Dietland by Sarai Walker – Book Review and Personal Comments

Nobody likes an overweight, fat, obese person and if you’re an overweight, fat, obese woman not only does society hate you but as far as they’re concerned you might as well kill yourself because you  deserve all the rude remarks, insulting comments, stares, and laughter that are tossed your way.

Alicia Kettle, everyone calls her Plum, weighs in at a little over 300 pounds. She lives her life trying not to be noticed. She dresses in dark colors, her dresses are long, and her arms are always covered even during the hot New York  summers. She looks down when she’s outside, minds her own business, and yet each and everyday some stranger feels they’re obligated to say something rude and nasty to her about her weight.

Plum dreams of becoming Alicia, her real self. Alicia is slim and beautiful. All men want her and all women want to be her. But in order for Plum to transform into Alicia she needs to have stomach bypass surgery which is expensive. Oh, her insurance will pay for the surgery but how will Plum afford to pay for all the follow up skin removal surgeries, the boob job she’ll have to get, and the stomach uplifting she’ll need? One thing at a time. First things first. Plum has schedule the bypass surgery and once that’s over with and she gets a little closer to being Alicia she’ll worry about everything else.

Plum works at home. She’s employed by a glamour type teen girl’s magazine. She answers questions from the teens. Of course the girls don’t know that Plum is answering the questions. Their emails are for the beautiful Kitty who runs the magazine. Kitty is far too busy gazing into the mirror to answer the thousands of emails she gets every week so Plum was hired to answer them. The questions are on many topics from dieting, to boyfriends, to slashing themselves, to parental problems, school, girlfriends, fashion, really anything that worries female teens, which is everything.

Plum likes working from home. She goes to her best friend Carmen’s cafe everyday and sits for hours drinking coffee and answering the emails. Kitty told her that human resources thought it would be nice for Plum to work at home but in reality Kitty didn’t want Plum in the office building which is filled with beautiful, slim, women. Plum just doesn’t fit that bill.

So day in and day out Plum doesn’t stray from a five block radius of her apartment, answering emails, drinking coffee, and ignoring all the cheap rude remarks that are flung at her about her weight.

But things are going to turn around for Plum very soon. Now don’t assume that Plum is going to transform herself into a size 2. She is going to be transformed into something far better than Alicia and all with the help of a terrorists group called Jennifer.

Jennifer is a group who kidnaps and then kills men who abuse women in any and every way. They even have a hit list. Jennifer also kidnaps and murders women who stay with these men accepting and defending the violence that’s handed to them. Jennifer is like a feminist terrorist group who is trying to regain their dignity from men who have claimed it. They refuse to be the “little girls” that look up to men as if the men were Gods, all knowing what’s best for all females. The group killed 12 men by throwing them out of an airplane at 10,000 feet because they raped a 12 year old girl for hours. Jennifer murdered a porn star/model because she allowed herself to be raped on the big screen even though she was harmed many times and needed surgery. Even so, she continued with her career, that is until Jennifer ended it all for good.

Is Plum part of Jennifer? Not at all but her fight to take back her dignity from people who believe that she doesn’t deserve it because of her weight is what Jennifer is doing with men. With the help of other fractured women at Calliope House Plum leans how to stick up for herself, defend herself, and not just sit back and let others say things to her without firing back. Plum learns how to be Plum and perhaps even not think about transforming herself to the thin, beautiful Alicia.

“Dietland” by Sarai Walker is an amazing book. I found it so amazing that I’m going to buy it and I always do my best not to buy books.

But “Dietland” is not so amazing to all women.

I’ve read reviews about the book on Goodreads and Amazon and many of the women only like the beginning of the book where Plum is agonizing over her weight and how she should lose it. But when the story about Jennifer became more prominent in the second half of the story many women didn’t understand the correlation between Jennifer’s fight and Plum’s fight. These women didn’t understand Plum’s fight because they are not Plum. They were never Plum, and they never will be Plum.

I am Plum.

I understand Plum’s anger and fight because I’ve fought the same battles my entire life. When I was young I had classmates, teachers, strangers, relatives saying some mean things to me because of my weight and because I was fat I had to sit back and listen to all these remarks and do my best to hold my tears until I got home and locked myself in my room. Society says that you are wrong to be fat, that’s it your fault that you’re fat and you have to do whatever it takes to become thin and beautiful like Plum’s Alicia. You are not allowed to be content with what you look like. You have to be thin and trim even if you starve yourself. It’s sickening. I’ve always known this and I rarely ever spoke up to defend myself because, being fat, I wasn’t allowed to.

A few weeks ago I was telling a friend of how when I was maybe 16 or so I was waiting at the corner for the light to turn green when a NYC garbage truck drove by. The men on the truck screamed a few crass things to me about my weight and then threw a huge bag of garbage on me! Did I really deserve that? Many of you will say yes because I was too fat and the men were just trying to teach me how wrong I was to be so heavy.

