I have a confession to make – I’m a relative newbie to this “written word thing”. I’ve listened to authors being interviewed and heard stories of lifelong desires to write – I can make no such claim. In fact, I was never even much of a reader until I turned 40 (I’m a late bloomer). I was the guilty party who used to pester the readers in the house when they were quietly indulging in a book. I didn’t think they were doing anything – as far as I was concerned they were lazing around. I never understood their annoyance when I pulled them from their reverie.
That all ended when I picked up a novel and fell into a story with such a thump I left dinners to burn and dishes to soak for days. That book and that author changed my life forever.
That was only the beginning. It was like discovering chocolate – I started to become obsessed and excited. I found when I wasn’t reading a book, I was thinking about one. It was like a gate had been opened and authors were marching through in droves. I had never experienced anything like it. It was magical.
Coming to reading later in my life leaves me a lot of books to burn through before I die. Thankfully I don’t find reading a chore. It turns out I will read almost anything – that’s not to say I finish every book I start. I don’t have time to waste on a story I’m not enjoying. I’ll give a book a fair chance but if If it hasn’t grabbed me in the first third or so I put it down. There are just too many great reads out there to waste time on one I’m not engaged in.
Lately I’ve taken to scouring our local Superfluity store for used books. I can spent six dollars and come home with an armload of possibilities. I have a generous and varied collection of to-be-reads on the cedar chest in my bedroom. When I finish one book I go to my library and choose a new one. I don’t have a preferred genre but I do have a growing list of favorite writers whose books I will buy simply because they wrote them. I love finding a new friend on these travels through my book shelf – I’m delighted when a new author joins this selective club.
A reader develops a relationship with the writer whose book they are reading – we trust this person with hours of our precious time. The contract is forged on page one when the story compels us to turn the page – when it says ‘here, take my hand and we will take this adventure together’. I love it when a story lingers after the book has been finished – when it becomes like the residue of a caramel stuck to the roof of my mouth and I can taste it for a little while longer. Conversely, I hate to reach the end of a book and find myself bemoaning my wasted time – there is no way to get those hours back.
I pass good books along to friends and give the others a lift back to the superfluity. My favorite books get a place of distinction on the bookshelves in my den and their authors get a special place in my heart. I wish I had discovered this magic when I was a child but it turns out this “written word” thing reveals itself in its own time. I’m grateful it showed up at all.
