Back in the late 80’s, around the age of 11 or 12, the books I read were pretty tame. I grew up reading The Hardy Boys and The Three Investigators for the most part, and had just dipped my toes into my first fantasy series (Dragonlance). My parents, God bless them, always encouraged my reading. I spent many, many hours at the local library, and they would always buy me a book if nothing was grabbing me at the there (this despite having very little money for such purchases). They also came up with a great idea to further promote reading – I could go to bed each night at 9:00, or if I wanted to read I could stay up until 9:30. You can bet your library card I took them up on the extra half-hour to get more reading done.
(On a side note, this isn’t a fail-safe method for getting kids to read. My brother was given the same option, and promptly went to bed every night at 9:00!)
Anyway, around this time I had grown bored with the same characters in roughly the same adventures all the time. So I went to my mom, who was and still is a voracious reader. Without blinking an eye she hands me a copy of Stephen King’s MISERY. At first I admit to being a little unimpressed. Or maybe it was boredom. If memory serves me, the book starts with Paul Sheldon’s Novril-induced coma and doesn’t really go anywhere. But, I figured my mom had recommended the book to me, so I’d stick it out. Before long, I was mesmerized and a little haunted. Amputation. Death by lawnmower. And tension, tension, tension. I tore through the remainder of the book and was nearly breathless by the time I finished it.
And thus it began.
My mom was a huge Stephen King fan, so I snapped up all of his other books from her shelf. Soon after MISERY she also introduced me to Dan Simmons’ SUMMER OF NIGHT, which floored me. Suddenly the tame dealings of Frank and Joe Hardy were things of the past. In their place were vampires, killer clowns, monsters, and worst of all, the all-too-real evildoers that could wander into my life without me knowing about it – serial killers, rapists, mentally-disturbed patients, etc. It was during the following years that I read more books than I’ve ever read since, finishing one book and immediately grabbing the next one off the shelf; having hours-long reading marathons, getting lost in the worlds created by these newfound “adult” authors; opening my imagination to people and places I never dreamed of before.
Honestly, was there ever a better time to be a reader? I was a sponge, and absorbed everything I came across.
Time moved on. As high school finished and college began, I had less and less time to have my reading marathons. As college finished and marriage/parenthood began, reading became almost nonexistent. Reading was relegated to lunches at work and late-night insomnia. Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if I didn’t enjoy reading. I did, and I always will. But I don’t think anything compares to that coming-of-age when you move from lighter fare into adult reading.
But I’m getting off track.
I’m the parent of three boys who at the time of this writing are 16, 12, and 11. As they grew up, they delighted in me reading stories to them. As they got older and learned how to read on their own, I tried to do the same things my parents did – buying them books, getting them library cards, offering extra time at night to read. With few exceptions, it didn’t work. My youngest would read Curious George books, and my middle boy read comic strips, but that was about all I got. Needless to say, I was saddened that in this world where kids are bombarded with all manner of gadgetry from the moment they’re born, they seemed to have no interest in boring, archaic books.
And then something flipped in the last couple years. My oldest son asked me for book recommendations, which I heartily gave him (the Dragonlance books I read as a child, Lord of the Rings, Lord of the Flies, etc). He also branched out and found a couple series of books from recent years that he likes. While he probably only reads a couple books a year, it still made me happy to see him enjoying his time with the books he chose. Even more heartwarming is when my two little ones started reading this past year. My middle boy saw The Hunger Games on DVD last year, and immediately wanted to read the series. After finishing them off, he asked me for something new to read and I pointed him towards F. Paul Wilson’s Jack YA series, which he seems to be digging. Every time we talk he tells me where he’s at and what’s going on. My youngest boy has taken to the Wimpy Kid books. I think he’s now read them all with the exception of the newest one. Again, they don’t read as much as I did, but considering they never had any interest in books and have also developed a little slower when it comes to their reading ability, I’m thrilled they’re taking forays into the world of fiction and coming away excited by the experience.
But what’s my proudest moment in recent years? It’s got to be giving my mom recommendations and returning the favor to her 25 years after she got me going down this path. In the past 6 months she’s read 7 or 8 Repairman Jack books, and she’s dug into other authors like Joe Hill and John Irving. She’s loving everything I’m sending her way, just as I did all those years ago, and we have lengthy conversations about books every few days. I suppose this is what it’s like to have a book club of sorts, and I find that I love the moments we get to chat on the phone and talk about what’s good and what’s bad in the world of fiction.
Oh, and another amazing thing! My dad, who always encouraged me to read and was just as big of an advocate as my mom, had never read a book in his life. And I mean *never*. About 2 years ago he picked up a book while they were in Florida, and now the guy reads all day long! He’s into espionage stuff – Tom Clancy, Vince Flynn, etc – but good God in Heaven, I never thought I’d see the day! I still shake my head when I see him curled up on the couch reading.
And so, the wheel keeps turning. There’s nothing more that I love doing in this world than reading a good book. I owe that love to my mother, who turned an innocent little twerp into a mystery- and suspense-loving fiend. Even more rewarding has been returning the favor to her as well as passing along the desire to read to my boys. And, I mustn’t forget the good people at Gorezone, Shocklines, and our very own Horror Drive-In, without whom I never would have heard of Lansdale, Gorman, Pronzini, Morrell, etc, let alone recommended them to other people I meet.
In a world that keeps moving further and further away from the written word – be it on paper or on a screen – I encourage you to not only keep reading (which I don’t think is an issue for anyone out here) but to also promote reading. You may have kids like mine who either struggle with it and/or don’t enjoy it. Don’t give up! Find something…anything… that will keep their attention, whether it’s books, magazines, comics, audiobooks, etc. If they don’t read on their own, then read to them. Make it fun by using different voices or mimicking some of the actions. And hell, if my old man at 66 years old can start reading for the very first time and devour books at a blistering pace, it’s not too late for anyone. Help bring it all back around again so that others can know the enjoyment of a cozy reading spot, a refreshing drink, and a good story that keeps you flipping the pages well after dark.
