The façade I forgot
I promised myself I wouldn’t waste time on another post this morning because I have a book to edit and things to do this afternoon. But as is my norm the hours between 2am and 6am are often spent awake and thinking of the weirdest and silliest things, thanks mainly to too many years working night shift.
Very rarely are these practical and very rarely are they worth sharing however during last nights non slumber I realise I had made a wee error of judgement in last nights post. Last night I mentioned that facades were not something I cared about until thirteen years ago when we moved into this house, but through those sleepless hours last night I realised there was one façade that actually changed my life.
I’m not talking about a life changing event where I suddenly found the path of righteousness, or where a light shone down on me from above and I began dancing in a church saying “can you see the light?” (because that happened in Blues Brothers and I saw that movie about four years before this life changing event). I’m talking about going from an eleven year old kid who drew and entertained himself quiet easily to a twelve year old that had found the power of written word.
Don’t get me wrong I knew what books were before I was twelve but I really only read them because I had to or because I’d seen the movie, or because they were comics. By the time I was eleven I knew the movies Storm Boy and Blue Brothers (interesting mix) off by heart and could quote any scene at the drop of a hat word for word but what I couldn’t do was read a novel, because I couldn’t be bothered.
Then when I was twelve I picked up two novels, Christine and IT, both by Stephen King. I’m sure by now we all know what the story of these two books are so I wont go into any more details than to say one is about a car and the other is about Pennywise the clown.
It was the façade of Pennywise that changed my life. I went from an eleven year old with little interest in reading novels to a twelve year old (took a long time to read 1100 pages 🙂 ) who not only found an interest in the written word but started writing his own words.
Due to the nature of what I was reading my writing also took on a dark side. My teachers hated it, one even refuse to grade any story handed in, although she did correct and mark the dirty poems which were written in the back on my folder. That propelled me to write darker, also propelled my father to talk to the school principal about the refusal of my teacher to mark ‘free writing’ projects.
They weren’t particularly good stories, I was only a teenager after all, but they were my stories and they all came about because of that one clown and his amazing façade. Due to the stifling of my talent(?) in secondary school writing never became a focus, it became a past time which I only went back to when I was bored or lonely.
I doubt I would have become the next Stephen King or Richard Laymon had those teachers actually supported my writing and not actively told me it was shit but who knows. I also don’t regret not pursuing it at a younger age, I do however regret not keeping all those hand written stories of my teenage years.
So there you go while many kids at the age of eleven were freaked out or even scared by the facade of Pennywise, the cutest of all clowns, without him you wouldn’t have waste five minutes reading this dribble!