13. The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger - My journey begins again

Anyone wanna spot me a few grand for a first edition?

 

Well, here I sit. Back at the beginning. (Heh. IYKYK)

This is what it’s been all about the whole time, right? The Tower. The whole Stephen King book project is really about The Dark Tower. Well, yes and no.

Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

I’d said before, in my ‘Hey I’m back’ post, that there are generational anthemic adventure stories that give definition in culture. Lord Of The Rings of course, but also things like Star Wars, Game of Thrones, Hell, Douglas Adams and the Hitchhiker series. Things of that sort. I grew up in the 80s. The magical time of Stranger Things, and one of the reasons that Stranger Things worked so well as a TV series is because it landed squarely on the nostalgia target for us of that generation. We were given an opportunity to escape from our lives of now to a time back when we lived a simpler life (usually without Demagorgons). We rode our bikes from house to house, played baseball in the summer, operated independently of our parents, ate through all of the snacks and chips they’d bought us way too fast, and were both restrained and empowered by the lack of the internet. 

We had to go to the video store to rent a VHS (or Betamax IYKYK) to watch movies. Sure, some families had cable television, and even fewer of those had ‘premium’ channels like HBO, Showtime, The Movie Channel, and Cinemax for those Friday night sleepovers. (again, IYKYK) We entertained OURSELVES. OUR imaginations were front and center. That’s how I came to The Dark Tower in the first place. 

In those halcyon days of the late 80s, my cousin and I spent a lot of nights together. We had the best Aunt in the world, and we would often stay together at her place, making caramel corn, renting ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’ EVERY VISIT, and staying up all night catching those sneaky glimpses at Cinemax.

We promise we won't stay up TOO late

 We loved those sleepovers, and I’m sure now, from an adult perspective, they were a nice little break for our folks to give them room to just be adults without us for an evening. It wasn’t always nights at Aunt Karen’s though. Sometimes, I’d just go stay at his place with my other Aunt and Uncle. Bert and I would play GI Joes, I would help him build models of cars and airplanes, and we would beat each other senseless in the backyard under the guise of playing 1v1 football. He was a little bit older than me, and it was he who introduced me to Dungeons and Dragons. Bert helped me create my character, and we would go over to his neighbor’s house to play. Going over to Aaron’s was the COOLEST for my little 9-10 year old ass. I was hanging out with older kids, and in Aaron’s basement, there were always a few loose copies of Playboy or Penthouse floating around that we could sneak looks at. It was in Aaron’s basement that I saw a copy of The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger. This very edition that I just read, the 1988 Plume release. 

This majestic bastard got its hooks in me oh so long ago

I’ll never forget seeing that cover. I was confused by it. I hadn’t heard of this book. I’d already been reading Stephen King books for a while, often borrowing Aunt Karen’s hardcover copies after she’d finished with them. Even as a young reader, there was always something special about the presentation of a hardcover book to me, and I would always take the slipcover off during my read, marking my place with a baseball card or something rather than damage the cover by using the flap. I don’t get too many hardcover books nowadays, but those behaviors persist.

Eventually, I read The Gunslinger. How, exactly, I’m not sure about. The details on that acquisition have been lost to time. I don’t remember if I got my own copy or borrowed it from the library. It matters not. What DOES matter was that I was introduced to a world I didn’t expect, and a world far departed from anything else King I had read.

It’s not Tuesday as I write this, but let’s taco bout it anyway 😊

I was totally looking for a different taco image, but

I don’t feel the need to summarize the book, because if you’re reading this, you’ve either already read it yourself and are familiar, or you’re not and you’re just being a really supportive friend patting me on the proverbial head while I ‘do my little bloggy thing’.

I’m 48 years old now. I first read this book over 35 years ago, and I’ve reread it countless times since. It’s been a long time since my last read, and I was excited to approach it with fresh perspective. For a while, in my 20s, the Dark Tower was a consuming thing. I would spend hours upon hours reading the books, annotating ties to other parts of the SK universe, and musing on what it all meant. Was it wasted time? Perhaps, but that’s the privilege of hindsight. Is this project that I’m resuming now wasted time? Also perhaps, but now we live in a world where it seems like everyone has an agenda and ulterior motive on social media, looking to monetize and make a name for themselves. Naked ambition can be both respected and disdained. I’m not looking to monetize this experience or springboard it into a greater anything. I just like what I’m doing. I’m also honest enough to know that I wouldn’t be vexed to encounter a scenario where this becomes something of note. I’m not chasing anything though. I’m just doing this for me, and hoping that anyone who reads it will find relatability in it.

I have digressed. I seem to be having trouble finding my entry angle back into all of this, so let me get back to the book itself. Now that I’ve read it again, I have quite a mix of feelings, both about the story and about Stephen King himself.

First, the story. The one thing that struck me (in a familiar way, because I’ve felt this strike before) is how DIFFERENT the tone of this book is compared to his other works. I say that both thinking of my limited exposure to SK novels at the time I first read this back in the late 1980s, but even more so, in context with the rest of the Dark Tower series. In a way, this very much feels like a ‘pilot episode’. The main character is written in such a detached way that he’s almost without emotion. In fact, I kept some notes during my read, and one of them simply says ‘page 90 before the gunslinger’s name is told.’ Prior to that, he’s just the gunslinger. Not even capitalized. King’s usual way of presenting his characters in a relatable way is notably absent here. There’s a bit of a Sergio Leone spaghetti western Clint Eastwood vibe attached to the gunslinger, as though SK were doing an homage, intentional or otherwise. He is written as an enigma. As the reader, we are expected to detachedly accept the gunslinger’s code and way of life. He’s like a Jedi, but way more morally ambiguous. We’re given glimpses into his past, and the parallels and similarities to the Jedi life and path are evident to me. It’s part history, part mythology, with references to Arthur and the knights of the round table, things of ‘our’ world, as well as things unique to the world of the gunslinger. 

Here's the thing about all of that, though: the detached approach worked, because it left me wanting to know more, to understand, to question, to grouse and complain, to challenge. Even this time around, knowing what all I know about the rest of the story, I still found myself hooked and thirsty for more. 