My friend said, “That never happens in my state. It must be a New York thing.” No, it is not a big, bad New York thing, it’s an every state, city, town, county thing. My friend believed it was a New York thing because nothing like that has ever happened to her. She was never now or ever overweight, fat, or obese. Oh, she’ll say she has to lose 20 pounds but having to lose 20 pounds is not being 100 pounds overweight. Being 20 pounds over the ideal weight is fine as far as society is concerned. Most women will say that they’d rather lose a limb than be fat. When people abuse fat people it’s because they’re afraid that if they eat that one donut they will become fat and have society abuse them the way they abuse fat people.

In ten days I’ll be turning 66 and “Dietland” has actually said out loud to what I’ve always believed but was afraid to say myself. It’s okay to be fat if that’s what I want. It’s okay to wear yellow and red and green if I want and it’s okay for me to go into a cafe and order a sandwich if I want. What’s not okay is for total strangers, friends, and family to preach to you and make rude remarks to you about your weight and then attack you and say you don’t have a sense of humor when you tell them you don’t appreciate their “unsolicited advice.”

I just want to touch on the “Dietland” that is being shown on the television station, AMC. It’s not the same as the book. The television show had a male lead character. Why? Who is he? He is not in the book. But everytime something bad happens to Plum it’s this male character who is coming to her rescue while in the book it’s women who help her out. I’m disappointed that the television series falls back on the “man helping out the weak woman” story line which is the exact opposite of what the book is saying.

In the book Kitty is nothing more than a background character while in the television show she’s on screen almost as much as Plum. This bothers me too. And the worse thing is that the television version is not really showing the fight that Jennifer is waging and comparing it to the fight that Plum is going through.

But the show has not ended yet so maybe things will change in episodes to come.

Every woman should read Dietland” by Sarai Walker even if you’re a size 2. You might have a problem, not necessarily weight related, and Ms. Walker’s book and words will help light a fire under you.

I Hated Teachers, I Hated School

I hated school, specifically junior high and high school. I hated it. I hated the teachers. I hated they way they always looked down at me because I was not book smart, and very overweight, and wore eyeglasses. Yes, some had told me that like Mrs. Lowenstein my 5th grade teacher.

I was never good at taking tests, I still can’t. I freeze up when I have to do something within a time limit. I hated the tests that never proved how smart a student was or wasn’t. I hated the way my teachers attacked me because my mother was president of the PTA, Mrs. Kalina especially.

I remember all the reasons why I hated my teachers like my 8th grade algebra teacher who, during the first week of class told us that if we didn’t understand something to let him know. Like an idiot I believed him and raised my hand telling him that I didn’t understand. He asked what didn’t I understand, and I told him I didn’t understand any of it. He got angry at me and asked, “Where the hell have you been this week? You’re a real wise guy.” That was it for me. Even though he eventually learned that I was very weak in math and not a “wise guy” like he initially thought I was, I never asked him another question. At the end of every class he’d say, “Sharon, do you understand?” and I always said yes even though I didn’t. He offered to help me after school but I refused because he lost my trust that very first week.

I have a list of teachers who I hated and who disappointed me. I even remember the reasons for my hatred. It’s a long list. And I was one of those “good kid.” I sat with my hands crossed, never saying a word while a teacher was speaking, never talking with other kids. I was quiet and shy and the teachers hated me for this. And I was a fool. I wish I was different. I wish I had the nerve to yell at them at tell them exactly how I felt. But I was a fool. I still am I guess but I speak my mind a lot more now. When people attack me these days at least it’s for a reason I understand. I might not agree with the attack but I understand it.

I hated school, I despised the teachers but when I got into college I started to change my mind a little. In college I was taught how to think and not just memorize a bunch of crap because I had to pass some stupid test. I learned to like education in college and got along well with my professors. Heck, I pulled a B in the first and only math class I took in “higher education.”

Maybe if I was allowed to “think” and not be in a state of fear because of my teachers I would have done better in junior high and high school. I really don’t want to hear excuses from teachers about too many students in a classroom, and how some students are rowdy and hard to control, or anything else like that. You became a teacher with open eyes, you knew what was in store for you. For teachers to take out their anger, disappointment or whatever they feel about their job on the student is just wrong and possibly criminal.

I hated school, I hated the teachers but I loved learning how to think for myself. I like to learn now, at my own pace without some power hungry woman glaring down at me because I wasn’t good at “book learning” or some other stupid reason they had to dislike me. Too bad I wasn’t taught how to think at the age of five.

I’ve been out of school for decades and maybe things have changed but I doubt it but I could be wrong. Here I am at the age of 65 still mulling over the crap I went through in school. I should have forgotten this stuff 20 or 30 years ago but I haven’t. Too bad that the people who my parents entrusted to educate me did nothing more than to instill a hatred so strong that I feel it to this very day.

My Thanksgiving Memory From 2011

I posted this six years ago on Facebook. I still feel the same way about the holidays.

I was going through the worst time of my life when I wrote this and was trying to dig myself out of a deep hole. I had help – my Uncle Mickey, my cousin Alynn, and a new friend, Lawrence. I will never forget what any of these three people did to help me back then. What they and others did to help is what Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah and every other holiday is really about. I’m not sure if the majority of people realize it.

