That blasted Tower.

Oh.

My.

God.

OH MY GOD.

...OH MY GOD!

That's the most I've used the word "god" in a long time.

Holy shit!

I just finished listening to the audio books of Stephen Kings Dark Tower Series. Finally. I've been reading these books since I was twelve.

HOLY SHIT!!!

These books have a supreme significance for me. For one thing, they are some of the only books by Stephen King I will actually read. I don't like him, damn it. He's too popular and it pisses me off... because I'm jealous. Yeah, jealous. I said it. Finally.

Anyway, I just finished reading THE DARK TOWER SERIES by STEPHEN KING (mentioned that, haven't I?). If you have not read this series--well, I don't entirely blame it. It's ridiculously long. AND FRIGGEN GOOD SO PICK IT UP GODS CURSE YOU!

And if your too lazy to read it, get the audio book from the library (if you're poor like me) or buy it off eBay or just go to your local mega-chain bookstore and shell out $40 for each copy. Hats off to you for that, you rich bastards.

Sorry, I'm being insulting again but I cannot really help it. I feel like cursing up a storm, a big sooty-black clouded storm that rains all over everyone's parade.

I've been listening to book VII (Seven, for those of you slow on the uptake) and it's been ridiculously distracting. I've been sleeping in the guest bedroom/office so I can listen to the audio book on my computer while I fall asleep. I've been dreaming of Roland's and Susannah's and Eddie Dean's and Jake Chamber's and Oy's. And fish, for some odd reason...

There's something about this story that is ridiculously compelling to me. The bits that Stephen King throws in about himself, the bits the SK writes in the prefaces and afterwards about how he FEELS when he writes the story, about what it means to him...

I read Stephen Kings "On Writing" and, for the most part, it described my process, though mine is a little different in aspects. Still, writing is something that I feel I do because I was given the task of doing it, not because I woke up one morning when I was nine years old and said, "Hey, I want to write for a living". No, the stories were always there, they've been there for years beyond measure and before I was born, I'm only here because I have the ability to listen and to put pen to paper, keyboard to screen. It sounds hocky, I know, but it's how I FEEL, it is what I KNOW.

When Stephen King writes about himself in the stories, writes of how the voices sing to him, speak to him, how he knows that there are other worlds then these... well, it strikes a true cord in my heart. I feel kinship to this man I have never known and will likely never know, for I suspect his passing will come before or soon after I finally publish a finished work.

So the Dark Tower books, to me, are something of a religious thing. Almost. Not quite--scratch that. They're spiritual. That's all. And I know that one day I will spin a yarn that will be as the Dark Tower was to Stephen King. A master story, if you will. It's already in progress, and has been since a strange dream on the eve of my eleventh birthday. Dreams are my way into writing and always have been. Do not ask me to explain, because the way I just wrote it is the best I've put it so far. I know that my story is not the Dark Tower and a small sliver of me feels envy in that, but not really. The Dark Tower was King's story to tell, and he told it well. "Say true, say thankya." I only hope I can spin the tale I need to spin with the same dexterity as he.

I am glad that I have finished it, for I feel that this is my year. I don't know why, and a rational part of my mind is whispering caution against making statements such as these. That I do not know anything for certain and never have, but I have an INCLING. That's enough for me at most times.

What does that mean? My year? Everything and nothing. Everything and nothing.

Ah...

School is good but the homework has piled again. I'm going to be studying most of the night away tonight when I'm not doing laundry and cleaning up the condo a bit. The office stays remarkably clean, I think because it is my workspace and I must keep the place I work clean. The rest of the place is a mess. I must do laundry before I drown in dirty clothes.

And shower.

My first Spanish test is on Monday and I have two chapters in History to read and two in Anthropology as well. History is on Saturday, early morning, so I'm going to jump that hurdle first if I can, and then move to Spanish to study well and good and then onto Anthropology, which comes rather naturally since it is my favorite subject. Still, History is proving to be quite fascinating. Who knew?

Alright, alright, I feel I've talked enough. Hello, hello, to all of those I have not said hello to for a while. Please allow me this time to be in my own space, for there is much I have to do and I get overwhelmed easily these days. Sometimes the stress of handling almost everything on my own gets to me in a strange way. Feels like a great, crushing vice on my head. Other times I'm fine. Most of the time anyway.

I'm writing again. It feels lovely.

Goodbye, all, and until next time,

-Lady Teigra-