I have never met one person with the same kind of obsession with New England and horror novels as I have. I can partly thank my mother for my unique obsession, but even further, I can thank the one author who I’ve grown up on.
At age eleven I read my first King novel that goes by the title of Pet Sematary. Perhaps I was so in love with it because I had also grown up with the movie, but nevertheless, I became hooked. I have vowed to myself to read each and every one of his books before I die. If not by then, maybe in my afterlife. As of now, I have given myself a good start (I think I have read about 30 novels, now).
It’s difficult to describe what it is that I love so much about his writing. Admittedly it is no kind of Shakespeare, and the language can be somewhat vulgar in certain cases. Maybe that is what I fell in love with – the rawness of it, but also the reality of it. He was trying to impress no one, and would write exactly what he wanted to, even if it might make his own mother cringe.
Through him I started to realize I might enjoy being a writer, and probably more of a horror or drama writer, like he is. Even in his most ridiculous plots, there is always some kind of message to be told, and I as a reader am held responsible to figure out what that message is. His books are not just about a scary clown or a telekinetic prom queen. There is always an underlying truth to them, no matter how fictional they may seem.
That is the goal I have developed as a writer, because of him: to write about whatever I want and as creatively as I want, but to still give it some base from which to build upon. I want to be a writer because I have things that I think are worth communicating to the world, but I know I can do it better through fiction, because that is the only way for me to release every unexplainable idea I’ve ever had.