Books and Authors

Retired from Writing

Someone at work must have been getting rid of their embarrassing romance novel collection, because there were a ton of free books sitting in the break room. I can’t resist books, and every now and again, I will read a romance, just to roll my eyes at how unrealistic and sappy it is, so I picked up a few of them.

One of them was written by LaVyrle (have no idea how to pronounce that) Spencer, an author I had never heard of. The book itself was pretty good, a contemporary (for the time it was published: 1995) romance, although I found the male love interest kind of boring. But this post isn’t a review of the book. To me, romances are pretty much all the same and that one followed the same pattern.

I read some more about the author online and found out that the book I read was her last book and that she would be retiring from writing. What a luxury! But who could ever retire from writing? I remember reading that Stephen King, after he had his accident in 1999, said he was going to retire from writing. But he never did. He’s written tons of books since then.

King sure as hell didn’t keep writing because he needed the money. He must have done it because he couldn’t not write. I wonder if the same was true of Ms. Spencer. Did she truly love writing? If so, how could she just stop? Perhaps she had some kind of physical injury that would prevent her from writing. Maybe writing became too mentally taxing or emotionally painful.

Or maybe she didn’t retire from writing but from publishing. That I can understand. It must be freeing to write whatever the heck you want on any schedule you want, without worrying about publishers and editors breathing down your neck.

I don’t know what I would do if I was a published author with several novels already under my belt. Would I retire from writing if it had become like any old day job? Perhaps. It is hard to say because I have never been in that position.

Blogging

Thursday Three #44

  1. There are only about 3 weeks left until the baby is due (give or take), and we have all the “stuff” we need, but I’m not ready. Supposedly that will all change when he is born, but I’ll have to see it to believe it.
  2. For some reason, I always end up reading Stephen King during the holidays, and I just finished his story collection Four Past Midnight. It is a good representation of King’s best work, and I found “The Library Policeman” to be the scariest thing I have read in a long time. Way scarier than some of his more recent stuff.
  3. This is a pretty interesting article on the danger of the addicting video game Fortnite. I’ve never played it and have no desire to, but it sounds like the addiction is comparable to what occurred with World of Warcraft or Runescape not too long ago. I wouldn’t say that Fortnite itself is the problem. The way the games are created (to foster addiction) is the problem.
Books and Authors

At the Mercy of Children

SPOILER ALERT!

So I finally got around to reading Stephen King’s Under the Dome. (Yes, I know there was a TV mini-series, but I don’t think I’ll ever watch it.) In short, I liked the premise of the book and enjoyed the experience of rushing through it to see how Mr. King would wrap up all the craziness he’d created, but the ending was sort of a bummer.

Big Jim Rennie was probably one of the best King villains I’ve read about in a while. He’s your (stereo)typical slimy used car dealer, and to make matters worse, a hypocrite of the highest order. I wanted so badly for him to have a much more gruesome death than he actually did. Having him die alone haunted by the “ghosts” of the people he killed did not in any way justify the hell he unleashed upon the other characters, as if actually being under the dome wasn’t bad enough for them.

I didn’t like the idea of alien “leatherhead” children using the dome as a kind of experiment just to get their kicks, the same way that human children would burn ants under a magnifying glass.* Because the town of Chester’s Mill was basically a huge meth lab, I wanted the dome to be some kind of byproduct of all those chemicals. Wouldn’t that have been a positive anti-drug message? Yes, but that’s not what we got. Instead, we got a sermon on how we should treat ants and those smaller than us with respect because you never know: they might have quite complex lives after all, just like us. (I mean, it wasn’t a bad message, but it wasn’t quite big enough and loud enough to match the bigness and loudness of the book. I suppose it was too “literary” for mainstream horror/sci-fi.)

King also tried to be charitable toward Republicans by making one of the heroines a Republican journalist. However, he was not in the least charitable toward Christians, whom he often portrays as a bunch of mindless sheep who can be very cruel and unaware of how hypocritical they are acting. I find it somewhat unfair, but hey… everyone has their bias, right? King also uses his typical tactic of having a young kid save the day—or at least prove himself to be smarter than most of the adults. I like that trope of his because it is nice to see an underdog pull through and have a victory.

The best parts of the book were the fast pace and the interesting characters. There was literally never any downtime. It was one death right after another, and just when you thought the carnage would be over for a few pages, it started right back up again in the next paragraph, which of course made the book nearly impossible to put down. I kept comparing it to my favorite Stephen King book, Needful Things, mostly because it centered on the destruction of one small town and followed a multitude of raucous characters. However, Needful Things had the satisfying ending that Under the Dome did not.

I’d recommend Under the Dome if you want a big, juicy book to keep you turning the pages on a boring car ride or maybe on the beach. It’s so gory at times that you almost feel like a sick person for enjoying it so much… then you wonder about the author’s sanity.

*As much as I disliked the ending, it was incredibly accurate because when I was much younger, I used to pull the legs and wings off Japanese beetles, mostly because there were so darn many of them and they destroyed my mother’s rosebushes, so they were basically Public Enemy Number 1. At one point when I got a bit older, I realized that as gross and destructive as the bugs were, they were living creatures that felt pain and had lives, no matter how short and seemingly useless. When I realized that, I let all the Japanese beetles out from the glass jar where I kept them… under the dome. So I was one of those creepy leatherhead alien kids after all. So reassuring.