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Too many people, and the media, look at Thanksgiving as the start of the shopping season and getting what you want for less money than you normally would. Thesepeople should be thankful that shopping and getting up at 3:00 AM on Black Friday is the worst problem they have. There’s so much more to Thanksgiving and you only hear about these reasons in cursory measures.

Two of my close frinds have benn fighting major problems this past week or two. I’m sure the last thing they’re thinking about is buying a television set or getting concert tickets.

I’m very happy for everyone who has everything they need, have a way to get everything they want, and are healthy enough to get around everyday without even thinking twice about it.

But I’m thankful for my friends, my uncle, and my cousin who were doing what they could to help me during the past two years. I’m thankful that I know that life can be much harder than a lot of people suspect and there aren’t always happy endings. I’m thankful that I can see both sides of Thanksgiving and smart enough to know that not everyone eats turkey and all the trimmings on this day. And I’m thankful that everyday I wake up and know that life isn’t a bowl of cherries and appreciate the little things, like being able to walk three blocks to a store and celebrate it every time I’m able to do it.

Appreciating what you have and what you can do to help others is not just reserved for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

What are you thankful for every single day of your life?

Me, Anita, and “What The Hell Was That?!”

Back in the early 1970’s, when I was in my 20’s, I worked for Volt Information Sciences. Sounds pretty impressive, huh? We put out the Yellow and White Pages for New York City (all five boroughs), Westchester, parts of upstate New York which Westchester might or not be a part of, Long Island, and a couple of other counties in the metropolitan New York Area. That’s a lot of white and yellow pages.

Now this was just before the World Wide Web. There were no laptop computers, no desktop computers, no i-pads, i-phones, smart phones, flip phones, no nothing so when I tell you we had to alphabetize the White Pages just imagine a group of people sitting with galleys and galleys of names of companies that had to be listed in alphabetical order. AAAaaa Auto, AAAaAA Auto, AAaaAa Auto – which comes first? I don’t remember the rules but let me tell you it was a pain in the ass to do. Brooklyn, Bronx, Staten Island, Westchester – hundreds and hundreds of pages, thousands of names of companies and a bunch of 20 year olds trying to remember their alphabet and the complex rules of alphabetizing. Computers did not do this job 40 plus years ago, college graduates did. Me and my friend Anita.

Oh, there were lots of us: Dave Gitomer, Katrina (Trina), Larry, and a bunch of  others whose names have long since left me. But my friend Anita was special because Anita and I shared a talent or something. Whenever we were together something odd always happened and if we brushed against each other in passing something major occurred.

We became aware of this one day when we were busy alphabetizing the Bronx White Pages, or was it Westchester? Eh, it doesn’t matter. Anita’s desk was right behind mine so when she called my name it was easy to hear her. The room was quiet because alphabetizing is not as easy as it sounds when you have 400 pages sitting in front of you.

“Sharon?” Anita said.

“Yeah?” I said as I turned around to her.

Anita looked up and said, “Um, I didn’t call you.”

“Anita, I heard you.”

”I didn’t call you, Sharon but I was looking at this page and had a problem and said to myself, ‘I’ll ask Sharon’ and as that thought passed my mind you turned around.”

We both thought that was a little strange but we laughed it off until things like this happened multiple times a day. We weren’t afraid or concerned but we learned that strange things happened when we were together.

So one day, after a long, boring, grueling summer’s day of alphabetizing the White Pages for who cares which county, we took the long elevator ride down to the lobby so we could get home.

Volt was on the top floor of the AT&T Building in Lower Manhattan. It was considered the 30th floor but it was really the 60th floor because every numbered  floor had a floor of equipment underneath it. I can’t explain it much better than that. The important thing to remember is that our office was really 60 stories up.

Anyway, we finally got down, walked across the street to One Police Plaza, walked up the loooooong flight of stairs that would get us to Pace University which we also had to walk through to get to the train. The AT&T Building was in the middle of nowhere back then.

Anita and I finally got to the Pace University Campus preparing for our three or four block walk to the train station. It was a hot day in July and maybe 6:45 pm. The campus was deserted being that it was summer, late in the day, and very few students were around.

So we were strolling along when Anita looked up and asked me what was hanging in the sky. “Well,” I said,” it’s obviously a huge cigar-shaped thing-a-mahooie.” She agreed. We stopped and stared at it for a while wondering why it wasn’t moving and just what it might be.

Through the years that Anita and I were friends we were very use to strange occurrences. At times it was almost exciting to see what we could conjure up during the day but we were very careful and knew when to keep on moving along. Which is exactly what we decided would be best to do at that moment.

We walked a few steps when we saw a man walking our way. Anita and I glanced at each other getting ready to run if we had to. The man walked towards us, smiled, and then his eyes started to glow red. This was not the sun reflecting off him, this was not some shadows playing tricks with our eyesight, the man’s eyes glowed a deep red. Believe me or not, it doesn’t matter, but Anita and I were not happy about this encounter.