Written by Andrew Monge
(On a side note, this isn’t a fail-safe method for getting kids to read. My brother was given the same option, and promptly went to bed every night at 9:00!)
Anyway, around this time I had grown bored with the same characters in roughly the same adventures all the time. So I went to my mom, who was and still is a voracious reader. Without blinking an eye she hands me a copy of Stephen King’s MISERY. At first I admit to being a little unimpressed. Or maybe it was boredom. If memory serves me, the book starts with Paul Sheldon’s Novril-induced coma and doesn’t really go anywhere. But, I figured my mom had recommended the book to me, so I’d stick it out. Before long, I was mesmerized and a little haunted. Amputation. Death by lawnmower. And tension, tension, tension. I tore through the remainder of the book and was nearly breathless by the time I finished it.
And thus it began.
My mom was a huge Stephen King fan, so I snapped up all of his other books from her shelf. Soon after MISERY she also introduced me to Dan Simmons’ SUMMER OF NIGHT, which floored me. Suddenly the tame dealings of Frank and Joe Hardy were things of the past. In their place were vampires, killer clowns, monsters, and worst of all, the all-too-real evildoers that could wander into my life without me knowing about it – serial killers, rapists, mentally-disturbed patients, etc. It was during the following years that I read more books than I’ve ever read since, finishing one book and immediately grabbing the next one off the shelf; having hours-long reading marathons, getting lost in the worlds created by these newfound “adult” authors; opening my imagination to people and places I never dreamed of before.
Honestly, was there ever a better time to be a reader? I was a sponge, and absorbed everything I came across.
Time moved on. As high school finished and college began, I had less and less time to have my reading marathons. As college finished and marriage/parenthood began, reading became almost nonexistent. Reading was relegated to lunches at work and late-night insomnia. Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if I didn’t enjoy reading. I did, and I always will. But I don’t think anything compares to that coming-of-age when you move from lighter fare into adult reading.
But I’m getting off track.
I’m the parent of three boys who at the time of this writing are 16, 12, and 11. As they grew up, they delighted in me reading stories to them. As they got older and learned how to read on their own, I tried to do the same things my parents did – buying them books, getting them library cards, offering extra time at night to read. With few exceptions, it didn’t work. My youngest would read Curious George books, and my middle boy read comic strips, but that was about all I got. Needless to say, I was saddened that in this world where kids are bombarded with all manner of gadgetry from the moment they’re born, they seemed to have no interest in boring, archaic books.And then something flipped in the last couple years. My oldest son asked me for book recommendations, which I heartily gave him (the Dragonlance books I read as a child, Lord of the Rings, Lord of the Flies, etc). He also branched out and found a couple series of books from recent years that he likes. While he probably only reads a couple books a year, it still made me happy to see him enjoying his time with the books he chose. Even more heartwarming is when my two little ones started reading this past year. My middle boy saw The Hunger Games on DVD last year, and immediately wanted to read the series. After finishing them off, he asked me for something new to read and I pointed him towards F. Paul Wilson’s Jack YA series, which he seems to be digging. Every time we talk he tells me where he’s at and what’s going on. My youngest boy has taken to the Wimpy Kid books. I think he’s now read them all with the exception of the newest one. Again, they don’t read as much as I did, but considering they never had any interest in books and have also developed a little slower when it comes to their reading ability, I’m thrilled they’re taking forays into the world of fiction and coming away excited by the experience.
But what’s my proudest moment in recent years? It’s got to be giving my mom recommendations and returning the favor to her 25 years after she got me going down this path. In the past 6 months she’s read 7 or 8 Repairman Jack books, and she’s dug into other authors like Joe Hill and John Irving. She’s loving everything I’m sending her way, just as I did all those years ago, and we have lengthy conversations about books every few days. I suppose this is what it’s like to have a book club of sorts, and I find that I love the moments we get to chat on the phone and talk about what’s good and what’s bad in the world of fiction.
Oh, and another amazing thing! My dad, who always encouraged me to read and was just as big of an advocate as my mom, had never read a book in his life. And I mean *never*. About 2 years ago he picked up a book while they were in Florida, and now the guy reads all day long! He’s into espionage stuff – Tom Clancy, Vince Flynn, etc – but good God in Heaven, I never thought I’d see the day! I still shake my head when I see him curled up on the couch reading.
And so, the wheel keeps turning. There’s nothing more that I love doing in this world than reading a good book. I owe that love to my mother, who turned an innocent little twerp into a mystery- and suspense-loving fiend. Even more rewarding has been returning the favor to her as well as passing along the desire to read to my boys. And, I mustn’t forget the good people at Gorezone, Shocklines, and our very own Horror Drive-In, without whom I never would have heard of Lansdale, Gorman, Pronzini, Morrell, etc, let alone recommended them to other people I meet.
In a world that keeps moving further and further away from the written word – be it on paper or on a screen – I encourage you to not only keep reading (which I don’t think is an issue for anyone out here) but to also promote reading. You may have kids like mine who either struggle with it and/or don’t enjoy it. Don’t give up! Find something…anything… that will keep their attention, whether it’s books, magazines, comics, audiobooks, etc. If they don’t read on their own, then read to them. Make it fun by using different voices or mimicking some of the actions. And hell, if my old man at 66 years old can start reading for the very first time and devour books at a blistering pace, it’s not too late for anyone. Help bring it all back around again so that others can know the enjoyment of a cozy reading spot, a refreshing drink, and a good story that keeps you flipping the pages well after dark.
Written by Andrew Monge
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