STNDBYME-CTIT-1
You are in Maine. You have always been in Maine. No matter what happens to you, you will never be anywhere but Maine. Do you have a flight scheduled to Los Angeles? Too bad; the pilot’s just going to circle around the sky for a few hours before dropping you back in Bangor. Are you taking a cross-country road trip? Not likely, since you’re just driving from one side of Maine to the other, no matter how many road signs seem to indicate otherwise. Maine is a part of you. You are a part of it. In a sense, you are Maine, and there is no escape.
You have a habit of relating to and quoting specific passages from prominent works of literature.
There’s a child in your life who means the world to you, but you get the sinking feeling that child isn’t going to be around much longer. It disturbs you, but not enough to act.
You’re an alcoholic, even though you know deep down the alcoholism is just a metaphor for your insecurities and the flaws you’ve meant to work on but never gotten around to.
Smoking is another metaphor-laden activity for you, but one you find more abhorrent than alcohol dependency.
You are a sentimental person — not maudlin or over the top, just sentimental enough that it strikes a chord with anyone willing to listen to you.
For you, descriptions of driving never get old.
Your parent issues are with your mother and your mother alone, and they are best left uncovered.
If you see an abandoned building, you’re going in there, no questions asked. You’re going to uncover its secrets, no matter how detrimental that may be. Maybe you’ll bring a child with you. Who knows? All you know is you’re going to do it. (The same goes for stores selling strictly macabre merchandise.)
Abandoned building issues aside, you’ve learned by now to trust any wizened old man who speaks slowly and issues warnings to passerby, especially if they’re wearing overalls.
You are a novelist, for there is no nobler nor more logical career path.
The word that best applies to you is scrappy; never, not once, have you given up on someone or something without a fight.
You don’t know where this sidekick came from, but you suppose you’ll keep them around.
Try as you might, you have an inability to respect the sanctity of Native American burial grounds.
You fancy yourself a bit of a journeyman, despite your hesitance to stray from your hometown.
Any new friend you make must come to terms with the fact that you will always be closer to the people you met when you were in elementary school.
You can’t shake your inherent distrust of inanimate objects. You have your reasons.
The rules don’t apply to you.
You think your life would make a great movie. But you’re wrong.
Every job you had before you became a novelist had a quirk you refuse to discuss.
You give off an air of mysteriousness that men find enviable and women find irresistible, even though you’re just a typical working-class guy from the East Coast.
No matter how many life-threatening situations you find yourself thrust into, you refuse to change your behavior. Self preservation is for wusses.
You will never escape your childhood.
Your fascination with U.S. history has gone a bit too far.
For reasons unknown, Dean Koontz really sticks in your craw.
You miss your cat. Your cat never left.
Groups of children unnerve you in a way you cannot define. Ditto supermarkets. Supermarkets filled with groups of children might actually be your worst nightmare.
Your romantic relationships are free of conflict; to engage in any sort of argument would upset the status quo, and you really need at least one constant in this crazy world. This hasn’t always been true, but it certainly looks to be now.
You are a skeptic, and there is literally no justification for this.
Everyone you love will be dead someday. This is true for all people, but in your case, it’s going to happen sooner rather than later.
You tend to ramble and have a habit of painstakingly describing everything and everyone around you.
Your ideal night in heavily involves a battered copy of The Best of HP Lovecraft and a peanut butter and onion sandwich. (What? It’s not gross.)
You show no signs of stopping, and the world is better for it.
You can assign fearsome properties to even the most mundane objects. When vending machines come up in conversation, your friends roll their eyes and say, “Don’t get them started.”
Your white guilt is showing, but at least you have the strength to admit it.
You could stand to take a break once in a while, maybe recharge your batteries, let your creative juices flow without anyone seeing the fruits of your labor. Just a thought.
Your knowledge of your fellow Maine townspeople is encyclopedic. It’s grown past mere curiosity and gone straight to obsession. Weirdly, though, no one seems to notice, and if they do, they don’t mind that you’re cataloguing their morning, afternoon, and evening routines.
You can’t help thinking that none of this would’ve happened if you’d just stayed on the porch and drank one more Natty Light.
You haven’t gone to a supermarket alone in years. It’s just one of those things.
Sometimes your actions seem contrived, even manufactured, but that’s part of your charm.
You seek merit in even the trashiest media.
You would sooner die than stay in a rundown hotel. And you probably will.
Your motto is “Death is an inevitability. Brevity is not.”
You’ve made friends with all the town pets, and they are happy to see you.
You have had Niagara-Falls-level menstrual flow. Not that you’ve ever seen Niagara Falls, because it isn’t in Maine, but you’re pretty sure that your menstrual flow is a lot like Niagara Falls.