I’d mentioned the curious morality of the gunslinger and how it is implied that all gunslingers were expected to abide by this sense of values and expectations. Their place in this society some strange mix of nobility, aloofness, high respect, and guardian of the people. They’re expected to perform certain tasks, uphold laws, and grant favors, but not out of a sense of kindness. The idea of kindness in the gunslinger is not one of his character strengths. The gunslinger IS capable of love and kindness, though. We’re told that, and shown it in references to the past. Those capabilities will become all the more important in the volumes to come.

One of the big challenges I faced when reading this book again was to try and separate it from all of the knowledge I have about the rest of the story that unfolds in the future. Trying to take Volume I at face value, even though I recognize references to things that will become pivotal in future chapters. You can only experience something for the first time once.

I remember as a kid being fascinated with this concept of this gunslinger’s world that is in the future, but is so far from science fiction that it feels like the past. Is this place Earth? Is it OUR Earth? Remember, this is long before we all got hip to the concept of a multiverse. Why would there be references to an oil company, or The Beatles? 

Where, exactly, are we?

WHEN, exactly, are we?

Huh?

It doesn’t really matter, because we’re just THERE, joining Roland (that’s his name, by the way) on his quest to get to the Dark Tower. Why is he going there? We don’t know, and we’re not really told. We’re only told that it is his driven, single minded, almost maniacal quest, similar to ol’ Trashcan Man’s quest to get to Cibola. Roland is the last gunslinger, in a world that has moved on, and he’s chasing the Tower. To get there, he’ll have to face trials and tribulations, and we’re along for the journey, chasing down the mysterious ‘Man In Black’ together.

When it’s all said and done at the end of Volume I, we’re left to wonder what’s next for Roland. A prophecy is foretold, so we’re given our hints, but at the last page, we’re left to contemplate what the point of this book, this journey, even IS. Hard to say. It could be a journey to save the world. It could be a fanatical quest of self-importance that means nothing to anyone except Roland and anyone who crosses his path and gets involved.

We’ll find out in due time. An anti-climactic cliffhanger, if you will.

Remember how I said I also had some thoughts about SK and his writing? Boy, do I! One thing that stuck out to me was the seemingly egregious oversaturation of erotic overtones and tropes. What’s with all the sex? This is not a ‘sexy’ book in the traditional romantic kind of way, but there seems to be an element of sexuality hewn throughout the story that doesn’t really NEED to be there. Not that this is limited to Stephen King as a writer, but why is there such a creative need for mystique and magic to also be about sex? Speaking of magic, it is frequently connected with sex in a way that seems discomforting in reading it today. Maybe that’s a sign of the times, as we find ourselves in a world of sexual politics that expects us to question motivation, integrity, and consent. OR, maybe it’s because SK has a tendency to fall back on devices and tropes of the time (and maybe subconscious patriarchy), where mystery, power, and magic have an air of sexual dominance.  Why is the barmaid in Tull written as an impulsive urgent slut who can’t control the urges of her loins? Why is the female pastor sexualized? Does Roland really have to quasi-fuck the oracle to ‘win’ his magical battle?

Regarding the pastor, I’ve seen enough real world examples of the ‘power of the pulpit’ to understand the easy connection with sexual energy, but in this book, it feels forced and unnecessary. (Spoiler alert: This theme of unnecessary sex will be revisited in ‘IT’, which caused quite an uproar multiple times in socio-cultural history).

One more thing about Roland and the Gunslinger’s code. Are we supposed to be shocked by the events of Tull? Indifferent? Ambivalent? The way the story is presented to us by King is almost without emotion, as though we’re expected to experience it as a gunslinger ourselves. Does it help us understand the gunslingers any better? To me, it doesn’t. Not now. Roland develops much more robustly as a character in future volumes, and we can reflect back on this cool detachedness later. 

In fact, when Stephen King survived the notorious van accident in the late 1990s, one of the ‘second chance’ promises he made to himself and the world was to finish The Dark Tower before he died, making it his highest priority. He started by going back and revising this book and rereleasing it in an updated and ‘more accessible’ form. It’s been so long since I’ve read that version, too, that I’m not immediately familiar with the particulars about what was revised, added, edited, so on and so forth, hereto, and forthwith. When the time comes, I’ll read and chronicle that one too, just like ‘The Stand’, but it’s important for me to honor and value this original version, where the journey started for so many of us.

Still with me? Bless your soul and life for your crops.

All in all, I was happy to read this book again, and to start this journey again. In it’s own way, this entry is like a pilot episode for me, or a revival, or a reboot. After so long, I’m rusty, and I don’t have the easy voice and train of thought that I seemed to have years ago. That’s ok, though. Resumption of the longest journey begins with the first step. It, hopefully, will come easier in time. Or maybe it won’t, but that’s ok too. The key for me with this project is honesty about the experience. This book was a good experience in the greater scheme of things, because it is like going back to the gym after you’ve let yourself get way out of bounds.

As The Man in Black says to Roland “Would you kill all your answers so easily, Gunslinger?” There is something maddeningly satisfying about having to wait and let things unfurl piece by aggravating piece, so I can take all I’m given in ‘The Gunslinger’, mull it over, and wait for Volume II. In the meantime, it’s time to step out of Mid-World and back to SK’s version of our world.

This will make better sense A LONG TIME from now

Up next: ‘Different Seasons’. A lifelong favorite, which generated TWO legendary films, and contains a story that rattled me far more than ‘Rage’ ever did. 

Something stirred in the wind and whispered 'If not now, when?'

 Hi

Remember me?

It's ok if you don't. I don’t, either. Not really. It’s been nine years since I left this trail. Nine years of long days and not-so-pleasant nights, if you will. Almost 12 years since I'd honestly invested any real energy into it. Life has a funny way of distracting you, making you lazy.

Every so often, I’d think about coming back around to this project. This mission. This fool’s escapade. I’d get as far as rereading my old posts, laughing at some of my own jokes, groaning at others, and finding curious glimpses into the mind of who I was at the time I wrote those entries and read those books. A man on the uphill side of 40 who had spent many hours reading and rereading some of the works of Stephen King. A man who, for whatever reason, lost the mojo to keep reading. 

