Redrum and Dragon Cakes

It feels like it's been a long time since I wrote. I'd like to say it's because I was busy making Henry the most awesomest dragon cake ever and was busy celebrating his birthday and then breaking in his new trucks, cars and trains. Or because being on duty for 5 days and 4 nights in a row made me develop a slightly skin-eating bacterial infection that I thought was shingles and sent me to bed for 20hours one day and five the next and a trip to the ER. Or because my job has actually required me to go to meetings, schedule & coordinate several activities each week and be responsible for the welfare of 32 girls. All those things are true. But the real reason I haven't written is...

I was reading The Shining.

It's a thick book.

I'd never read Stephen King's fiction before. I've seen lots of the movies. Not cared for most of the horror ones. And, because of the cheeseball quality of most of his made-for-TV movies, subconsciously thought he was a bad writer. Even though his book on writing (cleverly titled On Writing) is my, by far, favorite book on writing (on writing, on writing, on writing - it seemed like I should say it just a few more times in the sentence). I now know this is not the case.

It is so the opposite of true that I stayed up several nights binge-reading because I couldn't stop in places that were so disturbing. Why I chose to read a book about a caretaker (den mother) of a crazy hotel (dorm) in a remote place (remote place) with his wife (husband) and their precocious five (two) year old where strange voices of ghosts (girls) swirl around them pushing them towards insanity, I'm not sure. Well, I sorta am. My coworker recommended it and I wasn't reading anything else. Plus, I'm in Stephen King country.

So, yes, I went a little nuts. Doing rounds at night, turning off the lights of the basement, I heard the sound of a thwumping roque mallet. With our room over the boiler room, I took the regular, creaky noises to mean the inevitable explosion was moments away. When Henry would repeat something I'd thought days ago, but forgot I said out loud, I asked if he had it and if Oscar appeared to him. And last night when I actually went to bed by 9, something I try to do every night and fail at, I stayed up until 11:45 finishing the damn thing just so I could sleep without picturing the dog-costume guy.

Don't get me wrong, it's a great book. Especially after I stopped picturing Shelley Duvall. Sooooo much better than the movie. It felt good to be lost in a book again. It's been a little while since I've carried a book with me on excursions with Henry in case there's a long line somewhere or a weird stop in traffic. It also feels good to be done with The Overlook.

My coworker is pushing The Green Mile next. If you don't hear from me, you'll know why.