Stephen King Gave Me a Heart Attack (Or Why Size Does Matter)

Well, he tried.

This book, 11/22/63,

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was a Christmas gift to my husband, an avid sci-fi/fantasy reader.

While my husband R was home on leave, he savored every word of the latest novel from his favorite author. The book is very long and very heavy. Every few chapters he’d say, “Oh my God! This is such a good book!”

And I would look at him like I do when he gets in his geek mode for I did not read Stephen King. The trailers to his MOVIES scare me to death, let alone his writing. I even read an excerpt that Uncle Stevie published in a recent issue of Entertainment Weekly.

Gruesome. Shocking. Disturbing. Totally not for me.

R said this latest novel was not like that excerpt at all. Even he admitted that that was one of King’s most graphic novels to date.

And so I picked it up the other day. I finished the book forty-eight hours later.

Surprising for me, not that I would finish a book so quickly as I am an obsessed reader. If I like something, I really cannot put it down until the last chapter has been read, the last word memorized. Rather I was surprised that I picked up King’s work in the first place.

I sheepishly admit that I used to read chick lit; that is, until copycat authors after Bridget Jones dragged the genre through a neurotic and chatty death. I moved on to what I thought was called Vampire Porn but is known to the rest of the world as urban fantasy.

I won’t give anything away about the book only that I spent many hours laying down on my stomach, leaning on my elbows, and squinting at King’s magnificent words until the wee hours of the morn.

Apparently if you do that too long, you can strain your shoulders. You may even injure your left shoulder, pain that would lead you to suspect that your old age and poor eating habits have finally caught up with you. If you add blurry vision the week before and heartburn from ballpark nachos, then you could reasonably believe that you are having a heart attack.

After an advice nurse listened to my symptoms and fears, he asked me if I thought I should come in to which I replied NO. He did state emphatically to come in if I felt worse.

I didn’t. Physically.

I can’t say I won’t read like that again. I have been doing that all my life. Nothing feels better than staying up with a good book.

But I will think twice when Uncle Stevie comes knocking again with his mesmorizing characters, brilliant voice, and subplots that would seem forced on the Lifetime Channel. Hours on elbows fly by when one is lost in a fantastic book. Hours that could lead to left shoulder pain that could very well lead me to believe I am having a heart attack.

Again.

And they say size doesn’t matter.

Confessions

I have yet to play a game of Dungeons and Dragons. I’ve never attended WonderCon, ComicCon, or any other Con for that matter. I tease my husband about the online computer games he plays. But I can’t stand it anymore. I’m obsessed with all things vampire, werewolf, shifter, fae… You name it, I’ve probably read it or will soon.

Yes. I am in the supernatural closet.

Until now.

Confession #1: Though I am unimpressed with Stephenie Meyers’ writing, I did swoon over Edward and Jacob. Well, until they cast the BOY who played Sharkboy from the kids’ movie “Sharkboy and Lavagirl”. Ew!

Confession #2: I tune into True Blood because of the storyline, because I’m a huge fan of the Charlaine Harris novels, and because duh, of the eye candy.

Confession #3: I don’t read Stephen King but I do read what he recommends. I would have never read the Hunger Games trilogy, “The Passage” by Justin Cronin, and other awesome novels.

Confession #4: I love Misfits, the best show you’re not watching. Watch it. Love it. Email me and we’ll gab about how awesome it is and how hot Simon is.

More confessions to come later…