Sarah Langan's Blog, page 5

Funerals in Covid

My mom died about two months ago. We were very close, though since moving to Los Angeles four years ago, I didn’t see her as often as I had before. She’s also been very sick for a long time. So it was both expected, and not expected at all, given she seemed to always rally, much to the surprise of her doctors.

My husband, kids, and I attended the funeral via Facetime. I know she’d not have wanted me to fly, just like I know that a little part of her is annoyed that I didn’t fly anyway. We had the kind of relationship in which we were annoyed with each other and delighted with each other about 500 times in a day. I can still feel her, and a few weeks after her death, I was driving alone, and felt like she was there. So I drove for a little longer, and showed her my neighborhood, which in life she never got to see. And because she’s my mom, I showed her my favorite house, the one I like to drive by and imagine living inside. I know, if she was there, that she was excited to see it at last.

My dad and brother and uncles, along with a wonderful caretaker, were there for her in the end. I wish I had been, too. But it was also very hard for me to see her pain. I am pretty sure I made up reasons to be annoyed with her, because I wasn’t aware myself just how upsetting it was for me, to be around her when she was sick. But now that I have two daughters of my own, I realize that even if she wasn’t aware of what was happening at the time, she understands now. Just like I understand, when my own kids are scared, their empathy for me too large for their small bodies.

Just before she died, I sent her an amethyst pendant. She called to say she loved the chain, which was code for: that pendant is crap.

I used to call her a lot, but the conversations were frustrating. She couldn’t hear very well, and she was often on pain medicine. I realized that I could read to her, like I do with my kids, and I suggested we give up the catch-up phone calls, and I instead read a book. She was happy about this, and I was too. The book, The Talented Mr. Ripley, arrived on a Monday. I meant to call but didn’t get around to it. She died that Friday morning. I felt sad I hadn’t read a chapter to her. Then learned that she’d planned to put me on speaker, have her caretaker listen along, and then have the caretaker explain the plot to her once the call was over. So I think the upshot here, is: she knew I was trying, and she was trying too.

Having not formally said good-bye, I now understand that horror movie trope, that the unburied haunt the living. I feel her everywhere. I want to honor her when I feel her, but it happens so often it’s untenable. Like Covid has done with everything else, even loss is exaggerated.

I read Ripley on my own, and I think she’d have especially enjoyed the many afternoon cocktails the characters seems to have. But probably, I should have chosen Strangers on a Train.

A few days before Ripley arrived, she called to tell me to stop eating on the China. It had lead in it. She’d been out of it for a long time, and not in a condition to put those disjointed facts together, but on that call she was utterly lucid. I put away that china that very day, got the kids tested for lead (no detectable levels). On that call, she told me that she’d made the lead issue very clear to me upon delivering the china several years before. I had no memory of this. But I have never been a person who remembers details. I’m extremely disorganized. She softened and added, “I knew at the time, that had gone past you.” As in, over my head. And I remember feeling so warm in that moment, that she knew me so well. This was my mom before she got so sick. I’d missed her so much.

It feels weird to blog about my mom. For one, she really hated anybody talking about her. For another, I don’t want to be an opportunist. I have a book coming out, and I’m supposed to have a blog. But this is not the appropriate subject matter for any decent person, who’s trying to attract eyeballs and sales and all that. I’ve always wrestled with these issues in social media. I can’t explain why I’m posting about my mom, except that it feels good to do so. Because I don’t know how else to grieve for her.

A lot of people I’ve met feel they still needed something from their parent who died. Approval or love. I don’t have any of that. She made herself very clear every day. But I’m still so sad about it.

Paranormal Activity

I was watching Paranormal Activity last night, for the first time since it was released. It still scared me, and is one of the few movies that does so. I watched with my eight-year-old, and maybe I should add that you shouldn’t judge. But maybe you should? I don’t know. She’s fine with it. At that age mortality isn’t a real thing. She loves horror movies. Except for Coraline. Both kids are terrified of Coraline. Which…. let’s not think too deeply.

Anyway, she wasn’t scared and I was, and I was trying to figure out why. Then she said, “I just hope this guy dies. The worst thing about this movie is the boyfriend.” And I realized she was right – it’s less the demon that’s terrifying, than the guy she sleeps next to, who insists on waking the monster up, with absolutely no respect for his girlfriend’s feelings. So the movie works on those two really nice levels: the demon, that has followed her around her whole life, and that waits for her vulnerabilities, and the boyfriend, who basically does the same thing. And they’re both in that bed. And she can’t get away. Because the problem that draws them comes from within.

It’s a logical extension of “Blair Witch,” where that third dumb friend throws the map away. Why did he do that!?!?!

We then watched the trailer for “The Conjuring,” the logical progression of “Paranormal Activity” where the fun idea that ghosts-are-people-but-demons-are-monsters gets nice traction.

Quarantine Blog

Much to write, and it’s all coming soon. In the mean time, take care.

The Rules of Fiction

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 2009

I blogged about them on Fresh Fiction.com today. Be one of the first to comment, and win!

The Rules of Fiction

I blogged about them on Fresh Fiction.com today. Be one of the first to comment, and win!

Young Adult Novels are Awesome

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2009

I’ve been gorging on young adult novels this summer, researching a pet project. I never read YA as a kid, and had no idea how fantastic and thriving a genre it is. Many of the books listed below are darker than mainstream adult fiction, and they’re all a heckofa lot smarter.

Hunger Games (Suzanne Collings)
Harry Potter (J. K. Rowling– except for those fifty million people, who knew?)
Feed (M. T. Anderson)
Scott Westerfield’s Uglies, Pretties, and Specials series
The Chocolate War (Robert Cormier)
A Great and Terrible Beauty (Libba Bray)
House of the Scorpion (Nancy Farmer)

Young Adult Novels are Awesome

I've been gorging on young adult novels this summer, researching a pet project. I never read YA as a kid, and had no idea how fantastic and thriving a genre it is. Many of the books listed below are darker than mainstream adult fiction, and they're all a heckofa lot smarter.

Hunger Games (Suzanne Collings)
Harry Potter (J. K. Rowling-- except for those fifty million people, who knew?)
Feed (M. T. Anderson)
Scott Westerfield's Uglies, Pretties, and Specials series
The Chocolate War (Robert Cormier)...

Book Research

I learned today that 10-20 hours before an earthquake, cell phones, radio, and television reception are all intermittently interrupted. Also, one of the guys who tried to kill Rasputin was dressed as a girl by his mother until his early teens. Can you say, "Sleepaway Camp"?

Locus Review

From September's Locus:

"Sarah Langan is one of the bright new hopes of horror-- an intelligent, literary, ambitious author capable of scaring the ever-loving crap out of her readers."-- Tim Pratt

Atlantic Monthly Article: "How Health Care Killed My Father"

I know as a writer I'm supposed to blog about writing, but sometimes life on the outside is interesting, too. The above titled article in this month's Atlantic Monthly reminded me, despite its anecdotal, painfully weepy human-interest title, of why the Atlantic is so good. It gives an excellent analysis of the health care system, and I now feel informed enough to have a real opinion, and not be like that weird old guy on my block with the t-shirt that reads, "Single Payer System!" whose shoes...