sayid…until Dogen started in with the testing and the telling him he’s got something dark inside of him. In hindsight, it sure looks like Dogen pushed Sayid to believe that, so I kinda blame him for the Temple Massacre. Sayid then spent every episode after that sulking about, doing UnLocke’s bidding. So I found it quite fitting, and really the way it should have happened, that Sayid would redeem himself and snap out of zombie-mode and save the day. Even if I was yelling “No Sayid, don’t!” at the TV as he grabbed the bomb and ran off with it.

Lapidus. The blue eyed, scruffy pilot, who really had not much of anything to do this season expect land Ajira Flight 316 on Hydra Island and banter with Hurley and Miles. But it was lovely banter and he was awesome, and I was not expecting him to stand there and go “Uh-oh” and get hit with a freaking heavy ass door when the water came rushing into the sub after the explosion. I’m still keeping my fingers crossed that he managed to get up and swim out and will appear on the beach alive and banged up in next weeks episode. I just really hate to think of Lapidus as one more meaningless character death; it’d be nice for someone like him to make it through to the end, you know?

Sun and Jin. I need a minute, ’cause my chest still tightens and I get all teary eyed when I think of them. *deep breath* All right, so, these two had issues. In Season 1 it was revealed to us that Sun was going to leave Jin. She’d learned English, had an affair and plotted an escape. Jin, it turned out, was also plotting an escape, from Sun’s father so that they could go back to happier times when he wasn’t beating people and coming home from work up to his elbows in blood. But by the end of Season 1 they got it together just in time to get separated when Jin left on the raft. Season 2 found them still separated, and then reunited and it was all good for them until Season 4, when Jin was on the freighter when it blew up while a crying, screaming Sun watched from the helicopter. In Season 5 Sun was off island, raising their child, Ji Yeon, and vowing revenge on those responsible for Jin’s death – and Jin was alive and well living in ’77 as part of the Dharma Initiative, hoping to somehow find his wife even though he was living 30 years in the past. So it was with anticipation that they finally were reunited this season…and we waited…and waited…and it finally happened and what, a couple of hours later they both died? Really Lost? Really?! Talk about heart wrenching. They had this wonderful moment in the bear cages, got on the sub, expecting to get away – and they died. Together. Holding hands. Vowing never to leave one another ever again.

Commence plunging knife into chest…and then proceed to turn, turn, turn it.

Ouch.

Thanks, Lost. You only killed two characters who really deserved to be happy, to make it off that Island and back home to their child.

And you let Kate live. After setting it up for her to die so nicely. When Widmore had that gun on her, I was chanting “Do it. Charles. Do it.” But he’s a better man than people think he is and he didn’t. But hey, his henchmen had no qualms whatsoever shooting her! I literally whooped for joy and did an arm pump, I was so ecstatic. Six long years I’ve been waiting for that moment! And before I could break out the champagne, she got up.

Damnit.

Well, maybe next week. You know, if Lost isn’t busy killing off other people who should get to live instead.

An old man came to my door this week. He was dressed very nice and he had a pamphlet looking thing in his hand and before he offered it to me he said he had come by to invite me to a memorial service. My first thought was that this guy was planning ahead for his own death – he looked like he was in his 70′s so it’s not a far off assumption – and maybe he didn’t have any friends so he was going door to door in search of mourners. Odd, and a little creepy, but also sad.

But then he handed me the pamphlet thing and I saw Jesus on the front of it and he said it was a memorial service for Jesus Christ and I thought, aren’t you holding this a couple thousand years too late? I mean, I thought my Grandma holding my Grandpa’s service off for a month was long. But maybe they’re going for a record.

I don’t know.

Anyway he went on and said something about bunnies and after that I don’t remember what else he said ’cause this man reminded me that Easter was this weekend and I have to squeeze it into my schedule. I haven’t bought eggs or dye yet and I still haven’t got the kids baskets out yet (aka I haven’t remembered where I put them after last Easter), nor have I plotted with the Easter Bunny about what he’ll be bringing this year, and don’t even get me started on Easter dinner.

Having already come to the conclusion that my schedule sucks for the month of April, I think the guy was lucky I still managed to thank him nicely and wish him a pleasant day.

I’m going to seriously work on my mediation and relaxation skills this month. Once I manage this, I’ll catch up on my Lost ramblings. I hope.

