Neil Gaiman. Steven King. Ever since I read Salem's Lot back in the Seventies, I've not been able to be entirely comfortable around wall windows, especially if they have opening doors. Ones that slide open with no noise. And have curtains that slide across.
On the ground floor of an apartment building. Or, more recently, on fourth or higher floors of those mega hotels. Not that they have opening windows, doors or other non-safe high up window walls.
Why, you're rightfully asking yourself, is she not comfortable with high up windows of hotels? What does that have to do with Neil Gaiman? Aside from the obvious, that is. Not a thing.
Or...rather, not what you're thinking?
I've also been writing for the past decade, or two. Not as long as Gaiman or King though in a sense I have been. And haven't realized it til just a few minutes ago whilst reading an article on the Writers Write site in which he's the focus.
Ever since I consciously made the choice to walk this writing path back at the turn of the century, I've been researching, refining, defining what it is I'm trying to do. My path has meandered, taking me places I'd thought were not for me.
I'd made some observations bout my writing, what I'm trying to accomplish with this portion of my life. And felt like it wasn't quite right. I kept coming back to the image of myself on the night I read Salem's Lot, even though I had an exam the next morning.
Tonight, or rather this morning, lightbulb moment.
Neil Gaiman is, quite possibly, the single most influential person in my life. Least til my sons were born. The defining moments of my life are bound up in the images of a book or two, perhaps three.
And no, I'm not explaining that. It's for you to ponder. As is said, or written, Those with eyes to see, ears to hear....
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