Well, that's not true. I kept reading all along. I just didn't read for this. I'd think about it, and then I just... wouldn't. 

Hollywood got me. In 2025, after a lifetime of never expecting it to happen, ‘The Long Walk’ became a movie, and a fairly damned good one in my opinion. I’d recommend giving it a watch. Same goes for the new version of ‘The Running Man’. I’ll always have a spot in my heart for Arnold’s Ben Richards, but the new movie is SO MUCH CLOSER to the actual book in terms of storyline and tone. The previews made it look silly enough to worry me, but my fears were assuaged. After two solid movies (both from Bachman books, by the way), I found myself moving from pre-contemplation to contemplation in my phases of change.

Now we find ourselves in the fresh, powdery snow of 2026. New year, new me, and all that. On Jan 2nd, wrestling with a cold and a myriad of other life complications that have historically kept me from coming back to the project, I decided that the time wasn’t right for it. I then told myself that the time would never be right for it and to just do it anyway.

So I am.

I grabbed my copy of ‘The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger’ (the original 1982 version, not the ‘revised’ post-accident later edition), and took a deep breath, then read those mythical and beautiful opening words aloud.

“The Man in Black fled across the desert, and the Gunslinger followed.”

(Don't get excited about my taste in decorating. It's this version of the book, but I stole this photo from the internet.)

If Helen of Troy had the face that launched a thousand ships, Stephen King wrote the opener that launched a million nerds. I don’t say that derogatorily, because I count myself among the million. Every generation has some anthemic adventure tome that develops fervent and obsessive followings.

Lord of the Rings

Dune

Star Trek

Star Wars

Harry Potter

And COUNTLESS others.

I became a Tower junkie. At a young age, too, when I was ripe for it. I’ll talk about all of that in the actual entry for the book, lest I get any further ahead of myself.

I’m excited to go back to Mid-World. I’m excited to go back to the mind of Stephen King and his universes. (Universii?)  I’m excited to explore how I perceive the books as a man on the downward side of the hill. Plenty of years and adventures left in me, but the statistics say that halftime is already over and we’re in the second half now.

And that’s why. We’re in the second half now, and there ain’t no time to hate, barely time to wait, so I’d better get back to reading and working my brain muscle.

Shall we go, you and I, while we can?

12. The Running Man: In which I'm obligated to spoil the book

I've always dug this book, which has minimal similarities to the amped up Schwarzenegger movie of the mid 80's. The Running Man was the last of the four books compiled in 'The Bachman Books', so it goes back to that feeling of having something special. It's been a long time since I've read it, though, and I was a little surprised at how much I'd either forgotten, or what didn't resonate with me when I read it as a youngster.

Following the theme of 'The Long Walk', this book is set in the distant, dystopian future of America. An America that's controlled by 'The Network', where televisions are compulsory in every home. An America where the divide between the Haves and the Have Nots is stark, even by today's standards. An America where the Have Nots fight for a chance to make some gains by selling their souls to The Network.

In a bizarre, yet prophetic, twist on the concept of the Roman gladiators, lower class people subject themselves to being on the Network's gameshows. Shows that take advantage of their weaknesses in order for them to earn cash. Shows that ultimately end in the competitor's death. See, it's not about if they're going to die or not. It's about how long they can survive on games like 'Treadmill to Cash', where volunteers with heart conditions run at increasing speeds to earn more money for their families. They're sacrificing themselves, and they do it willingly because they're so desperate, they see no other option. They'll earn Network money to give their family a better life, even when it costs them theirs. The citizens? They eat it up.

Quaint, huh?

Think of 'The Hunger Games', long before Suzanne Collins ever put idea to paper (or computer), and you have Bachman/King's America of 2025. In the way that Panem has 'The Capital' and President Snow, America has The Network and Dan Killian. Killian is the Executive Producer of 'The Running Man', which is the powerhouse gameshow of The Network. The Running Man is fairly simple. How long can you stay on the run before you're captured or killed? The longer you stay alive, the more money you earn.

However, like any good casino, the odds are always stacked in house favor. See, Citizens of this America don't want to see people survive. They're glued to the Free-Vee to see blood and guts. All the better for them if they happen to find themselves involved, as there's reward money for tips and info that would lead to the capture of the runner. Similar to today's news channels, The Network would break into pre-recorded programming if the Runner is about to meet the end of his run.

We interrupt your pre-recorded program to take you live, where someone is about to get their ass blown to smithereens

Ok, so I've set the stage a little bit. Ben Richards, a poor guy living in the bad part of town, can't catch a break. He's been blackballed from gainful employment because he dared to speak up about the dangerous work conditions at the factory. He's got a wife and a baby girl to try and support. With his daughter falling ill, and his wife turning to prostitution just to make ends meet, Richards decides to go apply for the games. Tons of applicants start the process every morning, and they're weeded out throughout the day through a variety of physical and mental examinations. As the number dwindles, Richards manages to stay in the group, eventually finding himself accepted. He doesn't know what he's been selected for, and he's put in isolated quarters, probably to discourage gossip. Eventually, he's led to a meeting, stunned to find out he's been selected, along with another, for The Running Man. He's hit the big time. Killian explains the rules, they trot him out in front of the studio audience, who dutifully boos and promises to help make sure he's captured, and they send him on his way.

Richards runs, and he has exploits, and I'm not going to tell you them, because I either expect you to have read the book by now, or I'd like you to read it. In Fact, if you HAVEN'T read it

SPOILER ALERT

I'm going to spoil the shit out of this book, because I have to. I can't say what I'm thinking without covering the end. Suffice it to say, he does not shoot Richard Dawson down some crazy luge chute for a happy ending with Maria Conchita Alonso. See, I just spoiled the movie for you, too!

There's a lot of dystopian future novels out there. Ones with oppressive governments and ruthless leaders. Maybe, when this book came out in 1982, it wasn't a tired concept, but it's dime a dozen nowadays. That doesn't lessen the impact of King's writing. In my mind, I always read the story with a sense of historical context. Maybe not the first time, but as I approach it again and again, I remind myself that it was written in a world without internet, at a time when the concept of cable television was just beginning to gain traction.

