Review: Full Dark, No Stars by Stephen King

I’ve never been much for reading horror stories. Always prone to nightmares, I have always stayed away from scary movies, campfire tales and Stephen King. In fact, my first exposure to King wasn’t one of his bone-chilling thrillers, but rather his book On Writing. This was where I fell in love with the way that he writes. He isn’t overly fussy with his words. His characters have depth without being overcomplicated. They are people, real people. I dig his writing so much, that since reading On Writing I have subjected myself to quite a few sleepless nights and whacked-out dreams because I won’t put down his books even though they scare the crap out of me.

When I picked up Full Dark, No Stars, I knew I would like the writing. The book is comprised of four short stories topped off with a message from King on where he got the inspiration for each story. The tales are gruesome, vivid and just plain freaky in some places. There are graphic descriptions in some places, but the truly unnerving parts are where he let your imagination run wild. The characters in these stories are normal people in some twisted situations and he paints a picture, four actually, of what people are capable of when life takes a turn for the worst.

My favorite part of the book was King's postscript. It's not often that a writer comes right out and tells you where their inspiration originated. The knowledge of how these stories came to be helped me understand them on a deeper level and enjoy them even more.

I don’t recommend reading this late at night, but I do recommend reading it.

Review: The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender

I am not quite sure what I was expecting when I picked up The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender. It was one of those rare occasions when I had heard a lot about a book without actually hearing what it is about. Sure, I knew the very basic premise, but I didn't have a predisposed notion of what I was getting into when I delved into its pages. Even after reading it, I can't peg it into a certain genre for you.

Rose is nine years old when she develops the ability to taste people's feelings in the food that they prepare. The feelings she experiences are almost never good and eating becomes difficult. The book takes us through the twists and turns of Rose's relationships with her family and friends and what she learns of them as they cook for her.

This certainly isn't an uplifting story, although it isn't the kind of depressing that takes you down with it. I walked away from The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake feeling a little blank, but mostly wondering what Rose would taste in my food.

All in all, I thought it was a good book. I enjoyed how Bender mixed descriptions of food with the raw emotion that Rose drowned in with each bite. There are some books that get better as you let them stew in your thoughts and I think this is one of them.

NaNoWriMo: Just The Beginning

In the beginning, I read some of the criticism that was flying around regarding NaNoWriMo. Having participated and finished (YAY!), I have decided not to listen to any of the nay-sayers.

Writers have different reasons for pledging to write 50,000 words in 30 days. Some say that it's no big deal. Well, it was a big deal for me and who are you to minimize my achievement? I had a few reasons for chaining myself to my desk for a month. First and foremost, I needed a push to move beyond the realm of short stories. I also needed to get myself into a writing rhythm. With three small children and a job, writing every single day wasn't part of my schedule and I needed it to be. Finally, I needed to prove to myself that I could do it. It didn't hurt that I proved it to a few other people either.

Some of the writers will never look at their 50,000 words again. They will file them in a folder on their desktop and let them collect dust, so to speak. For my manuscript, NaNoWriMo was just the beginning. I have created a character that I really like and I think I owe it to her not to drop her into the abyss of my hard drive.

I am sure that on my first readthrough, I will find that I wrote a lot of crap during NaNoWriMo, but I wrote it. I plan on finishing it, editing it, revising it, polishing it and getting it to a point that someone else's eyes are ready to see it. NaNoWriMo got the ball rolling and I am going to keep it rolling, just not at the insane pace that November demanded.

The nay-sayers can keep on nay-saying. I am going to keep on writing.

NaNoWriMo So Far

I had heard of the curse of week two, but man, it really kicked my ass!

I got off to a strong start and managed to stay on course through week one. The first weekend arrived and my children decided to share their cold germs with me. This was not your typical cold. This was a body-wrenching, head-aching, phlegm-making super germ that I am still grappling with.

Despite my best attempts, I have fallen behind in my word count goals. One night this week found me having nightmares about my word count. I woke to see my digital clock and thought that the numbers were my count. Horrified at the low number, I tossed and turned all night at my lacking performance.

But all is not lost, I have written over 14,000 words so far and my story is beginning to take form. I have some great characters, some interesting conflicts and the humorous quips and lines can be found in abundance (it helps here to know that I am writing a comedy).

