Upon writing notes on the new story I’m working on, I thought about my inspiration. Where did I get that fire to write about imaginary things?
My brother was into many genres because I read every book in the house (mostly his). Then he suggested a book I would enjoy – Stephen King’s Firestarter. The beginning had me hooked – Andy’s “Push” and Charlie’s pyrokinetic ability was one of the first novels I read with supernatural elements. I loved the idea of mental abilities and how powerful and/or dangerous these could be. It was kool and different to me which had me interested in reading more stories like that.
After I devoured this book, I picked up every novel penned by King. I even joined the Stephen King Library soon after. I now own every book he’s written (apart from books I didn’t like that I gave away to the library or lent out but never got back) and now I receive every new addition conveniently in the mail.
The next book I read was Carrie. It was clever how he wrote the story via news clippings and articles. He did a great job at capturing Carrie’s psyche and painting her so realistically. Although I wasn’t ostracized the way she was, I empathized with her. In hindsight, I found myself drawn to stories about high school, the underdog, and revenge.
When I first started writing, I pegged myself as the female Stephen King but realized, this was unrealistic. I read his biographies and his influences. I even tried to read H.P. Lovecraft but I couldn’t read his work; I liked King’s work better even though Lovecraft inspired him. I will never be this man, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t write in my own style.
King introduced me to fantasy, horror, the real, the unreal, and everything in between. He took something real like a domestic violence story and turned it into something bigger and dynamic. I thought to myself, “If he could do that, so can I.”
I love the man’s work and I love his old fiction better because it’s raw; his new fiction is more polished which doesn’t have the same effect on me. When I read IT, I couldn’t read anything for the next weeks because I was so affected. That book was in-frakking-tense! What a story!
I have to thank Stephen King for my passion; he writes because he has to. There’s nothing else he’d rather do in the world and that’s me as well. I won’t be like him and my writing doesn’t even closely resemble his but it doesn’t have to. At the end of the day, he is my inspiration. Thank you, Stephen King, for your existence!