After being hunted down and chased throughout what, in this alternate universe, used to constitute New England, Ben Richards takes a hostage and makes a last stand at an airport, demanding a plane. He gets his plane. Breaking with every understanding of how the games system works, Richards is given an out. He's offered a job by the Network to become one of the Hunters. As he mulls it over, he's also told that his wife and daughter were 'coincidentally' killed soon after he went on the run. Sad, sad, Ben, we know, but this would allow you to commit fully to your career, your DUTY, as a Hunter. The news, combined with the blood loss and shock from the many wounds accrued during his run, leave Richards dazed and woozy. 

After some climactic action on the plane, we get the denouement. Richards, mortally wounded in the process, kills the Hunters, including a secret CIA-type agent posing as one of the pilots, and commandeers the plane, aiming it directly towards the Network headquarters skyscraper. Ben Richards, through the magic of storytelling and disbelief, is able to see exactly which floor Killian is on, makes eye contact with him and gives him the finger before crashing the plane directly into the Network building. Fin. End of Story. No epilogue about how Richards was a hero and turned the tide, starting a revolution against the Network. No epilogue about how Network PR spun the story as a huge tragedy and made Killian out to be a martyr, while Richards murdered him and countless others in his final selfish act. Richards is our protagonist, and when his candle is extinguished, so is our pipeline into the story.

BLOGGER EPILOGUE

It's been over two years since I last posted about a book. In that two years, I read 'The Running Man' at least 3 different times, started multiple blog posts, and never quite found a lane to run in. So many different thoughts about it, and all of them sputtered out within a couple of paragraphs. I'd set it aside, and come back 6 months later, read the book again, and start over, only to find myself in the same predicament. Finally, two years after Cujo, I reapproached The Running Man again, living in a contemporary world unlike one I've ever known. I'm 40 years old as of this writing, and I've never experienced a social climate so divided, with such little hope of reconciliation. The most despicable aspects of human nature have been given voice and empowerment, vitriol without consequence is a mainstay, and anything disagreeable to your personal position can be summarily dismissed by calling it 'fake news'. 

I hope that we're not on the way to an America like the one Ben Richards fictionally inhabits a mere 8 years from now, but we're closer to the brink of nuclear annihilation and politically driven societal collapse than we've been in at least 40 years, and possibly ever.

That, my friends, is some heavy shit to reckon with. So, while the real world news is bleak, it was a sad realization to find that I actually looked forward to getting in the mindset of the Network America of 'The Running Man'.

I'd also be remiss to not mention that the plane crash ending leaves a bit of a sour taste in my mouth after 9/11. King, of course, couldn't have known, much in the way that he couldn't have anticipated how sadly common mass shootings would become when he wrote 'Rage', and yet we have the advantage of hindsight, and the side effect of the awkwardness it can bring in situations like this.

Thus, finally, ends my long, LOOOOOONG struggle with 'The Running Man'. Up next: a chance to critically revisit the doorway to my favorite literary opus of all time. I get to first meet Roland Deschain again (which makes perfect sense to most of us) in the original version of 'The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger'.

11. CUJO: I think I'm getting The Fear...

I'd never read Cujo before, but of course, I'm familiar with the story and the premise. Stephen King stories and plot devices have a tendency to weave their way into the social construct over time, due to his popularity. Who doesn't know about the rabid dog? I may have seen the movie before, but even that, I'm not sure about.

Who's a good boy?

Released in September 1981, Cujo was a bit of a rarity in the Stephen King canon up to that point, in that it didn't involve anything supernatural. The evil, horror, and dread of the premise was amplified by the fact that it could be a real story. Up to that point (excluding the Bachman stories), the majority of King's output dealt with something otherworldly. Vampires, Telekenesis, Randall Flagg, you get the picture. Cujo deviated away from that and put the evil into a magnificent, fluffy, lovable St. Bernard. By the simple nature of a dog being a dog, Cujo chases a rabbit into a little cave, finds himself having an unexpected encounter with a bat, and gets a scratch on the nose. No ordinary scratch, of course, because Stephen King doesn't much deal with normal events. This bat carried rabies, and Cujo was in the wrong place at the wrong time. From there, the worst case scenarios all seem to fall into place like the tumblers in a lock.

OK, so what can be said about a book about a dog? Well, a lot, and it's not necessarily about the dog. There are a lot of other factors and subplots at play, but ultimately it boils down to parental instinct. You can't protect your child from everything, but goddammit if you don't try.

Everybody knows a guy, right? 

Got a leaky sink faucet? I know a guy. 

Think you might have a hole in the attic where squirrels get in? I know a guy. 

Think your car might have something wrong with the engine? I know a guy. 

Everybody knows a guy. Vic and Donna Trenton knew a guy. He wasn't the friendliest type. Rough around the edges, but he did good work out of his barn and it didn't cost near as much as going to the dealership. When Vic left town for business, Donna packed up their son Tad in their less-than-trusty Ford Pinto and started making their way to Joe Cambers' place outside of town. Joe Cambers was not a nice man. Joe was very controlling and manipulative to his wife and son. A man's home is his castle, and Joe Cambers expected his castle to be tended to. After some serious horse trading, he'd finally let his wife and son leave town on a little trip of their own to see some family, and Joe decided to use their absence to go on a little trip of his own. He and his drinking buddy were going to head to Boston and raise some hell. 

Cujo, the Cambers' family dog, had other plans.

Shouldn't you have a barrel of brandy around your neck, doggy?

The thing about most of Stephen King's books up to this point was the deniability. They could scare the bejesus out of you, but when you're done reading it, your mind says 'There's no such thing as vampires' and you eventually laugh it off as a fun ride. Not the sort of thing that can happen in 'real life', you tell yourself.