Today, I am off to a write-in with the Chicago chapter of NaNoWriMo in Schaumburg. I think a good, long writing session will really put me back in the game - both in word count and confidence!

Final Hours Until NaNoWriMo Kick-Off

Less than six hours until writing for NaNoWriMo officially begins and I am still putting the final touches on my outline. I am afraid if I don't finish, I'll lose focus on what I am writing and hit a wall. If I have the main points plotted, I can jump around if I need to.

I have ten chapters plotted so far, but I honestly can't tell you what the final tally will be. I get the sense that, when I start writing, my chapter breaks won't even remotely resemble what I have planned. So, I am going to guess that my ten chapters will be more like eighteen on paper. They only look short in summary form.

I might be starting to over think this outline just a bit! That is what happens when you can't start writing when you are ready! Come on NaNoWriMo, let's get this show on the road!

Wish me luck!

Location, Location, Location

Finding the perfect writing atmosphere can be tricky. I am a coffeehouse writer. I like the background noise, the mellow music, all of the accessible caffeine. But finding the perfect coffee locale is made more difficult when your search takes place in the suburbs.

In my glory days of city living, I had an endless selection of quiet, but not too quiet, hip, but not too crowded options. If I were in downtown Chicago right now, I know exactly where you would find me (assuming that someone else was watching the kids and I had already done the grocery shopping). And if my first choice was too busy, I can think of five or six suitable back-ups that would provide everything I look for in a writing location.

Alas, I am no longer living in the city. While I do adore the area in which I live, my choice of coffeehouses has been significantly reduced. I live near a couple of large coffee retailers, but the closest independent coffeehouse is a good 20 minute drive. Is it worth the trip? Yes!

I am not one of those people who refuses Starbucks or Caribou because they are too established, but most of their locations just don't have the right vibe for me. In fact, one of my first choices downtown would be Argo Tea, which has become quite a prolific chain since I lived in the city.

The little independent coffeehouse I frequent has a feel that I like. The chairs are super comfortable. The music is good enough that I am not too annoyed that I have forgotten my headphones (I always do). The barista knows that I like my drinks scalding hot. Most importantly, I seem to get a lot done when I am there. I get bursts of inspiration and venture off on little writing tangents that take my stories to places I hadn't anticipated.

Do I make the trip whenever I write? No. I have to save it for special occasions or desperate measures. If inspiration is evading me, it is a great place to go, but sometimes I have to settle for a nearby Starbucks or *gasp* stay at home and write.

Being a parent means that I can't always get away. I have had to adapt my writing and thought process to allow for a different ambience that includes screaming children and my regular desk chair. At least I still have access to caffeine.

Short story: Daily Dose

Sabine was too young to remember the Enlightening. Too young to remember the chip being implanted in her neck. Too young to remember her father being taken away for refusing to hand her over willingly. The Mothers didn’t like dissenters, so he was removed and replaced with another man. Other families were torn apart entirely. Many parents fought and lost to the Mothers. Single parents were considered unstable. Same-sex couples were blasphemous. Love was a thing of the past. Everyone had to have a Mama and and a Papa. She knew that Mama was her actual mother. There was a smell that was familiar to her, that identified her as the right fit. Papa was a stand-in. His glances did not carry the tenderness or concern of her mother’s and his words always sounded level and scripted.

She had been twelve when her older sister, Jenna, was taken as well. Papa had caught her trying to dodge her dose and reported her to the Mothers from the intercall system in their parlor. A collection team came to get her within the hour. Jenna screamed up until the moment they stuck her with the syringe full of sedative, putting an end to her defiant tantrum. She crumpled like an old doll and they carried her out to the van for relocation. Sabine still hoped that she was out there somewhere.

##

She and Jenna shared a room and, after bed check, Jenna would let Sabine crawl into bed with her and tell her stories of what the world had been like before. She told her about candy and cartoons, baseball and dancing, movie nights and sleepovers. Some of the things that Jenna told her were so far from Sabine’s world that she thought Jenna was making it all up. As Sabine got older, the stories transitioned to tales of how the Enlightening came to be and of how things were not a serene as they seemed. Sabine was still young to understand such things, but she would carry Jenna’s words until they came to make sense.

