o l d e r - l a t e s t - g u e s t b o o k - p r o f i l e - d i a r y l a n d
"Commala, come, come..."
May I say, about Stephen King, that he can be spectacularly lousy when he's not trying, and you can definitely tell when he's bored with something, or too pretentious about a scene. But when he gets it right, DAMN does he get it right. I was crying for about ten pages straight midway through this book (it didn't help that the last scene of Joan of Arcadia had already brought me to tears an hour before), and now things are just... well... desolate. As they should be at this point in the journey. I'm also extremely sleepy, like, headache sleepy, and vaguely afraid to turn out the lights. King doesn't scare me anymore, but he can certainly creep me out. :)
Now I must sleep. To do that, I must detach myself from IM conversations. This requires my full attention, and thus I bid you all good night.