He walked past us. I looked at Anita, she looked at me, and we both turned to look at the man, who wasn’t there any longer. There were no buildings he could have ducked into and even if there were it would have taken him longer than two seconds to get to one.

So the man was gone and all that remained of him was his glowing red eyes that Anita and I saw. We looked up to the huge cigar-shaped thing-a-mahooie still hanging in the sky. Anita turned to me and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” I didn’t disagree and we practically ran to the train station for safety. Speaking as a native New Yorker, when you’re seeking “safety” in an underground train station something pretty bad must be happening because “safety” and underground trains don’t go hand in hand.

What was that cigar-shaped “thing-a-mahooie?” I don’t know. Can men really have glowing red eyes? I don’t know. If Google were around back in the 70’s maybe I would have research these things but I doubt if even Google could have come up with an answer.

Do I believe in Aliens with glowing red eyes? Hell yes! Along with my belief of ghosts and other things that go bump in the night I believe that aliens from other planets have landed here thousands of years ago and are preparing to attack. Well, maybe not attack, I don’t believe that, but I do think that we are not alone and neither does my good friend in New Jersey who has seen her share of space crafts as she walks her dogs. She calls me every time she sees one. No, my friend in New Jersey doesn’t indulge in a nip of alcohol before her walks. Maybe a cookie or two but never alcohol.

One thing that has happened to Anita and myself did frighten us. I still wonder/worry about it to this day and I have no idea how to explain it but that story is for another time and another day.

 

Ghostly Visitors

Well, anyone who has read my blog has seen my stories about ghosts and other things that go bump in the night. My apartment is haunted. In fact I think my whole apartment building is haunted. I’ll go so far as to say that every apartment in New York City and all over the world is haunted. I do believe in ghosts. I have had experiences with them, nothing terrible or anything, just experiences. I’m not really afraid, I accept it all because I have no other choice.

I don’t know what happens when you die. I don’t know if you’re given a choice to go into the “bright light” or to kind of stay where you are to watch over things. Maybe you can go back and forth using some kind of heavenly transportation system. I don’t know. Maybe when you die you just aren’t around anymore like when you have surgery and put under and when you wake up there’s no memory of anything. I don’t know. But what I do know is that things happen in my apartment and around me.

I hear noises, footsteps, smell perfume, know when someone is in a room with me even though I live alone. I’m pretty sure it’s my sister who died eight years ago. My sister, even though she was three years younger than me, always acted as if she was the older one. She had to because everything terrified me and Ade was the person who had to solve all the problems. She basically took care of me and taught me things. She might have passed eight years ago but she’s still around watching and caring for me.

My mom drops by every so often too. I can smell her perfume, “Tabu.” I haven’t smelled Tabu since she passed over 30 years ago except for when she visits. Dad pops in every so often too. I can hear him clear his throat like he used to and Grandma Grace drops by once in a blue moon. I can tell it’s her because I can smell her apartment. I do wonder why Grandma Grace comes by since I’m pretty sure that I didn’t mean all that much to her but that’s another story. Maybe grandma got lost on the heavenly transportation system and is looking for one of my cousins.

I’m sure others come by too like Ray (Rachel) one of my parent’s friends who used to live in the building. Ray was a wonderful lady who really did care about me. A day or so after her death she came to me in a dream, kissed my right cheek and said, “I love you Shari.” Ray was the only person who called me Shari.

Lots of people who used to live in my building drop by to say hello once in awhile and that’s fine with me. I don’t mind and I know they’re just checking up on things. Their visits do not frighten me. When I sense their presence I always say hello, smile, and tell them that I miss them. I do miss them.

Two years ago I was in the hospital. The doctors thought I had a heart attack, I thought I was suffering from severe panic attacks. It was atrial fibrillation but the point is that Coney Island Hospital (lovingly known in Brooklyn, or at least by me, as “The Hell Hole”) admitted me into their Coronary Care Unit.

My room was right by the nurse’s station and because it was the heart unit I was alone in it. Well, kind of alone. Many times, many, many times, I saw old men sitting in wheelchairs in the room with me. Only men no women and they looked like they were at least 80 years old. Maybe some were younger but they all had that tired look that people get when they’ve been very sick for a long time.

I didn’t recognize any of them. At first I thought my dad might be one of those men or maybe one of my uncles, a grandfather? But no, I didn’t know any of them.

One day I was taken for a test, an angiogram. When I got back to the room and was finally able to move around all the men were sitting in their wheelchairs looking around and surrounding the upper portion of the bed. I looked at them and asked, “Who are you people?” I had to whisper it because I didn’t want “Nurse Ratched” hearing me. “Nurse Ratched” is for another story at another time.

“Who are you?” I asked the assemblage of eight or so wheelchaired older men sitting near the bed. They didn’t answer. I wasn’t surprised at not getting an answer. I wasn’t really expecting one. It was a rhetorical question.

