“The idea that creative endeavor and mind-altering substances are entwined is one of the great pop-intellectual myths of our time.” -Stephen King, On Writing.

My boyfriend randomly bought me this book when we first started dating. I love writing but I live for good grammar, prose, style .. so this work was right up my alley. But imagine my surprise when I hit this chapter where Stephen King addresses his own recovery (one of us… one of us…).. and imagine my even further surprise when I heard Laura McKowen reference this book on an episode of Home podcast, and found that she lists it as 1 of “11 Books That Changed My Life”. I’d just like to take this moment to appreciate how the universe really does manifest all we need, if we’d just open our eyes and silence the incessant voices in our heads.

I just love this chapter (35) in his book and I read it and re-read it because it gives me the warm fuzzies. I love to write (have I mentioned that already?) and I always thought my “best work” came from the days when I was all but literally lying on the floor, just completely torn up and empty and absolutely nothing could dull the pain. I would write my truth and then I would share it, “look at all my wounds!” It may appear as a practice in vulnerability, but truly I was just show boating, having some weird pissing contest with the world to show everyone how my hurt was so much more important or special. Fear is a funny thing.

It also serves to humanize an idol and breathe credence into the concept of addiction. I am susceptible, you are susceptible, Stephen King is suceptible. Addiction doesn’t care if you’re a multi-millionaire author or a thirtysomething woman writing in a blog no one really reads or a guy in the streets; as Mr. King so eloquently put it, “we all look pretty much the same when we’re puking in the gutter.”


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