May 11, 2005
9:32 p.m.

...and I thought yesterday was exhausting.

I woke up this morning and drove to Stephen King’s office. I met with his assistant, Marsha DeFilipo and she gave me a very interesting interview. She even let me take pictures of his office! While I was asking her a few questions, Stephen called her to ask about some tickets. She told him that she got them and that yes, they were on the field level. Looks like Mr. King is going to see the BoSox soon.

After that, I drove around and found King’s house. I felt very much like a stalker as I snapped photos of the house and his beautiful, black wrought iron fence adorned with bats and gargoyles. I got out of there quick. It just felt dirty. Although it would have been cool if he came out to say hi. It wouldn't have been too much out of the ordinary. According to everyone in town, he's an incredibly friendly dude.

Last May, I traveled to Bangor, Maine, Stephen King's hometown. The result of the trip was an article in Writing magazine's October issue (check out our exclusive King interview). Over the course of the week, I will be posting my journal entries from the trip. The following entry details my long drive and arrival in Bangor.

May 10, 2005

9:51 p.m.

Ugh. Argh. Sigh and et cetera. I am tired. I have arrived.

The rental car is nice. It has air conditioning and cruise control and a CD player. So I listened to the first four CDs of From a Buick 8. I was wrong when I said it was 8 CDs. It’s actually 13! Wow. That's a whole lotta reading. It's pretty good, too. Guess I should mention that. It's all about this car, a Buick (duh) that, for some reason or other, has some sort of evil power to it. One patrolman has already disappeared and the others think the Buick ate him. Spooky.

I wouldn't say this if Mr. King hadn't already said it himself. He's been quoted, in the past, by saying something to the extent of: After a long career, I find myself repeating myself. I didn't use cute little quotation marks because I'm paraphrasing. I also just noticed that I repeated "myself" in the paraphrasing. Sheesh, I must be tired. Anywho, the reason I bring it up is because King wrote an excellent book called Christine a long time back. Christine is a possessed 1958 Plymouth Fury with a taste for bloodlust. That book was awesome. I remember exactly where I was when I read it. I was here in Maine as fate would have it! It was much farther south from Bangor (where I am now) in a town called Pine Point and I was probably about 13 or 14 years old. As I was making the long haul today, I made a pit stop in P.P. and walked by the old family cottage. I got a chill walking down the street.

I remember there was a car that used to be parked there on the street. I remember the exact spot and the feeling I used to get when I walked past it. As if the car was alive, as if it wanted to own me. King affected my mind. He got in. He’s always known how to do that.

Last May, I traveled to Bangor, Maine, Stephen King's hometown. The result of the trip was an article in Writing magazine's October issue (check out our exclusive King interview). Over the course of the week, I will be posting my journal entries from the trip. This first one outlines my punch-drunk excitement prior to the long, eight hour drive. Check back later tonight for actual Bangor goodness.

May 10, 2005

7:23 a.m.

It's a beautiful day for an eight hour drive. Wouldn't you say?

I woke up this morning at 6:00 and smiled. I closed my eyes.

I woke up this morning at 6:15 and smiled. I closed my eyes.

I woke up this morning at 6:45 and laughed. I could get up, I suppose. Still early though. I closed my eyes.

7:01. It might as well be Christmas morning. I might as well be a child. I sprang out of bed, to the window with a whistle. Stepped out onto the porch and took a deep breath. "It's a beautiful day for an eight hour drive," I said to the birds, to the squirrels, to the traffic, to the sky.

This morning, when I came into the office, there was a stack of envelopes piled up on my chair. Loads of submissions are rolling in for our annual writing contest. Bryon had many envelopes to slice open too. One of them was a poem written by a teen survivor of Hurricane Katrina. (It was beautiful and may get published in a future issue of READ magazine, if space permits.)

A few hours later, I got an e-mail link to a feature story about how writing is helping many young Katrina surivors heal: 

"In Baton Rouge, faculty and students at Louisiana State University quickly organized the Katrina Writing Project, offering evacuees of all ages a notebook to write down their thoughts or compose poetry - whatever they wanted. Before long, people were seeking out volunteers to ask for a notebook." Read the full article and some survivor stories.

The article reminded me of Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg's book Write Where You Are: How to Use Writing to Make Sense of Your Life. In it, Goldberg writes:

"Writing heals your hurts and sings your songs ... it gives you a place to save and savor your memories and insights, your thoughts and wishes, your feelings and goals. Writing can help you create and re-create ... Writing can also help you express your true feelings and understand yourself better. Most of all, it can make you feel more alive."

I so agree with Goldberg.

Some people sing to let off the steam in their lives. Others dance. Still others run. For me, writing is the best therapy.

I've been keeping a journal since I was 11 years old. Each and every one of my diaries is stacked in a huge wooden chest. Whenever I crack the lid open to thumb through the pages of my notebooks, I wonder: what would I have done without writing?

My journals still keep me afloat. Whenever I am going through a rough spot, or if I've had an irritating day, I just pull out a pen and start writing.

Even if I do nothing but make a long list of:
"I'm angry/upset/irritated/annoyed/hurt because _____________"
on a blank piece of paper, I instantly start to feel better.

It sounds so simple, but it always does the trick. I start to breathe easier, I stop frowning, and I wipe away the frustration. 

Try it. It really works.