I read this morning that Stephen King plans to retire from writing after fulfilling his current obligations to his publishers: Five books to go, and then it's over.

I started reading King very early on, probably way too early (half the things he referred to made absolutely no sense to me: sex, what's that?), and while I was already writing and telling my own little supernatural tales at that point, his work was a definite inspiration when it came to creepy-crawlies that go Bump! in the night. For years and years -- perhaps even still -- King remained my favourite author. Not just because of his stories, but also because his characterisations and descriptions of periods and settings, his immaculate attention to detail and realism, taught me much of what I know about writing today.

I'll be sorry to see him go, for his voice to fall silent. While it's true that his work has become less and less original with the years, and certain novels, like Dreamcatcher and Bag of Bones, were somewhat dull retreads of old material (and not even good material; Dreamcatcher reminded me of The Tommyknockers, one of my least favourite King novels), they were always entertaining to read. And then there were books like The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon and Hearts in Atlantis, stories that were truly original and interesting. And his latest collaboration with Peter Straub, Black House, is a great tale, even though it does rely a bit too much on knowledge of some of King's other stories (something I ranted about a few weeks ago).

There aren't a heck of a lot of good horror writers out there, unfortunately. The genre has suffered over the years, and there's a lot of, uh, crap. I love a good spooky story, and I love the way King made (still makes) these stories come to life with likeable, original characters that we can believe in, and textured, evocative settings. But I can understand his reasons for quitting while he's ahead, while his books are still selling, and the reviews are still mostly positive.

The world will just be a little bit duller without Stephen King to brighten it up (or, more correctly, darken it down) once in a while.  ¶ 12:05