Last week, I returned to the past to remember that childhood moment when both books and time were plentiful. I eventually grew out of the book-of-the-month selections offered to kids and tweens and forged my own literary path at my local library. In this post I wrote for Geek Force Network, I recall how once that path veered off into the creepy and sinister territory overseen by Stephen King. Despite harboring young fears of scary books, King’s books spoke to teenage me in a way unlike other books, frankly, directly, and deftly. As everything old is new again, I once more find myself in need of King’s words and eerie visual mastery.
Lately I’ve had this impulse to read, or rather, re-read some Stephen King books. I can’t put my finger on why, after so many years, that I suddenly have to read them again; all my head is telling me is that I must. But why Stephen King so specifically? I think it has something to do with libraries.
Throughout the better part of my formative years, my mother made sure that my siblings and I visited our local library regularly. In fact, I can picture the interior of that library as clear as day, with the large checkout counter just inside the door. To the left of that was the reference book section. Beyond that was the fiction and non-fiction room. And downstairs was the kids section. And all of it was enveloped in that post-modern, sterile, and beige environment common to many public libraries of the time. But I…
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