But what if:

You have to go out of town on a last second business trip that could mean life or death for your company

and then

Your wife and kid are in town all by themselves, certainly capable of handling things in your absence, except you know that no-good car of hers has been giving her trouble

and then

You call home from out on the road and there's no answer. At first, you justify it and make excuses for it in your brain. 'Maybe they're at the store or the park' you say, but the second time you call and there's no one home, the worry starts to build

and then

Two full days go by. Two days in the 1980's, in that ancient world without cellphones or the internet. No answer at home, and you're pacing back and forth. Why isn't anyone picking up the phone? Where are you, Donna? Are they safe? Were they in a car wreck? Did she pack up the kid and leave me? Why isn't any one home? What if they got in an accident? What if they were driving that shitty car and the engine crapped out on the traintracksandtheywerestuckthereandtheycouldntgetthedoorsopenandalltheycouldseewasthebrightwhitelightchargingtowardsthemanddidtheyholdeachotherandscreamandohmygaawwwwwwwddddddddd

Wasting energy ruminating about irrational worst case scenarios. That's called catastrophizing. That is a real thing. The irrational fear of the unknown, triggered by an ambiguous event. I, personally, was notorious for it in my younger days. A worry wart. A Nervous Nell. If my wife and kids were 5 minutes late getting home, my mind immediately started spinning worst case scenario thoughts. It's the kind of thing that could escalate into a full-blown anxiety attack. I've gotten much better at managing it now, and I'm able to keep my impending panic at bay, but that wasn't always the case. Catastrophizing is a lot more common that you might think. It's not exclusive to being a worrisome parent. Anyone can fall victim to it due to any number of triggers. In one way or another, it's something that most everyone can identify with.

What is the goal of a good storyteller? Identify something that people can relate to and seize on it. By 1981, King himself was a parent and was able to identify with the aforementioned fear of protecting your child. That common concept served as perfect fodder for a storyline. Ol' SK probably thought 'Well, instead of it being irrational worry, what if the worst case scenario DID happen?' and ran with it.

Don't you hate it when bums try and wash your windshield at the stop light?

Cujo, as a book, was incredibly effective. As the reader, I could find myself identifying with both Vic and Donna Trenton. Vic's uncertainty and building panic about his family. The struggle between work commitments and the negative impact it can have on your home life. In Donna's case, the basic instinct to protect your child from harm. The guilt you feel when you put them in a situation where they get scared, or hurt, or outside of their comfort zone. The sense of helplessness and failure when things are out of your control.

 Don't get me wrong, there's way more to this book than just identifying with Vic and Donna. King does a masterful job of relating small bits of narrative from Cujo's perspective as the rabies overtakes his body, his nervous system, and his train of thought. A friend of mine said that Cujo is his favorite SK book, and that he's read it multiple times. I didn't really understand that until I'd read it myself. 

Cujo is so effective in it's simplicity. Unlike his previous books, you flip that last page and set the book down and... it haunts you. You don't just laugh it off because it's vampires or psychics. You might think 'Holy shit, man... that could really happen. Hell, that probably DID happen somewhere once.' Ok, THAT might be implausible, but it's not impossible, and under just the right set of circumstances...

I had a feeling of dread going into this book because I already knew how it ended, even though I hadn't read it before. When a book is over 30 years old, you don't get the luxury of spoiler alerts. It just so happened that this book's time in my reading cycle coincidentally lined up with the anniversary of my brother's death. The general swelling of melancholy and grief that happens near sad anniversaries coupled with this book's emotional triggers made for a few tough moments for me. I knew that was coming, and I was somewhat prepared for it. I stepped away from the book for a couple of days when it all got a little too heavy for me, but I missed it when I was gone.

By this time in his career (1981), SK has established Castle Rock and the SK version of Maine. Plot lines and characters from other stories are referenced and the universal fabric of King's geography and history is really beginning to bind. Cujo isn't a sequel to anything, but there are references to The Dead Zone in it. Of course, like most of SK's works at this point, it became a smash hit and was made into a movie. I'll be honest, other than the original cover photo posted at the beginning, the images in this post are from the movie. Despite my best intentions to keep the project about the written word, it's impossible to ignore the films that accompany, or are derived from, King's novels. It's also an easy source of visuals that I can get from the Google, because I'm lazy.

Cujo was a good dog who went bad because of a rabies infection. That's not the point of the novel, even though the dog is the antagonist. The point is that Cujo became the embodiment of The Fear. That fear that all parents have, to some degree or another. The desperate instinct to protect your child from harm. King knew that fear, and worked it into a great, realistic novel. It doesn't rank as my favorite SK novel, but even after a first read, it's leaped up towards the top. It's not real, but it could be. That's The Fear.

10. Roadwork: To what lengths would you go to hold on to your past?

I've started and stopped writing my 'Roadwork' entry 3 times. I got ahead of myself and started writing as I went along. I decided I didn't like that, so I started a 'Before and After', and wrote a bunch of 'Before' stuff. Then, I promptly fell off the face of the earth for about 8 months.

Life happens, and I always found myself making excuses for delaying the resumption of my project. Finally, right after the Fouth of July holiday, I decided to recommit.

In order to be honest about it, I decided to start the book over. I kept my 'Before' writing, and was planning on supplementing it once I'd finally finished the book.

"The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry"

By the time I'd finished the book, I had a completely different perspective on the story and my upcoming entry. We'll get to that soon enough, but let's start at the top.

'Roadwork' is the 3rd book in 'The Bachman Books'. As a young kid, there was something about 'The Bachman Books' that was cool. It was like hipster-cred for Stephen King before hipsters were a culture. If you were 'in the know', then you were cool.

Or maybe you weren't. I don't really know. I was like, 10 years old, so I had no concept of cool at that point. We hadn't really starting making the social divisions in school that mark your adolescence yet. At the time I first approached 'Roadwork', I wasn't a jock, but I also wasn't NOT a jock. We were still in the kind of blissful state where kids were just kids. Sure, some kids had already started to separate themselves academically, and they were kind of the nerds. I was one of those nerds, but I went to a school with a special program that grouped me with the other nerds, so we were off and running together.

As I've said before, I've always had a connection with The Bachman Books because of their humanity. Yes, two of the books were futuristic sci-fi, but they weren't about ghosts and vampires and scary things. The scary things in The Bachman Books were just the people. That holds up for me through every re-reading in my life.

