I have been a reader for many many moons. I can remember sitting in the reading circle in grade school. You know the one. The one where everyone takes a turn reading. *sigh* Yeah…you know my pain. There were some slow readers, so I would read ahead, because (as we’ve already established) patience is NOT one of my virtues. This reading ahead, in turn, would get me in trouble because when my turn came around again, I had no clue what page everyone else was on. Yep, notes of daydreaming and not paying attention went home. BTW, I still despise reading out loud.
Anyway, I remember the wonder of going to the school library. The first book I fell in love with there was about a little fluffy white bear exploring the great outdoors. I have no idea what that book is called. I loved the Richard Scary books, and then I graduated to my new obsession….The Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I can thank Mrs. Wilder for my introduction to series reading. During the summer months, the school library would be open and I would spend many hours sitting on the floor in the back corner of the library reading the Little House books, over and over again. Why didn’t I just check the books out and take them home? Two words. Late Fees. I could have the book with me as I walked past the library multiple times in the week, and it would still be late. I think I am incapable of turning in a library book in on time. Even to this day, if I check out a library book….I better be prepared to pay the fees. lol
The point of this week’s rambling…books have always been and will always be my escape from reality. The escape from the populace that seems bent on being negative. The allowance my spirit sometimes needs to just be and let go of the days drudgery. Some people play video games. Some people play sports. Some knit. I read…and write. In writing, I hope to give those looking for an escape a fantastical place to go.