You get twitchy anytime you see an old luxury car.
OLD LUXURY CARS, YES. I like how that particular neurosis also manifests itself in Joe Hill’s writing. (NOS4A2 messed me up.)
The descriptions of teeth in NOS4A2, though. Oh my god.
My embarrassing NOS4A2 story: I had no idea what the title was supposed to spell out, I just remember seeing it at the library and literally thinking “license plate title, looks interesting”. It wasn’t until I brought the book home that my husband pointed out that it was supposed to spell out Nosferatu.
I also had no idea that Joe Hill was Stephen King’s son until I read this thread.
Must read! I really liked Horns. Totally reminded me of a Stephen King when he was younger and actually took notes from an editor.
Joe Hill’s book of short stories is absolutely lovely. I tend to prefer King’s short stories and novellas to his longer works; but Joe’s put his dad’s in the shade.
I couldn’t believe how scary he made it feel to read about that damn car. Props.
I also enjoyed the Dylan reference in the title, predictably.
Bathrooms are really scary. Shower curtains. Drains. It’s a bad situation.
DRAINS
DON’T FORGET GARBAGE DISPOSALS
Guys, it is 1,000% necessary for you to read Steve Heisler’s response to this AVQ&A. Back when I read the AV Club daily, this was one of my favorite features, and his response is just solid gold (as evidenced by my remembering it SIX YEARS LATER).
http://www.avclub.com/article/childhood-scares-26…
Your substance abuse is horrendous, but try as you might, you just can’t escape it. Literally. Your substance abuse has you holed up in a secluded building in the middle of winter. Your substance abuse broke your leg, or the snowmobile. Your substance abuse has you writing all the fucking time, and it’s either absolute shit or amazing. Either way, no thanks to the typewriter, which slowly loses its functions as a metaphor for your gradual breakdown. Your substance abuse has a fondness for hatchets, applied to your family or to you personally. Your substance abuse gave you the WORST BIRTHDAY CAKE EVER.
“Your fascination with U.S. history has gone a bit too far.”
I read that whole time travel JFK book. The whole thing.
So, if anyone wants to read a book that’s very Stephen Kingesque but not quite as sappy (still a little sappy), American Elsewhere by Robert Jackson Bennett is it.
I love sap in my horror.
Sap is sticky and maple sap is tasty.
like blood
You have to have some warm fuzzys along with the existential horror…that’s the blend I crave.
Agreed. Do you like Clive Barker? I appreciate how he almost always includes some sort of romance–actual romance, not creepy guy stalker stuff.
And gay romance too! I love Clive Barker.
Really? Where? I have been told by a few people I would love Clive Barker, and yet none of them have given me any recommendations on where to start . . .
I started with Cabal but now I would recommend starting at the beginning of his career with the Books of Blood. Here’s a writeup from the LAMBDA site:
I consider The Books of Blood Vols. 1-6, by Clive Barker (Berkley, 1998) the starting point of modern queer horror. Though not every story in these six volumes is queer-themed, there are more than enough to qualify. The stories are grim, gruesome, and beautifully wrought. What I admire about Barker’s work is that he isn’t coy, precious, or defensive with his queer-themed stories. They are incredible, sometimes brilliant, works that include emotionally real queer characters. Stand out stories include: “Pig Blood Blues,” “In the Hills,” “the Cities,” and “Human Remains.” http://www.lambdaliterary.org/features/10/28/6-of…
Thanks so much! That sounds right up my alley (“grim, gruesome, and beautifully wrought” sounds pretty much perfect for me) and I will definitely, definitely have to track that down very soon.
I really liked the JFK time travel book! Did you not?
It wasn’t bad, it just went on and on and on, and I read it even though I know all his books recently go on and on and on. Although, Mr Sleep wasn’t too bad at the going on. (It was extra AA platitudes though.)
I started American Elsewhere and wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into.
and a peanut butter and onion sandwich. (What? It’s not gross.)
But oatmeal with grilled onions and garlic, miso, and cashew butter is amazing. Peanut butter is also okay in it. (The things you learn interning at a commune!)
Just so you know.
That actually sounds really good.
You live in Maine, but Maine is a Canadian province.
You serve the Crimson King, and you don’t even know it.
Something very important happened to you when you were 19.
A couple strange people came to you once and tried to hypnotize you, but it didn’t work out and they still have no idea.
You are alive, but actually dead.
It’s all hopeless for you.
Unless you are one of 26 survivors.
You live in Maine, but Maine is a Canadian province.
I’ve met people who thought I lived in Canada, because they think the part of Maine in which I live is part of Canada. Or yeah, they think Maine became Canada’s eleventh province at some point.