Barton George Dawes, Bart for short, is a man on a collision course with self-destruction. No one knows it but him until it's too late. Bart and his wife, Mary, are getting moved out of their house. The city is taking over the entire neighborhood, through Eminent Domain, to build a highway. Bart's house and his employer, The Blue Ribbon Laundry, are being displaced.

For the city, it's about location. For Bart, it's more than just a house. It's his life, his memories, his irreplaceable history.

Bart doesn't want to go quietly into that good night, or that nice suburb. Bart wants to fight. Bart wants to stick it to the man. Bart wants to stand up for himself. Bart, maybe, is tilting at windmills.

Bart, surely, is cracking up.

There is more to life than money. Eminent Domain sucks. The older I get, the more I can appreciate that. Sure, it's nice to get what's usually a sizable payout on a piece of property so that the city can take it over, especially if you've harbored thoughts of moving on. I can't say the same for it if you DON'T want to go.

The home is where you live your life. It's where you raise your children, or your pets, or both, or neither. It's where you have your triumphs and your struggles with your job, your work, your love. It's the touchstone for the good and the bad, and it's the epicenter of all the things that made you who you are. For someone to come and tell you 'Tough luck, you've gotta be out by July' because they're putting in an on-ramp, that's gotta be difficult to process.

I'm an adult now. A full-on 'Grown Ass Man', as I like to say sometimes. I haven't lived in my Mom's house for over 20 years now, and I can't imagine how upset I'd be if the city decided they were taking it over for ANY REASON. This entire project stems from the experiences that I had that started because I read books in that house. In that living room, snuggled up with Sheba, our dearly departed German Shepherd, I read through countless books by countless authors. I played some video games, I watched some television, I watched Hulk Hogan bodyslam Andre the Giant at Wrestlemania III, I played Super Mario Bros on our new Nintendo until it was time to go to bed, only to wake up the next morning and find my father still in his chair after an all night, thumb-blistering binge.

If you're seeing this and wondering what it has to do with Stephen King, you're not really reading this blog.

Your house is a museum of memories, even if they're not physically represented by pictures or keepsakes. It's hallowed ground.

OK, so I've rambled enough about the house, maybe, but it's really the central character in the story. All of Bart's memories and flashbacks are based on the home he lived in. His life is falling apart. Granted, maybe his marriage would still have trouble even if the city wasn't moving in, but the loss of the house triggers all of these strange machinations in Bart.

Are they really that strange, though? To what lengths would you go to hold on to your past? Even the whispers of it, because you know, well and truly in your heart, that it's gone forever?

Bart talks to himself. Sometimes only in his head, sometimes out loud. His conscience is Fred. Fred is like a stern parent, referring to him by George, his middle name, his secret name. Fred tries to keep him from the unending spool of bad decisions he's about to make. More often than not, Bart quiets Fred down, but it doesn't always work.

"George, it's more than the highway, more than the move. I know what's wrong with you.

Shut up, Fred. I warn you.

But Fred wouldn't shut up and that was bad. If he couldn't control Fred anymore, how would he ever get any peace?

It's Charlie, isn't it, George? You don't want to bury him a second time"

That's it.
That's what finally clicked for me. An 'A-Ha!' moment that I hadn't connected until now. In re-reading the book, I finally found the elusive viewpoint that, maybe, I'd been searching for the whole time.

Bart and Mary lost their son, Charlie, to brain cancer. For some reason, it never connected with me, before, even despite the obvious link with my own life. I don't know what did it now, Maybe it's because I'm finally a parent myself and I've gained a different perspective. Maybe it's because I've experienced crippling and tragic loss.

My brother was killed in a car accident in 2001. He was 14 years old. It was, and remains, the darkest, most devastating single event I've ever experienced. I hope that it remains so, because I can't bear the thought of going through the couple of things that (I think) would be even worse.

"For you, I'd sell all my tomorrows, to keep you today"

As a society, we have a tendency to romanticize the quality and impact of character in the death of a person. We talk about the unrealized potential, the good in someone, what their future may have held. It's not always accurate, but we try to hold on to the good things. We didn't need to do that with my brother. He was a tremendously talented athlete and musician. A typical, yet atypical teenage boy. He was mischievous, but not mean. He was in the full-on sprint of adolescent development, learning to be a young man, shaping his personality through education and life experience. He accomplished many great things in his short life, but he (and we) were robbed of so many more.

It's a wound that never truly heals. It is a scar that mentally and emotionally disfigures for the rest of your life. Slowly, you adapt to it, as if you learned to walk with a mental limp. I think about him every day, and I try to live my life in a way that honors him.

That is my perspective as a sibling. I cannot speak for my parents, who endure the most difficult loss of all.

My parents, thankfully, are not like Bart and Mary Dawes. They, too, are scarred, but they are together. They have grieved, and they continue to grieve. They have struggled, and I imagine that they still do, even if they don't show it as much outwardly. There is nothing that I wouldn't give to be able to take that pain and that grief away from them. No matter if they are a single child, or one of many, no child is replaceable.

My parents channeled their grief, together and separately, in positive ways. They are both strong and vocal advocates for smart and safe choices. Every year, near Prom season, my Father speaks to thousands of high school students about making smart decisions and the butterfly-effect impact of the decisions we make. Despite the inevitable triggers it may carry for them, my parents have always made themselves available for support when a child or young adult in our area passes away. Through their pain, they work together. They cope. They support.

The wedge of death that drove Bart and Mary Dawes apart did not do the same for my parents. I am grateful for that.

but...

I've finally been able to look at Bart Dawes differently, and it's because of my own experiences.

When the world moves on and forgets about you and your loss and your grief and your life and your memories... When your home, the physical embodiment of all of the years of happiness and sadness, is to be literally ripped from this earth without any humanitarian consideration... what do you do? Do you let go? Do you take a stand? Do you fly a defiant middle finger against the construction? Against the government? Against your employer? Against your family? Against the concept of God him or herself?

Bart Dawes refused to accept what he couldn't control. By doing so, he lost everything that he could.

