I recently experienced that with friends who are now reading some of the earlier Stephen King books and watching those movies. I love talking about those things, remembering how much they affected me as a kid (even some of the movies that were eye-rollingly bad). I'm excited that they liked the movie based on 'Salem's Lot, because I know they'll love the book. I just know it. And it all takes me back to when I was a kid reading it in bed at night with the covers over my head and the flashlight on, almost frantic to get to the next page. I read a LOT of Stephen King that way, as I recall (and Robert McCammon, Dean Koontz, Peter Straub, and others).
Earlier this week, I was interviewed for a podcast (check my Media and Upcoming Events for details, and the link, if you'd care to hear it) and was asked how I got into horror. I recalled pawing through my dad's boxes of books, looking for anything interesting. My grubby little hands came out with Carrie (or Christine; I'm pretty sure I read them both that week, and I can never remember which was first, although I really do think it was Carrie. It just feels right.), and it was one of those things where a piece of the puzzle of your life just clicks into place, and you discover something that was just meant to be a part of your life. Stephen King calls it finding your "true north," and I believe that I found mine that day. Because I absolutely devoured anything horror-related after that.
Those days and nights of delicious fear, the heart-pounding need to face the darkness with characters you care for, the triumphs and heartbreaking defeats shared, and the warm glow I felt after finishing a book that, for a few hours, absolutely transported me, moved me, showed me another world through different eyes...this is what I want to share with the world. This is the reason that I write. And, you know? Sometimes it's good to be reminded of that.