I suspect they the men were the ghosts, souls, specters, of men who were in this heart care room at the end of their lives. I think they died there and still kind of haunted the room. I do wonder why there weren’t any women specters around though. No, I wasn’t afraid of them. I was afraid of Nurse Ratched, well, more like annoyed with her. She was a real pain in the ass. The male ghosts were docile enough and seemed content to sit in their wheelchairs watching other patients come into the room and maybe join them eventually. I have no idea.

I was in that hospital room with those elderly men for five days. The day I was discharged I wanted to be alone in the room for a moment just to say goodbye to the ghosts but Nurse Ratched was constantly in the room with me giving me directions on how to swallow the numerous pills I was given.

Did the men follow me home? Of course not. They’re probably still in that CCU room watching other patients and within the past two years maybe more men have joined their group.

But I do believe that my sister did visit me when I was in the hospital. I’m pretty sure she was the one who lead me to think that the men had passed away in that hospital room and were just sitting there waiting for something or someone.

I tell you this story to let you understand that ghosts, souls, whatever, are around. I think. I’m pretty sure of it. I know my sister is always with me. My mom and dad pass through and I get lots of visits from my cousin Donna who passed, I don’t know, nine years ago?

In my dreams I’ve been allowed into a room or something, where I think people who have passed on stay when they want to talk to people who are still alive. I’ve been in that place many times. I used to see my uncle come in and out of that room as I walked along the long hallway to get there. I wondered why my uncle was there since he was alive. Years later I learned he had heart problems, which I did not know about. Maybe there was a question about if he’d survive his heart surgery, which I also didn’t learn about until years later. Maybe I was being told through those dreams that he was very ill and might not be around much longer. My uncle lived about 15 years or so longer. Pretty good.

Just keep your mind open that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to this life and death than can be explained. No need to be afraid if something odd happens. As I tell my cousin, who questions everything and wants to know “WHY??” and HOW” and needs an answer to every little thing that occurs. It drives me nuts sometimes. I tell him, “things happen that can’t be explained. Either forget about it or live with it. If you want to research something, research it, if you want to question something, question it, but sometimes there are no answers and if no answer can be found then just accept it and go on with your life.”

And that’s what I do. I accept the strange things that happen to me. What’s the use of wondering if it will drive you crazy? I can’t explain what goes on or why I seem to be so susceptible to these occurrences. I do know my sister was able to “feel” these things too but I think my talent in that department is stronger than hers.

I have lots of stories that I need to write about, things that have happened with me and my friend Anita that did kind of frighten me but that’s because Anita had the same “talent” that I have and together Anita and I did and saw some strange things. I definitely have to write about that.

 

The Sign in the Moonlight: And Other Stories (Digital Horror Fiction Author Collection Book 1) by David Tallerman

I’ve always enjoyed short stories and I especially enjoy horror short stories. With “The Sign in the Moonlight: And Other Stories (Digital Horror Fiction Author Collection Book 1)” by David Tallerman horror lovers get a great mix of scary tales.

The mix includes ghosts that roam a hotel; An expedition onto a cold, snowy mountain where aliens want to take over the Earth; A hidden cave where a young girl gets lost while the boy who loves her attempts to save her from a life with some strange creatures; A man living in a seemingly jail cell, not knowing how he got there and discovers that the door isn’t locked and wonders what is going on outside; A strange beast who has to create scarecrows to protect his crops; A soldier during WWI stuck in a bunker where two groups of rats battle each other; A 7 year-old little girl who has a strange friend; and many other tales. All told there are about 23 thought provoking, chilling stories that are sure to keep you up at night reading them.

Author, David Tallerman knows how to tell a story suitable for scaring listeners by the campfire on a chilly night.

As with any anthology, some of the stories are a little better than others but all of them achieve the purpose of introducing readers to strange people, creatures, and places that only live in the depths of a horror writer’s mind. It looks like I’ll have to find the second book to of this set and see what else is living in Mr. Tallerman’s head.

I have no problem recommending this terrific horror book of short stories to anyone.

“I was provided with a complimentary copy of this book, through Reading Deals, so I could give an honest review.”

Gwendy’s Button Box by Stephen King

Gwendy Peterson lives in the spooky town of Castle Rock, Maine. Strange things have been going on there for decades but the inhabitants take it all in stride.

Twelve-year old Gwendy is more or less an average teen. Maybe a little too chubby but she does love her chocolate. I can relate. But Gwendy is determined to try to get a little slimmer so every day she runs up the Suicide Stairs to get to Castle View where there’s a park where you can sit for a spell and a baseball field if you’re inclined to play ball but Gwendy just wants to run up the steps for the exercise.

One day she gets to the top of the stairs and sees a man sitting on a bench. He’s wearing black jeans, a black coat, and a black hat. He calls Gwendy over and gives her a box and tells her to hold on to it for him. The box has some buttons on it. If she presses one button a piece of chocolate will come out in the shape of an animal. The chocolate button is good but he tells her that the other buttons might have serious consequences if she presses them. She’s told she can press any button she wants whenever she wants but she’ll never know what will happen if she does.