The first time Jenna told Sabine about what had happened to their father, Sabine grew scared and her heart began to race.

“Don’t be scared,” she whispered in a panicked tone, which gave Sabine further reason to worry. “Try to steady your breathing or the Papa will come to check on us and we could be sent away for insubordination.”

They heard footsteps approaching the stairs. “Get back in bed! Close your eyes and start mumbling, like you are talking in your sleep. Now!” Jenna hissed.

Sabine scrambled back into her bed and did her best to look like she was sleeping. She didn’t know what one might say in their sleep, so she tried to sound like she was restless.

The sliver of light under the door showed Papa’s feet at the door. Sabine tried to lay still as the door opened, but she was sure that the sound of her heart pounding filled the entire room. She didn’t want to be sent away like her father.

When he was certain it was just a dream, Papa closed the door and returned to the parlor to report back to the Mothers. Sabine sat up in bed and whispered back to her sister, “What was that all about? How did he know to check on us? We were so quiet.”

“It is the chip in your neck. We all have one. It monitors our vitals. Someone in a building somewhere can see if we are sick or scared and even where we are. If your heart was racing, it could be because you are nervous about trying to escape or just because you walking up the stairs too fast. Somewhere along the lines, they decided to track our vitals instead of installing cameras everywhere.”

Sabine didn’t know how she felt about being monitored all of the time. Was it better or worse than being watched all of the time?

##

It wasn’t long after that night that Jenna started being more closely monitored. Papa would ask her more questions and take note of her responses. The intercall system buzzed every few hours for reports on her behavior. 

After a few weeks, a large box was delivered. Papa signed for it and carried it into the small den off of the parlor. Later that afternoon, Jenna was made to sit in the den for an hour for mass therapy.

“What was it like?” Sabine asked after bed check that night.

“It is crazy. The therapist is on the television and I have to wear this headpiece that checks my brainwaves or something. They ask questions and read our thoughts to see how we really feel. Having something under my skin is bad enough and now they are in my head.” Jenna’s voice cracked. She turned over and pulled the covers up over her head. Clearly, Sabine would get no more answers tonight.

##

Everyday, Sabine watched Jenna trudge into the den and emerge an hour later looking even more defeated than when she went in. Their bedtime chats were now entirely about what was wrong with the Mothers and how they watched everyone, wouldn’t tolerate anyone who stepped out of line or spoke against them. Sabine wanted to hear more about games and love, but Jenna only had unhappy tales left to tell.

After three weeks of mass therapy, Papa presented Jenna with a small pill one day at breakfast. “Doctor’s orders,” he said, a bit too cheerfully. Jenna had no choice and took the pill obediently.

##

There was no telling how long Jenna had been skipping her daily dose. Sabine had not noticed any changes in her sister. She was as quiet and sullen as ever. Papa seemed pleased that she was being so compliant.

It was mass therapy that morning that was her undoing. Fifteen minutes into her session, the intercall sounded with an alarm and Papa listened as he was instructed to hold Jenna for collection.

She didn’t even make it to the door before he got to her. He pulled her hands behind her back and tried to cover her mouth, but she wriggled and squirmed to keep herself from being silenced.

“Mama! How can you let them do this to us? Can’t you see they are all crazy?! No one should live like this! LET ME GO!!!!” Jenna screamed, her face red with anger. She turned away from her mother, breath slowing and her voice now calming to a more resigned tone, “Sabine, fight them! Remember that I love you and Daddy loved you too.”

Sabine looked to her Mama who stood stoically as she watched her oldest daughter being drugged and dragged away. “Why would you let them just take her like that? Don’t you care about her?! Do you care about me?”

“What good am I to you if they take me away too?” Her mother turned away from her and began to climb the stairs to the privacy of her room. The Mothers usually made an exception for grieving, as long as there was no fight. Sabine realized that her mother was protecting her in the only way that she could, but she was also broken. Her spirit had been stolen along with her husband.

It was then that Sabine came to understand the terrible powers of the Mothers and that everything Jenna said against the Enlightenment was true. But, unless Sabine wished to be drugged, her dissent would have to be a silent one, which was fine with the Mothers.

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