On Writing (part uno)

     While reading about Stephen King's tragedy-plagued life, I learned loads of information about the man, probably more than was necessary.  Despite his rough language and lack of beating-around-the-proverbial-bush, his writing and unique perspective enabled his writing to contain enough meaning that it can be considered serious literature.
     King's bluntness and apparent absence of a conscience were what made me continue reading, even though I was completely disturbed by several events.  At times I found myself refusing to give in to my gag reflex, like when he was "yarking" eggs and when teenage girls were throwing tampons at each other.  However, somewhere deep down in my twisted conscience, I found myself chuckling along the way, completely disgusting myself in the process.  My reaction sums up what King's writing epitomized, which was a mixed reaction including both hilarity and atrocity.
     There was not one single section that I enjoyed the most, but all the little statements over the course of the pages that enthralled me.  A few examples include: "Colonel Sanders sold a hell of a lot of fried chicken, but I'm not sure anyone wants to know how he made it", "standing in front of a group of author-struck fans and pretending you don't put your pants on one leg at a time like everyone else", and "Someone made a break for the fence and had to be knocked down" (referencing the failure of Dodie to regain her social status).  It was these collective statements that continued to amuse and intrigue me throughout the forewords and What Writing is, and, admittedly, I find myself dying to keep reading.