9. Firestarter: A book for which I have no quirky subtitle

Firestarter is a book that I'd probably have given up on unless I was doing this project, or had actually paid money to buy it.

That being said, I'm glad I stuck it out.

See, it didn't really grab me at first. It was one of those things where I got 100 pages in, and I still didn't care about the characters. I'm not saying that King wrote the book poorly. It's a well-crafted novel that just wasn't appealing to me. Eventually, it sunk it's hooks in. I took the bait, and we were off to the races.

Firestarter is, like most of Stephen King's books of the time, about psychic powers. A man and a woman are among a group of college students who take part in a psychology department experiment. What they don't know is that the experiment is really a front for an experiment run by a shady government organization known colloquially as 'The Shop'. The Shop is like the kind of secret shit that the CIA doesn't know about. Long story short, the experimental serum administered to those students caused them all to develop some type of psychic power in various degrees.

Moving forward, Andy and Vicky (the aforementioned man and woman) fall in love, get married, and have a daughter, Charlene. They call her Charlie. Charlie is extra special. See, Andy can 'push', or influence people's thoughts. That, of course, comes at a price. The harder Andy pushes, the stronger his headache becomes. Push too hard, and Andy may give himself a stroke.

Wonder where the push idea might have come from?

Andy's wife, Vicky, has very minimal power. At her strongest, she can maybe close a door from across the room, or move something across the table. The important part is that Andy + Vicky = Charlie, but really Power + Power = ???? 

Charlie, they figure out quickly, can start fires with her mind. What else can Charlie do? That's what Andy and Vicky are afraid of, and that's exactly what The Shop wants to know. So, the McGee family goes on the run, trying to hide out from a government agency that most people doesn't know exists.

Here I was, reading about the McGee's and the guys from The Shop and not really being invested, and trying my damnedest not to let my minimal association with the movie influence my impression of the book. I knew there was a movie made. I've never seen it. I know that young Drew Barrymore starred as Charlie. I also knew that George C. Scott was in the movie.

Here's the thing about that: George C. Scott is who my mind associated with the role of Captain Hollister, head muckety muck of The Shop. For some reason, Scott is exactly who I envisioned as that fella. Come to find out after I'd finished the book that Scott played the role of John Rainbird in the movie.

WRONG WRONG WRONG!!! Sometimes, Hollywood sucks.

In the book, Rainbird is written as a cold, distant, imposing killer. A large, disfigured, brutish hulk of a man who dispenses people on behalf of The Shop with efficient methods. Also, and critically important to the character, he's Native American. George C. Scott is not even close to what my mental image of Rainbird was. Whatever. At any rate, I'm glad I didn't look into the details of the movie until after I'd finished the book.

Speaking of the book, I can't exactly pinpoint where it turned on me, but if I had to hazard a guess, it would be when the McGee's ended up at Irv Mander's farm, the scene of their first showdown with The Shop. The character of Irv Manders is probably what sealed the deal for me. Manders picks up the McGee's hitchhiking, and provides that kind of grandfatherly wisdom that is one of the hallmarks of a King novel for me. Irv Manders is the Glen Bateman of Charlie's world, and I like guys like that.

I spent a couple of days wracking my brain, trying to figure out what angle to approach this entry from. How was I going to write about Firestarter? What's my take? It's a decent enough book, entertaining, even if it isn't the kind of work that turned the literary world on it's ear. Instead, I keep thinking about The Shop. The shadowy figures of the government, or worse. I think about The Shop, and I think about human nature and our hesitance to be selfless.

The Shop is kind of like the CIA, Jack Bauer's CTU, and the Mafia all rolled into one, only somewhat more stupid. As intimidating as they're supposed to be, some of The Shop's field agents seem pretty dumb in this book. The Shop is the kind of job that you might wind up in if, say, you'd spent some time in the Navy Seals, or the Rangers, or maybe the FBI. Maybe you were a bit of a hothead, maybe you broke protocol, maybe you just didn't fit into 'the world'. Somehow, The Shop seemed to find you. Almost like the Government version of the shady Blackwater contract operators of the Iraq War.

Without going all Alex Jones conspiracy on you, I believe that there's some weird shit that goes on. The CIA's role in Watergate and Vietnam. Hell, if you've ever seen the movie 'The Good Shepherd', you get an idea of the birth of the CIA out of the ashes of the OSS. There's a place in this world for the guys to work in the dark. Maybe it's necessary, maybe it's not. I'm not going to try and make points that start a political debate. That's not my place and I can make arguments for both sides. My point is: I think it happens, and I think it happens a lot more than we know about.

Does that make them really good at their job? Does that make me stupid for not seeing it? Both, maybe? People lived entire lives surrounded by people that had no idea they worked for the CIA. Hell, my neighbor might work for the CIA. I don't know. 

In the beginning of 'Firestarter', The McGee's are in an airport, trying to stay one step ahead of The Shop. I've been in an airport plenty of times. I've never seen James Bond or Jack Bauer hustling through while I'm just waiting to board for my vacation. Imagine if you were in that airport, and all of this chase and turmoil is swirling around you, and you're none the wiser. 

Maybe we don't see it because we simply don't care. It doesn't involve us. We don't pick up hitchhikers because we're afraid we'll get murdered on the side of the highway. We don't give change to the guy who's holding a cardboard sign at the exit ramp or the corner. We've become selfish and cynical, and we're looking out for Number One.

And I come back to my favorite fella, Irv Manders. Riding down the road, he sees the McGee's trying to thumb a ride. Of course his instinct tells him something is wrong, but he stops anyway, scoops them up, takes them back to his farm, and offers them his help. Taking a risk and accepting a level of danger that he has no idea he's about to face, he does the good thing because he's a good man. 

I'm not saying you need to pick up hitchhikers. I don't think I'd do that. I know that I've been to too many intersections with people asking for help. Asking for money. The cardboard sign tells their tale. They're out of work, they're a Veteran, they're a father and they need money for diapers, whatever it is. I've been guilty of being selfish, because I usually keep driving. I don't BELIEVE them.

