(I'm sure this has been blogged to death, but I've been off the grid for a while. Sue me.)
For my high school graduation present, my parents bought me a round-trip ticket to visit my newly-married older sister, who was living in a small town south of Tuscon, about halfway between there and the Mexican border.
It was only my second time on an airplane, the first being a quick up-and-down trip on a small plane around Nantucket Island when I was in scouts. So that was exciting enough.
My sister's husband was an engineer who worked nights down at the power plant, so it was mostly just she and I home at night.
It turned out too that they lived on huge ranch that was miles away from anything at all. And it was here and under these circumstances that I read my first Stephen King novel, "The Shining."
The house creaked, and the winds blew, and mice would sometimes run across my coverlet at night after I had put the book down out of sheer exhaustion. But it didn't matter. I knew I wouldn't be sleeping.
I will never forget it.
So color me excited to read that Stephen King is toying with the idea of writing a sequel. When last we left The Overlook, young Danny, his mother, and the cook who saved them (killed off in the flick, no doubt pissing King off further) were recovering from their experience up in Maine.
I've long wondered about Danny's mysterious abilities, maybe what else "the Shine" might allow him to do. Could make for interesting reading . . .
And speaking of that older sister, thirty years removed from that wondrous summer . . . Happy Birthday!
And thanks again.