As a child, I was not much of a reader. I dare say, if you had asked me back then, I would have told you that I hated to read. But today, what is clear is that I never really had a chance to love books.
My parents never took me to the library. I remember coming home from school and telling my mother that I had a book report assignment. She walked over to the mantel and pulled one of her books down for me: A biography of Johnny Cash. The next year it was a dictionary-sized tome: the autobiography of Norma Zimmer (of Lawrence Welk Show fame.) Is it any wonder I had no interest in reading?
"There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them."
Surprise, surprise, I didn’t finish either of those books. But my mother told me that was okay. I could write a report using just the information from the front flap and back cover. I kid you not.
It wasn’t until I was a mother myself, taking my own children, daily, to the library, that I really discovered what books had to offer. And then I began devouring them.
Maybe that sense of what I missed out on is why I read so much MG and YA now. I am making up for lost time. And with so many amazing books to choose from, who can blame me?
I’m in the midst of a bit of a reading lull at the moment. But that hasn’t kept me from adding to my TBR pile. I picked up Linda Urban’s The Center of Everything last week, as well as AnnStampler’s Where it Began. And when the time is right, I am sure that I will devour them too.
What are you reading?