I just re-read a book by accident.
It was Stephen King’s Misery.
I don’t read horror books any more (I still watch horror films though). So, I was just looking through one of the many boxes of books I still haven’t unpacked since moving house, when Misery kind of fell into my hand. Then it sort of opened.
Then my eyes started reading it.
My hand turned the pages.
And I was gently pulled into another world.
SLIPPED AWAY? SHE JUST SLIPPED AWAY?
Maybe because it’s written from a writer’s point of view: the way King describes ‘falling through the hole in the paper’ is a perfect way to describe how hours, days, nights can be eaten up once your mind has gone to the Other Place.
The Other Place where you can make dreams feel real, where you are making people, ideas, places, stories out of your own mind and the white space is your sky where you can fly free.
So, I ‘accidentally’ read Misery from front to back again in no time at all.
However, now I’m older, I read the same book from a slightly different perspective. I dwelt less on the psychological terror, and more on the idea that if a writer truly was locked away with no distractions, no bars, no alcohol, no children, no boy/girlfriends, would they really start to produce their best work?
Was it Ted Hughes who locked away Sylvia Plath in her room, because he knew if she was distracted by ‘life’ she wouldn’t write?
I sometimes wonder how productive (or creative) it really is to spend time alone.
Mind you, there might be something in it.
I was happily falling through ‘the hole in the paper’ myself just then, when I was interrupted with Breaking News that one of the cats is coughing up a hairball.
Still don’t think I would apply for the Misery School of Writing though.