It’s September 1st. You know what that means: RIP (R.eaders I.mbibing P.eril). Or, if you’re me, just an average couple of reading months…
Here are the categories to choose from:
Or anything sufficiently moody that shares a kinship with the above. That is what embodies the stories, written and visual, that we celebrate with the R.eaders I.mbibing P.eril event.
1. Have fun reading (and watching).
2. Share that fun with others.
I’m choosing Peril the First, which means at least four books. Here’s what I’m thinking:
The Thicket by Joe R. Lansdale
Red Moon by Benjamin Percy
Burial Rites by Hannah Kent
Doctor Sleep by Stephen King
The Walking Dead. I watched the first episode. Alone. In the dark. It scared me. What can I say? Waking up in an abandoned hospital is a nightmare of mine.
Haven. Maine + Stephen King + the unexplainable. These are a few of my favorite things.
Dark Skies. I don’t know why I torture myself with horror movies, they scare me quite effectively (at least the ones that don’t show too much, showing too much always decreases the scare factor). I’ll be watching this one because of Keri Russell.
Needful Things. I’m not holding out much hope for this movie, but I just finished the book. So…
RIP VIII is just another reason to love autumn – like I needed another. For the next two months (if the temperatures ever fall below 90F again), you’ll find me wearing boots, drinking cider, and eating pumpkin cookies while reading/watching ALL THE HORROR (read: things that scare me). You should too. Will you be joining in? More importantly, do you torture yourself by watching or reading things that scare you? Care to share the book or movie that scared you the most? I know my imagination is terribly overactive, yet I can’t seem to help myself…
PS – If you’re curious, the two movies that scared me most are The Ninth Gate and Aliens. If 75% of a movie counted I would’ve included The Ring as well. The books that disturbed me the most are Cock and Bull by Will Self, Pet Sematary by Stephen King, and Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy. Rosemary’s Baby is a contender too, if only because it plays on my fear that no one’s listening…