I used to hate reading.
7th grade.
8th grade.
Still hated it in high school.
And now?
Now I don’t even have time to read—
but I’m trying to make time for it.
Funny how that works.
But back then, there was one book.
I heard it was Stephen King’s favorite.
I didn’t read Stephen King.
But I knew who he was.
So I thought—
if this is his favorite… it has to be good.
Don’t know why I thought that, but I did.
I remember sitting outside our little studio.
Weekend.
Chair.
Book in my hands.
My mom asked me:
“Why are you out here reading?”
I said,
“I heard it’s a good book.”
It took me a couple weekends to finish it.
But when I did—
I loved it.
Not because it was about Dracula.
But because it didn’t feel like a story.
It felt real.
Like he existed.
The way he was described—
the hands, the nails, the details…
That shit stayed with me.
And what made it worse—
he wasn’t acting like a monster.
He was polite.
Calm.
Controlled.
That’s what made him scary.
Not what he was.
But what he could become… whenever he wanted.
I went back to that book a few times over the years.
And I think now I understand why.
It wasn’t just the story.
It was the feeling.
That was the first time I realized—
maybe reading isn’t boring.
Maybe I just hadn’t found something that pulled me in.
💬 Reader question + subscribe
What was the first thing that made you realize something you hated… could actually be good?
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If this hit you… you can stay. I’m building this little by little.
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