You know what? It doesn't matter if I believe them. If I roll down the window and give him $.50, what does it really matter to me if he's telling the truth or going to buy a bottle of booze? It doesn't, and instead of being so cynical and selfish about it, maybe I should try and get the karma swinging my way, be a little more thankful for my good fortune, and help pay it forward a few coins at a time. There's no real harm in taking that chance, and it might actually do some good. $.50 from a few cars an hour adds up. I'd like to think in my head that maybe, just maybe, that guy is gonna go into Walgreens later and make a cashier roll her eyes with frustration because he's going to buy some Pampers with a handful of quarters and nickels. So, with that, I think it's time for me to adjust my outlook on that sort of thing, and try to make a little bit of difference.

That sounds like a very Irv Manders thing to do.

8. The Dead Zone: Money can't buy off the lightning

As with most of the early, or classic, Stephen King books, I find myself familiar with the story, even if I haven't read the book itself. King's early works have a way of embedding themselves into the social culture, and for better or worse, that's a sign of a creative mind with impact.

Life got busy for us recently, with a wedding and reception and honeymoon taking up most of our time. I wasn't really able to think about moving forward to The Dead Zone until it was time to get on the plane and head out. Full flights and uncomfortable seating gave me the chance to try and escape reality for a few hours and dive into the world of Johnny Smith and Greg Stillson.

As with most King novels, The Dead Zone is set in Maine. The book opens with a flashback to Johnny's first accident. Johnny doesn't remember this accident, but it's important. Johnny had a serious collision on ice skates with another boy as a young child, and we learn that Johnny's brain got a little rattled on the ice. As we move forward, we see Johnny Smith is a nice young man, a school teacher in a small town. He takes Sarah out on a date to the local fair. Sarah is also a teacher at their school. Her and Johnny have been slowly developing a relationship. Johnny plays a carnival game similar to roulette and 'has a feeling'. He wins and wins and keeps winning. Sarah falls ill, possibly because of bad fair food, possibly out of fear that there's something weird about Johnny. Eventually, Johnny gets her home, and puts her to bed. Any planned romance for the evening is out the window, and Johnny catches a cab back to his place. Along the way, the cab is involved in a head on collision and Johnny put into a coma for 4 1/2 years.

So, the story goes along. Sarah moves on, Johnny comes out of his coma, and seems to have a psychic ability where, sometimes, he can tell people's future simply by touching them. A bunch of stuff happens, but the main plot point is that Johnny shakes the hand of Greg Stillson, a political candidate, and he gets a vision that Stillson is going to become President and lead the country, and possibly the world, to war and nuclear annihilation. Johnny feels that it's his duty, his obligation to humanity, to keep that from happening. He has to kill Greg Stillson. Assassination.

Sounds crazy, right? Well, it is, kinda. With most of King's stuff, you have to suspend disbelief and just embrace things for the context they're written in.

Through Johnny's voice and his plotting, King does raise an interesting philosophical point for debate: If you could go back in a time machine to 1932, would you kill Hitler?

This is the stuff that countless debates and works of Alternate History are made of.

As the story builds towards climax, it presents a number of scenarios that can make you ponder on the value of things in your life. Money, fame, family, love. Each of those things means something different to every person, and I think we all value them a little differently. While I wasn't blown away by the quality of the story itself, it was these things that gave King's overall work more meaning to me than just the surface plot.

I thought the book itself was ok. Nothing great on the scale of 'The Stand', but it was entertaining enough. Returning to the idea of psychic powers, it had a feel, to me, that King was kind of trolling the same ground. Maybe it was something where he had to produce for a deadline, but it was definitely a let down after 'The Stand'. That book would be incredibly hard for anyone to follow. The literary equivalent to 'Pet Sounds' or 'Rumours', it's hard to top a masterpiece, so you do the best you can, then look forward to the next one.

I was trying to think of an angle to approach this installment, and I really wasn't getting anywhere with the main plot of the story. Sure, it's interesting, but it kind of hurtles along with no real resistance up to the finish. King kind of revisits the theme in '11/22/63', but that's way far down the line, and I think that's a good time to muse upon the idea. Instead, I found myself going back to one particular section. In the aftermath of a tragic event, Johnny receives a letter in the mail. One of the points in that letter stuck with me. Maybe it was just the turn of phrase, but it was the trigger to a line of thought that, really, only vaguely ties into the book.

Let me lay it out for you.

Sarah has moved on, but of course, she's the only girl for Johnny. Johnny's simple existence, or return to the world, causes emotional conflict in Sarah despite her happy marriage to another man. Johnny's parents, long married, find themselves strained by their individual beliefs. Johnny works for a wealthy family as a tutor, when his psychic notoriety keeps him from otherwise gainful employment.

Values, beliefs, and turmoil. Johnny successfully mentors his young student to graduation, then has a vision that the traditional graduation party will end in tragedy. He sees lightning striking the restaurant, starting a massive fire, trapping and killing everyone inside. He begs everyone to cancel the party, and starts a panic among the students and their families. Of course, many dismiss him as a charlatan, and go to the party anyway. After all, they'd already paid non-refundable deposits. A few of the students, perhaps believing, perhaps just frightened out of their minds, opt not to go. Instead, they stay at home, anxiously awaiting news they hope doesn't come.

The news comes anyway. Johnny was right. Lightning strikes, and tragedy unfolds, as predicted.

Later, after much other stuff has passed, Johnny receives that letter from the father of his student, thanking him for saving his son's life. As he writes about his grief for not believing in Johnny immediately, he talks about what he could have done to change things. He could have paid out of pocket to cover the cost of the party and cancelled it himself and kept all of the graduates safe at his house. It's only money, right?

Money can buy a lot of things. Some people say that money can buy you anything. Money can solve all your problems. Most people on the other side of that coin would tell you that money doesn't solve everything, and really only lets you trade your old problems for newer, more expensive problems.

Money can buy you happiness, maybe. I'd like to believe that. I'd love to test that theory out. I think that, approached in the right way, it can do exactly that.

However, money doesn't fix everything, and money doesn't always leave you in control.

Money can't buy off the lightning.