Finished reading The Talisman last night — a collaborative effort between Stephen King and Peter Straub written back in the ’80s. The last time I read the book was when it first came out, and I was but a wee lad. About two years ago, King and Straub got together again to write the sequel, Black House. I read it and was suddenly urged to read The Talisman again. Nothing strange about that. Except it became one of my bed books, and that was a problem.

I have all kinds of books, classified according to where I read them. If I was an alcoholic, there’d be empty bottles on my desk, beside my couch, and on my night table. But since I’m addicted to books instead of booze, my apartment looks more like a poorly-kept library.

Bed books are trouble because they always take so long to read. This is because I can usually only get through four or five pages a night before I pass out. The Talisman is almost 800 pages long. You do the math.

You might be asking why the hell I made The Talisman a bed book if it was so friggin’ long, and I will not sully this website with some existential answer about how bed books (or office books, or couch books) choose themselves. But it’s not far from the truth. While the books I read sometimes gravitate from one pile to another, The Talisman was always a bed book. Why, I know not. Perhaps because it’s a story about a quest and I wanted to prolong the journey for as long as possible. Either way, it’s a good book, and Black House is a strong, worthy sequel. I recommend them both, to read in bed or anywhere else.

Ian

When last I wrote I was on the verge of getting my stagnant ass in gear … And then I got sick. Very badly sick. Not quite SARS, on-the-way-to-the-ER sick, but still pretty frickin’ ill. I don’t know what happens when any of you get sick, but for me, it’s a whole lot of wasted time sleeping or droning mindlessly in front of the telly. Anyone who knows me knows I hate wasting my time, I hate being idle, and I hate being sick. I especially hated being sick this time around because I had been doing a good job of getting back into the swing of things in a writerly way (and yes, I’m aware that writerly isn’t a word) when the Virus Fairy decided to pay a visit.

Regardless, this all probably came about because of my habit of burning ye old candle at both ends. I’d burn it at more ends than that if it were possible, and I suppose two ends is enough to make one suitably sick after enough time has passed. Anyway, I’ve learned the error of my ways and I’m going to try to sleep more, eat better, and be a better agnostic (ha-ha).

So what’s been going on with me lately? Well, I caught the Buffy finale (good stuff), Angel was renewed (very good stuff), and I’ve managed to avoid CNN for about three weeks now (extremely very good stuff). Sitting on my ass has not come without its repercussions. I am now without any Buffy DVDs to watch, having watched all three seasons while I’ve been sick. Season Four doesn’t come out for a few weeks, and I figure I’ll have to space those ones out since Season Five doesn’t even have a release date yet. Also, I’m now hooked on two television programs: "Medical Detectives" on TLC and "American Justice" on A&E. My sister and I have always been into true crime, probably because our father was an RCMP constable for about thirty years … or maybe just because we like the freaky stuff, as that fellow in Videodrome said. Ahh, Ian Rogers, scourge of Ufology, would-be Stephen King successor, and master of the obscure movie quote. You know I must be popular with ladies, eh? Did I mention I’m growing a beard?

I’ve been listening to a lot of music lately, as well — it doth sooth the sickly writer. Linda Scott, Diane Renay (the arch-enemy of Lesley Gore), Louis Armstrong, and Juno Reactor. An interesting mix, sure to color my stories in some very strange and unexpected ways. If you’re interested in checking any of this stuff out, I would recommend “Kiss Me Sailor,” “The Company You Keep,” and “Everybody Loves Saturday Night” by Diane Renay; “A Thousand Stars,” “Never in a Million Years,” and “Starlight, Starbright” by Linda Scott; and anything by Louis Armstrong.

I’ve managed to see The Matrix Reloaded a couple of times. Neo sure looked slick in that cassock-trenchcoat outfit. Maybe someone nice will help me make one for Toronto Trek. I’m toying with writing a review of the movie, "Reloaded Reviewed" or something to that effect, but I’m not sure if I should considering all the other people who have already done so. What does one more review really matter? Meh. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just post it here. Time (and temperature) will tell.

It’s raining crazy outside. We’re supposed to get thirty-five millimeters or more. I’m on the fifth floor. If the water level hits the third, I’ll start building an ark.

Typhoid Ian

There hasn’t been very much to report of late, I’m sorry to say. The Big Project at work (the digitization of the CNIB Library’s entire catalogue, for those you who haven’t been keeping up) has been doing a fairly decent job of sucking the life out of me through the week, leaving me with little time, energy, or enthusiasm to work on my fiction. And my weekends … well, I have the radio show and my so-called social life, which, granted, has never been anything to write about (ha-ha), but it is demanding in its own right.

But that is turning around. I’ve been able to get my butt back into gear and even though there are still only twenty-four hours in the day, I plan to make use of every damn one of them. Hell, I might even use a few for sleep.

Very soon, my pets, I’ll have many things to tell you about.

Until then, a little helping hand for all the writers out there. If you go to Merriam-Webster Online, you can download the M-W toolbar which fits onto your web browser of choice. Now you can look up words without having to constantly go back to their website. 

Ian