Gwendy takes the box and every day presses the button for the chocolate and even though she comes close to pressing one of the other buttons she always stops herself.

Changes are happening to Gwendy in the course of the years she has the box. She’s lost a lot of weight, has become beautiful, has lots of friends, her grades in school are phenomenal but those other buttons are calling her name. Just to see what happens Gwendy presses one of the non chocolate buttons – just to see what happens – just to see.

“Gwendy’s Button Box” by Stephen King is a wonderful story. You can read the 180 pages in one day. You won’t be able to put it down because you want to know what happens.

Author Stephen King is an amazing storyteller. His short stories are much better than his longer novels because he cuts to the chase without long drawn out descriptions. Don’t get me wrong, I read his novels too but I think his short stories far surpass them.

The ending of “Gwendy’s Button Box” is unique and not really expected but let’s just say that Stephen King does his best writing when he talks about the innocence of children.

Pick up this short book, visit Castle Rock, Maine and find out what’s going on with Gwendy’s button box.

 

Six Scary Stories by Stephen King (Editor)

Stephen King’s British publisher came up with an idea to promote one of King’s books. They decided to have a short story competition for new horror writers. Over 800 people sent in manuscripts and King selected the winner. In “Six Scary Stories” short story horror fans can read the winner of the competition and five other stories that King thought were good.

The winning story was WILD SWIMMING by Elodie Harper. Out of the six stories this was the best even though it reminded me of a few horror stories I’ve previously read. A young woman finds an out of the way lake to swim in and even though she was warned not to she went swimming anyway. Yeah, it sounds familiar but there are some differences that might not be in similar stories but the outcome is the same. No real surprises.

In EAU-DE-ERIC by Manuela Saragosa a little girl, who misses her deceased father, gives her new teddy bear her father’s name. I have a feeling that some of you know what’s going to happen here without actually reading it. The old evil toy story is rehashed here.

In a futuristic society a soldier is forced to count the spots on the last living leopard in THE SPOTS by Paul Bassett Davies. Not an easy job to do but the leader of the country needs to know the number of spots and if they aren’t counted the soldier will be in big trouble. I wish the author gave a little more detail about why the leader wanted the spots counted. Maybe I missed something while reading it.

You know how when you were a kid your toys always came alive at night after you went to bed ? Admit it, toys always start to move and talk around 3:00 am or so, we all saw our dolls and stuffed animals wander around when we were four years old. They move around because they’re bored sitting in the toy box all day. The toys in THE UNPICKING by Michael Button have a new game that they’re now playing and no one is safe, not even the toys. I did kind of like this one.

There are two other stories in the collection, LA MORT DE L’AMANT by Stuart Johnstone and THE BEAR TRAP by Neil Hudson. Both are quite forgettable. I read this book a little over a week ago and I totally don’t remember them. To tell you the truth most of the stories in “Six Scary Stories” are forgettable. Nothing much to them at all. I understand that in horror, like in all writing genres, there are only a certain amount of stories to tell. I get that but it’s how you make the same old story different that makes you into a good writer. Stephen King knows how to do this.

I really hate not saying positive things about the writers and their stories. I could never write a horror tale so I do give all the authors major kudos for doing something that many writers cannot do.

If you’re looking for six scary stories you won’t find them in this short book. The collection is good enough but if you want to be scared pick up one of Stephen King’s short story anthologies.

Weight Rant

I will mark this day in my calendar. May 12, 2017 – I am no longer “Morbidly Obese;” I am no longer “Obese;” I am no longer “Overweight.” For the first time in my life I am now considered “Normal Weight.” How long will this last? I have no idea. Maybe just for the next hour, maybe for a day or so, maybe a month, or maybe I’ll become “Underweight” some day, although this is highly unlikely. But the point is that I am now considered normal. Because, you see, if you’re even the slightest bit bigger than what society says you should be then you are far from normal.

For the past 64 years, 10 months, and two days I’ve been told that I wasn’t normal by the actions and remarks of family, friends, and total strangers. “Sharon, you have such a pretty face, you should lose weight and show it.” “Sharon, you should lose weight because your uncle doesn’t like fat people.” “Hey you fatso, eat a salad and lose weight you lazy bitch.” Those words and much worse were said to me throughout my life. My aunt said that thing to me about my uncle when I was 12 years old.

A cousin lectured me about my weight when we were both in our twenties. She said that losing weight was easy. Yeah, it’s easy when someone who weighs 100 pounds soaking wet is saying it’s easy. When she turned 45 or 50 she started putting on weight and became “obese” and then called me to tell me how hard it was to lose weight and no one understood what she was going through and all everyone did was lecture her. Really? I thought losing weight was easy.

