I read this novel when it came out, bought it, in fact. What pushed me through it was the color; the reds (of course), tangerines, deep blues, golden yellows. It was a world that I enjoyed being in. It was similar to Lisey's Story in this way. I had a 10 month old girl at the time and saw her as my own Ilse. That resonated with me, as well.
I'm reading it again, this time with John Slattery leading me through. This time is different. My daughter is 11. I have an 8-year-old son. And I almost died.
In December of 2009, I was snowblowing at the end of my driveway, as we are wont to do up here in Maine during those months, when I was struck by a pickup truck with a plow attachment. I broke my pelvis, right lower leg, left ankle, and injured both shoulders. I was at CMMC for a month. It was 50/50 at one point. The surgeon who worked on me was the same that worked on Mr. King, I discovered. Though his injuries were more severe, I've always felt a surreal connection to him (he was the one that inspired me to try writing).
The characters that he creates that suffer injuries similar to ones that we did obviously feel more bright, more there. Duma Key, and Edgar, feel the closest to me. His anger during recovery and the pain he suffers then and throughout the story I have experienced, though not as violently. Though Edgar had a vast amount of resources I don't have, (still trying to financially recover, actually) I'm drawn to creative outlets as a release or an escape. I've teared up multiple times during this re-reading, as those feelings slam back into me. Not only because of the individual and physical struggles Edgar has to endure, but the relationship strain is something that hits too close to home.
I wanted a way to share this story with Mr. King, to let him know I'm listening, I hear him very well. I'm out here appreciating this small connection we have.
I'm reading it again, this time with John Slattery leading me through. This time is different. My daughter is 11. I have an 8-year-old son. And I almost died.
In December of 2009, I was snowblowing at the end of my driveway, as we are wont to do up here in Maine during those months, when I was struck by a pickup truck with a plow attachment. I broke my pelvis, right lower leg, left ankle, and injured both shoulders. I was at CMMC for a month. It was 50/50 at one point. The surgeon who worked on me was the same that worked on Mr. King, I discovered. Though his injuries were more severe, I've always felt a surreal connection to him (he was the one that inspired me to try writing).
The characters that he creates that suffer injuries similar to ones that we did obviously feel more bright, more there. Duma Key, and Edgar, feel the closest to me. His anger during recovery and the pain he suffers then and throughout the story I have experienced, though not as violently. Though Edgar had a vast amount of resources I don't have, (still trying to financially recover, actually) I'm drawn to creative outlets as a release or an escape. I've teared up multiple times during this re-reading, as those feelings slam back into me. Not only because of the individual and physical struggles Edgar has to endure, but the relationship strain is something that hits too close to home.
I wanted a way to share this story with Mr. King, to let him know I'm listening, I hear him very well. I'm out here appreciating this small connection we have.