Better to think we’re part of Canada than think we don’t exist!
I’ve never read a Stephen King novel (my older sister was obsessed with him as a teenager- it was enough to turn me off), but I will never get over the Stand by Me movie. Never ever. Not ever. Sometimes, I find myself just thinking about the movie and then River and getting really sad. Just, like, randomly. Doesn’t take much to trigger it. Sometimes, nothing at all.
Wait. Am *I* in a Stephen King novel?
You’re in a Stephen King novella, which is always more tolerable than a novel.
Yes, I liked Different Seasons best. Perfect length/depth ratio.
I think I checked every single one of these off. Except for Natty Light- my household was firmly Labbatt’s Blue, because my dad was a mill town boy.
ALSO, I saw Stand by Me for the first time this year, and am COMPLETELY BAFFLED as to why on earth they set it in Oregon instead of Maine! They didn’t even change the name of the river! And the dynamics with the french kid! Judging by my sudden and inexplicable commitment to exclamation marks, I still have lots of feelings about this!
FACT: King set one of his short stories three blocks from my apartment (he even included the postal code, so spooky!) and as fun as that is, it still smarts whenever he sets a story anywhere but Maine.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quitters,_Inc.
He set this one in Maine, but when it was made into a film they changed the setting to Oregon, without changing other landmark references (like the Royal River). We have so little in pop culture relevance, why would you take it away???
Quitter’s Inc was made into a short film in one of those horror anthologies – hopefully that was still set in Maine, I don’t remember!
OMG QUITTERS INC
Because it was cheaper to film on the West coast 😀
Based on the first two sentences alone, I’ve been in a Stephen King novel since I was ten months old.
I have never read a Stephen King novel, though. Do I need to turn in my Maine card?
I thought I was safe until I got to: Sometimes your actions seem contrived, even manufactured, but that’s part of your charm.
Well, shit.
You may be born in a completely different universe (or as they say there, on another level of the Tower), but your path will inevitably take you through Maine.
You are a villain who goes from book to book and likes to smile a lot. Pretty creepy, really.
“It disturbs you, but not enough to act.” You know, I think that really describes me. Which is not good, but I doubt I’m about to do anything about it.
You also have an encyclopedic knowledge of mid-late 20th Century pop music, and an ability to apply with unbearable irony seemingly cheerful lyrics to horrific situations.
I would like to stand and applaud over this, because I could not think of a good way to word that particular fact, and you have nailed it.
Thank you! *bows*
The Stand miniseries first aired on TV when I was 13 and it sent me on a years-long King phase and gave me a demented attraction to Gary Sinise that I can never shake (props to current sex friend who simply drawled “West Texas” when I confessed this to him).
Your husband is newly dead. You realize three fundamental truths at the exact same time:
1. Ding-dong, the abusive fuck is dead
2. Well, the timing could have been better
3. Now I get to bang that sweet sweet shopkeeper, who’s a little creepy, but in a nice way.
Did I read your entire comment as sung by Renee Elise Goldsberry? Probably yes.
4. Now how can I uncuff myself from the bed? And who the hell is lurking around in the corner?
You’re renowned for a complete inability to learn from your situations, regardless of how much you puke about them.
(PS I have SERIOUS OPINIONS about Pet Sematary)
Your sex life involves something a little unsavory.
Unless you’re Harold Lauder, in which case ISSUES.
The only sex scene that’s really imprinted itself in my mind is the Pet Sematary awfulness with what I’m pretty sure is a spongebath and a handy. Yeah. I didn’t want to write those words. And yet, here we are.
The entirety of Gerald’s Game.
“She pulled him towards her. Not by his hand.”
Pet Sematary was really… something.
Could be worse, could be ‘It’: ‘You lose your virginity at 11, having sex with your six best friends, and forget immediately afterwards. It’s all good, though, as the only female in the group, your underage vagina was the magic required to bond the group and defeat evil!’
OH MY GOD I ENTIRELY FORGOT ABOUT THAT UNTIL THIS MOMENT.
No. No.
I forgot about it too, until my 12 year old daughter asked to read It and I was about to order it on Amazon and decided to read the reviews and I was all OH MY GOD I TOTALLY FORGOT THAT.
And nope, she didn’t get the book.
“The same goes for stores selling strictly macabre merchandise.)”
Truth
It’s amazing how much of this describes both people in Stephen King’s novels, and Stephen King himself… You’d think he would just skip the middleman and write himself right in! Oh wait, he did.
He totally did, who even does that? (Answer: Stephen King and Douglas Coupland.)
Kinky Friedman, but he makes it work.