I was working at a company that put out the Yellow and White Pages back in the 70’s. One day I had the nerve to put a hard candy into my mouth. A co worker, Maria, said, “I thought you were on a diet.” Why did she think I was on a diet? Because I told her? No. Because she was part of the diet police? Or maybe it was because I was fat and not allowed to have a piece of hard candy.
In the 80’s I was an editor at a big financial institution and was eating lunch at my desk and one of the secretarial supervisors looked at what I was eating and told me that I should think about eating better. I had the nerve to be eating some tuna fish. Guess tuna fish isn’t allowed to be eaten either when you’re fat. Let’s start making a list: no hard candies or tuna fish allowed. Another 100 pound when soaking wet person who ended up obese when she got older heard from.

Now I have to talk about my grandmother. My cousins are not going to like this because they never saw the grandmother that I will describe. She hated me and my sister and I suspect my mother too because we were all obese. She might have included my father on her hate list just because he married my mother. He wasn’t obese.

My grandmother would constantly make comments to my sister and myself about our weight and not the nice comments but evil ones. The kind of comments that made you want to stay away from her forever, which my sister ended up doing. When grandma tells you how ugly you are and how you don’t chalk up to the rest of her grandchildren because of your weight then you don’t want anything to do with grandma.

How about strangers? People who you never saw in your life feel they have the right, more like “morally obligated,” to lecture and call you names because you’re fat. They’d tell me how unhealthy I was because of my weight. Duh, yeah, I know, fat equals dumb and I would never know that being fat was unhealthy. Thank God some stranger felt they had the right to tell me this otherwise I would never have known.

My sister died from colon cancer. The last three months of her life all she could eat, when she could eat, was yogurt and ice cream. We were alone, our parents were dead, of the few family members who knew of her dying no one called or helped out at all except for one or two. I was a mess trying to figure out how I was going to survive after watching my sister die this horrible death.

One July day my sister asked me to buy her some ice cream, the kind that had chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. I was happy to do it and a little relieved that she was hungry for anything. I went to the corner grocery where the owners and people who worked there knew about my sister dying. The owner always gave me yogurt for her without charging me.

But this one July day I was online to pay for the ice cream when an older man looked and me, looked and the ice cream and started yelling at me. “You’re too fat to eat that. It should be illegal to allow people of your size to buy and eat ice cream. Put that back and do something about your weight.” I stared and this man and wondered if I could get away with hitting him. I wondered if I even cared if about the consequences of such a violent reaction, when the clerk who was ringing up the ice cream called over the owner and said something to him in Russian. The owner took the man aside and started yelling at him in Russian and kicked him out the store. Then the owner came to me, apologized profusely, gave me the ice cream for free, and handed me a ton of yogurt for my sister.

When I got home my sister saw how upset I was and asked what was wrong. I said everything was fine and that it was just hot out. I gave her some ice cream and she wanted me to eat some with her so I put some in a plate and sat on her bed with her and we talked. Yes, I ate the ice cream but I never told my sister about what happened in the store. She died three months later.

So I want to say to all you “caring people” who feel obligated to make remarks to fat people for “their own good” to mind your own business!

Back to this morning when I weighed myself and saw that after one year, nine months, and 12 days of struggling I’m finally considered normal weight and with the right BMI. I then slipped into my pants which is sized at an 8/10. I lost 176 on my own. No surgery. No real help except from my cardiologist who was my main cheerleader as the pounds came off. He’s prouder of me than I am of myself.

This isn’t my first time around the block with losing 100 pounds or more. It’s my third or fourth time around. For those of you who don’t know, which is most of you, losing weight can be easy, keeping it off is the hard part. That’s yo-yo dieting. You do well losing weight and suddenly you stop losing weight. The body is fighting the weight loss and the hard part is to keep going and not give in to the anger and hunger you feel as you still exercise, stay within your calorie limit, and still see no progress and sometimes even some weight gain. Yep, I have gained weight at times while maintaining an 800 calories eating plan.

You might say, “But Sharon, isn’t the struggle worth it? You must look great.” I don’t look good. I look like a walking clothespin. My face looks drawn, my skin is sagging, my shape is gone. No more curves at my hips or at my bust. My breasts hang on me like two flat pancakes. I looked better when I weight 30 pounds more than I do now. But I want my doctor to see me at this weight and let him decide.

Am I happy being a “normal” weight? Yes and no. Yes because I blend into society better now. No one feels the urge to stop me in the street and abuse me because of my weight. No one knows I’m there.

I’m not happy about this new “normal” weight because people who’ve lived in this neighborhood with me for years are now friendlier to me. “Hi, how are you?” they ask. Why didn’t they acknowledge me like that three years ago, or five years ago, or 10 years ago? I was friendlier then. Now I’m mean and my face shows it. I don’t talk to them, or anyone really because I’m in a perpetual state of anger, or is it hunger? I don’t know. But I do know that if and when, I gain the weight back they won’t give a damn about how I am and will go back to making nasty remarks.

Nope, losing weight has done nothing much for me except to allow me to become invisible in a world where invisibility might be best.

Signed – Hungry old lady

The Haunted Library

The library is haunted. Why is that such a shock? We all know it, we even talk about it in whispers. It’s never been a secret. But what’s really interesting is that 60 plus years ago the library was located about three blocks away from where it is now and it was haunted then too. When the library was moved to this new location the ghosts came along with it. The spirits followed the books and silently watched as different librarians took control.

