If there’s one thing I love in this crazy, busy, mixed up world, it’s a good book.
I love everything about them. I love the way they feel, the texture, the smell – especially old, beat up novels with their eerie history. I
It is my dream in life to have a huge parlor-like room with walls lined from floor to ceiling with books upon books upon books.
My friend Cheri has somewhat accomplished this dream. I am forever envious.
For as long as I can remember I have always wanted or needed a book on the go. Something to keep me occupied and keep my mind at work. Something to comfort. Something to take me away from this place and experience an adventure inside my head.
I think my love affair with the written word started from birth! I assume my mother read to me then. And I can remember being very young and my mom always reading to us; me and my brother. She would read us bedtime stories – shorts from Dr. Seuss to novels such as The Wizard of Oz, promising a new chapter the next night – and she would read to us while waiting for medical appointments. And she would take us, countless times, to second-hand bookstores where would slink around quietly, and load up on books.
I remember getting hooked on Archie comics when I was 5 or 6. Fumbling through each story (asking my mother over and over how to pronounce “Veronica”). I couldn’t get enough of those short little stories. Zip, zip, zip. And another book was finished. Eventually I moved on to bigger books, although Cinderella was always my favorite, I needed more….I needed chapters! And so the affair grew. And it has continued to grow.
Years ago when I lived in the City I worked very late hours. I would come home and read to (attempt to) unwind, instead, I would get wrapped up in a story that would take me into the early hours of the morning. Lost Girls by Andrew Pyper was a book that I had wanted and was gifted to me by my spectacular sister-in-law. That book kept my mind so busy late at night. It was scary as hell and kept me up with fear, yet I continued to read it. I was enthralled.
When I injured my back several years ago and was down and out and barely able to walk, books kept me sane and busy. And when I first started working out, books are what kept me going. I’d jump on the elliptical with a novel and boom! Just like that an hour (or sometimes two!) would be gone.
When I read, when I’m really involved in a story, something happens to me. I’m transported to another place. Page by page and chapter by chapter I find myself getting deeper into the world I’m reading about. As if I’m there. As if I’m the character. There are days when I want to do nothing but read because I’m so obsessed with the story. That’s what happens when I read Grisham. And it’s what’s happening now with the current book I’m reading (The Witch of Belladonna Bay by Suzanne Palmieri). This book has enchanted me. Like you wouldn’t believe. I cannot get enough of it.
*sigh* My new best friend…my summer escape.
That was the same for me the first time I read Jaws and when I read Grisham’s The Rainmaker. And last year, when I finally finished studying for my Nutrition exam, with Andrew Pyper’s The Guardians. Those books enchanted me. I read them all in just a matter of a few days. Like those books, The Witch of Belladonna Bay is constantly on my mind. It’s like it’s seeped into my soul. All I want to do is sit in the sun or snuggle in my bed and get lost in this other world. (Thankfully my BFF is on vacation this week so I’m able to read in the sun during my lunch break. I’m such a dork!)
Maybe this quaint little story about witches is itself enchanted. Who knows? But it’s got me hooked.
I get so lost in these worlds it’s like I’m watching a movie – or living in it. I’m a very vivid reader and the words become so picturesque and move along easily and colorfully. It’s better than TV. Television never calls to me like a good book does.
I have already zipped through 5 books since the start of this summer (I think that’s a record for me), and I can’t wait to start a new one. The only thing, however, is that when I get really involved with a book – like I am right now – I’m always sad at the end…when it’s over. When the adventure concludes. There have been many books that have made me cry and many books that I’ve cried at the finality of the ending. I find no shame in that. I’m a sensitive being and when one becomes so involved in a story – whether it be real, written, or televised – there is no shame in feeling the sorrow in the loss of what seems to have become a good friend, or in the experience itself.
I’m looking forward to finishing TWOBB in the next day or so, but I have a feeling that I have become so wrapped up in, not only the words themselves, but in the emotion this story carries, that I will, at some point before its end, bawl like a baby.
And once that moment is over, I will move on to the next adventure and become enchanted all over again.