I love all the great memories I associate with reading and writing.
-Being a kid and my mom taking my older brother and me to the local library. I know I’ve mentioned it once (or a dozen) times on the blog that bro and I would check out every single copy of Three by the Sea, just because we could.
-My elementary school librarian reading to us in the library “pit.” I can still picture the ugly green carpet.
-Getting permission in high school to complete a special senior year project of writing a novel because my creative writing teacher was the most awesome, supportive woman ever. She even had several bound copies made for me.
-My creative writing classes at community college, which were the first times I shared my work with people not my age. My classmates included a pastor and a retired farmer. Or at least in my frozen teenage memory, he will forever remain a farmer who wrote such a great character observation that it still sticks in my mind.
-Swapping books with my family. I’m helping my dad clean up his enormous collection of books this spring and I can only imagine how many I’ll end up with before all is said and done. Some he’ll insist I read, but others I’ll take because I won’t be able to help myself.
-Seeing a whole new generation fall in love with reading. One of my friends told me her one-year-old has started bringing books to her and her husband to read to him.
-Which reminds me of my older brother “reading” to me when we were kids. He’d start off out loud, then trail off after about a page and continue on silently. So it’s more like he’d read and I’d sit there beside him, waiting for the story to start up again.
-Finally, cats and YA.