You are a writer, and your books are connected to the unusual things happening.
You are a writer, and somebody wants to kill you.
You are a writer, and your books want to kill you.
You are a writer, and the fate of (your life/someone’s life/the multiverse) depends on your novel.
Everything seems to center around a mystic disabled child.
Even though you must have met real children at some stage, you persist in believing that they are more capable, intelligent and wise than adults.
PERFECT timing. I *just read* SK’s new book of short stories, and based on my description of my dad, someone on Twitter this morning referred to him as “A supporting character in a Stephen King novel.”
That’s the trick, Cap’n. You’re always in a Stephen King novel.
Supermarkets filled with groups of children might actually be your worst nightmare
Is…is this not a nightmare? I ask as someone whose closet Target is somehow always filled with children screaming in terrible existential angst at any time of day.
Damn. Guilty as charged with pretty much all of these. And surprisingly ok with that. Thanks, high school Stephen King phase.
You are a small town gossip who no longer wants to know what is going on outside your windows.
Please please please do this for John Irving. I’m guessing lots of bears, lots of rape, lots of wrestling.
Only upvoting once because I can’t upvote 10,000 times.
Don’t forget incest! and abortions. Lots of abortions.
Lots of guys being cheating douchewads surrounded by willing chicks.
But of course you weren’t to know that just yet. No, you weren’t to know that for a long time.
It’s reading a lot of Stephen King novels and watching a lot of Murder She Wrote that makes me want to visit Maine so much. That’s probably kind of stupid of me since based on those two things Maine is full of horrific supernatural shit and murder. Still…
I remember thinking “Sorry, Maine, I will never visit you” after finishing Salem’s Lot. But now I know people who live there and people who’ve visited, and all of them seem quite fond, so maybe I should give it a try even with the risk of vampires?
Maine is beautiful and weird and I highly recommend it
You have an inner voice that constantly communicates with you, and it always has a name. Always.
Also ways to tell if you ARE Stephen King.
You are helped in your quest/life/escape from The Bad Guy by a Magical Negro, whose life expectancy can be measured in weeks, if that, and who will be badly injured if they aren’t straight-up killed.
You will name-check regional brands as if everyone is familiar with them. Ditto for regional expressions.
That machine is haunted. Car, camera, word processor, laundry machine (not kidding).
The sixties, man, amirite?
It’s a toss-up as to what’s scariest: just about any supernatural creature or phenomenon you can imagine, up to and including quasi-Lovecraftian creatures who live in the formless void between universes, or your own very deep-rooted and intractable anger issues. (And when they get together, hoo boy.)
You have an arc phrase that is either a snippet of lyrics from a 50’s-60’s pop song, or a seeming bunch of gibberish that has a deep and profound meaning. This phrase appears a lot in your life in some fashion.
You are a misfit child who spends the majority of their time with a handful of other misfit children. All of you are 10 going on 45. Not a one of you has a functional, capable parent.
You break out in gooseflesh? Come on, there’s always someone who breaks out in gooseflesh.
That could’ve been on the Goosebumps list, too.
“You think your life would make a great movie. But you’re wrong.”
This was posted on my birthday. How you know your in a Stephen King Novel is e every thing has significance.
2000s Dean Koontz is totally craw-sticking, though. Dude went all Fox News with the Evil Atheists and the Totes Pure (Or Traumatized For Life Because She Once Saw A Penis) Heroines and I cannot even.
You feel someone has a death warrant with your name written on it. You know this is bad…very bad. But how will you know how bad this will be if you don’t meet the person? So you press on, you ask everybody who you knew about that someone…you press on. You need to know how this will end.
At the end, the very end just when your warrant officer fell into a void never to return, just when every loose end of your life is been tied up in a neat bundle, just when you are nearing the full point of your life’s chapter, you see an indefinite shadow out of your Maine house window. So you press on…
My husband likes to point out that SK always talks about how women's nipples react in emotional/sexy/scary situations, and I gotta say, he's right on that one. So many female nipple reactions!
I'm reading The Stand and I cannot believe how gross the sex stuff is. "Gobbling" as a term for giving head is just, ugh.
IDK how far you are in The Stand but I promise you that the sex stuff is going to get a lot, lot worse.
But I fucking LOVE The Stand.
You think in italics.
You are the only person in town who finds something unsettling about the affable guy who just moved to town. Well, only you and old Joe McKinney, but everyone knows he’s been a bit batty since his wife’s untimely death.
Just when things seems the grimmest, someone provides you with sex that requires no effort on your part. (Things later get grimmer, though.)
You thought it was all behind you.
You contain multitudes. You probably shouldn’t.
I shudder to read. Good Job