The library watched as patrons entered the new building and the rules and regulations became lax. Sixty years ago you weren’t allowed to speak above a whisper and even then the stern librarian would glare at you. Now talking is allowed, beverages are allowed, ringing phones are allowed, screaming kids are allowed. No more are patrons shushed for uttering the lowest of sounds, anything goes at the library in this new age of technology. An age that the library spirits never imagined.

The library doesn’t like this change. It doesn’t like that the silent respect for it is gone. It isn’t happy so it allows its ghosts and spirits to haunt the new building especially after closing time. And sometimes a very sensitive person, like myself, can hear the library whisper to itself about the changes telling the wandering angry library spirits to be prepared for when the library closes for the day. Because when the last librarian leaves for the day it’s time for the ghosts to take control.

The library was closed for over a year. “Restorations,” the city said. “It will be better when it reopens,” the city said and when it reopened, over a year later, there was no difference. The chairs were the same and the tables were the same, but the setup was a little different, and there were less books. The library was not happy.

Everyone was welcome to the library grand opening. The crowd sat and lightly applauded as councilmen gave speeches and apologized for the six-month delay of the opening.  “New heating system, new cooling system, more computers,” they bragged. All of that might be true but the real reason the library was closed was because the city knew about the ghosts living there and these spirits had to be exorcised. The ghosts knew too much and they were getting much louder than they were in the previous century. Pretty soon non-spirits would be able to hear the complaints.

The library is still haunted. I’ve been there at least ten times since it’s reopening and the ghosts are still haunting the shelves. I saw my friend Janet there today. But not the 65 year old Janet, who might or not still be alive. She was very sick the last time we spoke seven years ago. Instead of the older Janet I saw the five year old Janet, the one who was wearing her school dress with patent leather shoes and her little white socks. The Janet who ran around the card catalogs at the old library, the one who was interested in the Dewey Decimal System by the time she was ten years old.

Five year old Janet spotted me, smiled and ran over and took my hand. “Where have you been, Sharon? We’ve been waiting for you to come.” “Who’s been waiting for me?” I asked. “All of us.” Janet said indicating a corner of the room which on first glance appeared empty but then I saw them. I saw some other patrons from 1960, people who I haven’t seen in decades.

I also saw Madeline who lived in all the Madeline books I read as a kid; and there was the Phantom Tollbooth with Milo and Tock standing guard; I saw the three children from “Half Magic” and remembered how one of them, while sleeping, wished that his dead father would come back. I remember how I felt when I read that part as a child thinking that I would wish that too if my dad died. I have wished that many times as an adult. I saw the little child knight I read about in a book who had the mumps and his cheeks became so swollen that he couldn’t get his head gear off.

I saw Stephen King’s clown laughing in the back showing his sharpened teeth holding his dangerous colorful balloons. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight were there talking with some other knightly characters. And trying to take control of the situation was a librarian from 60 years ago who was hushing everyone.

My mother was there too looking up from her book to smile at me. I’m pretty sure my sister and father were there too along with some of my cousins and long gone friends.

“See, Sharon, we’re all here. Your friends, family, and characters you’ve loved to read about. Stay with us Sharon, we’ve been waiting for you.” It was tempting, I wanted to stay but I turned to Janet and told her that I had to get home. It was 5:55 PM and the guard was making the announcement that the library would be closing in five minutes and to proceed to the checkout machine to borrow books. Janet looked up at me  and said, “Check out machine. The librarians used to check out our books. You remember when they did that and now you have to do it yourself.” Yes, I remembered.

“Please proceed to the machine to borrow your items, shut off your computers, and please log off all devices you have connected to our WiFi” the guard stated.

“WiFi, computers, devices, do you really like this better? Wouldn’t you rather stay with us here in 1960?” Janet asked. “No. No, not really. I do prefer 1960 but my cousin is coming by tomorrow and I promised him I’d be home. I can’t stay today but I’ll come back for a visit on Saturday. But one day I will stay here with you in 1960. We will play again, Janet, and maybe all our other childhood friends will be around too. Then we all can talk with the book characters and be happy all together again. But I can’t stay now, maybe in ten years, maybe in 15 years maybe within a year, I don’t know but when the time comes I will stay here and haunt the library with all of you.”

Janet dropped my hand and gave me a small wave as did the little knight and the clown, “It.” “I’ll be back to visit day after tomorrow” I sadly said because, the truth is, I would like to stay with them and see my old childhood friends, and maybe seek out Robert Frost and Herman Melville and other authors. They have secrets to tell me, dangerous secrets that the city tried to silence by the having the new “renovations.”

It would be nice to stay but that won’t be for a little while. Until then I will visit my old friends, books and people, at least three times a week.

Yes, the library is haunted and everyone knows it. The renovations didn’t get rid of the spirits living there. They will always be there, forever, and one day so will I.

To see more of my childhood memories go to  S.A.K. Remembers on my blog.