I’m currently re-watching season 1 of Lost for the millionth time. And I’ve discovered some interesting things, if you compare them to things that are happening in the current season 6 airing now.

For starters, in “Solitary” when Rousseau has captured Sayid and she’s got him on that table and she’s electrocuting him – is she doing it simply because she is torturing him to get answers? Or is she doing it to test him to see if he’s sick? We now know that the Others that reside in the Temple, at one point in time tested Claire in the same way that they tested Sayid to see if he was infected. It makes sense that they might have then done the same to Rousseau, and in turn, that Rousseau was doing the same to Sayid. Sure she didn’t get the hot iron out, but maybe she was crazy enough to forget what exactly was done to her so she couldn’t replicate the “test” perfectly – plausible, seeing as how she hadn’t realized that 16 years had gone by until Sayid says so. Maybe I’m reaching with this one.

But this next one, I don’t think it’s much of a reach at all.

I just started “Raised By Another.” Claire centric and mildly annoying, I normally skip this episode. Don’t get me wrong. I liked Claire the first time I watched season 1. However, the more I watched, the more annoying she got. Michael should have taken Claire with him when he left in season 2.

But I digress.

So, I’m watching “Raised by Another” and it starts off where Claire is dreaming. Hearing a baby crying, she gets up and lo and behold she’s not pregnant. She goes traipsing through the jungle, following the babies cries and she runs into Locke who is sitting a table looking at tarot cards. She asks him what’s happening and he says to her that she knows what’s happening. She says she doesn’t understand. And he says:

“He was your responsibility, but you gave him away, Claire. Everyone pays the price now.”

And then he looks up at her, revealing that one eye is black, the other white:

Jump forward three years. Smokey’s using Locke as an avatar, and he is clearly the black of the two rocks.

And who left her baby in the jungle? Who let him be raised by another? Who is cuckoo for cocoa puffs?

Claire.

And I think it’s safe to say that everyone is paying the price.

I feel it’s my duty to warn people of an unsuspecting horror at grocery stores: old people. You know what I’m talking about…those grandmotherly and grandfatherly types, especially those who are shopping alone. Yeah, for the most part they’re harmless. But every once in awhile you run into one that’s a little wonky.

Maybe it’s just me, but I have more odd experiences with these people than any person should. And this bothers me, not because they are old, but because they are strangers. Strangers that are friendly, yes, but too friendly. There’s a thing called personal space. It exists for a reason. If I do not know you it’s not okay for you to hug me out of the blue (yeah, I have been hugged by a random old person). It’s also not okay for you to stand two inches from me and tell me your health history going back to World War II (yeah…this happened in Wal-Mart, though to this guy’s credit, his wife was hospitalized and he was very lonely; I had no problem talking to him – I’m a friendly person myself – he just should’ve stood a proper distance away).

Now, I’ve thought about this, and maybe their lack of acknowledging personal space comes from the fact that they grew up in a different era than us. Way back when, they didn’t have the problems the world has now – or they did but not so many perhaps. Different times – simpler times, safer times. Too often today you have to worry about the stranger that’s approaching you or the stranger that’s giving you too much attention.

Well, today I stumbled upon a different kind of wonky. And let me tell you, I was so completely unprepared for this. So, I am urging you all:

If a little old lady at the grocery store smiles at you with a twinkle in her eye as you are passing by her and says to you “Did you come down this aisle so I could tickle you?”

DO NOT hesitate. This will be difficult because really, how often does this happen? Never. It never happens. Why? Because asking a complete stranger if you can tickle them is wrong and I’m pretty sure it’s also crazy.

DO NOT in your shocked hesitation answer with “ummmmm…yes?” because guessing at the answer since you’re brain is still trying to catch up to what the hell is happening doesn’t work. You will inevitably give the wrong answer if you do this. The correct and immediate answer should be NO. Failure to respond as such will lead to a complete and old stranger tickling you.

If you adhere by these simple and important rules, you should be safe. Should being the operative word because who knows, maybe they have their hearing aide turned down and they’ll tickle you anyway. Or maybe they’ll think you’re joking and they’ll tickle you anyway.

Your best bet might be to just ignore that they’ve spoken to you. And run away. Whatever you do, don’t let this happen to you. Because being tickled by an elderly stranger is creepy and may scar you for life.