Books books books!

I love to read. Love it. I have, since I was a very little girl, say 3 or 4. If a book has the ability to catch my interest, I tend to go overboard. I’ll finish a novel in a day. I have the tendency to get lost in a book, and lose track of time, forget to eat, ignore the phone, and realize how cut off I’ve been once I shut the book for good. I’m also a re-reader. You read that right. I clearly remember my dad offering me 5 bucks to read the prologue of The Da Vinci Code because I was lying across a chair in the living room, reading the 4th Harry Potter book for probably the 7th time. I still have books on my bookshelf from elementary school. The BFG, with the corner chewed off. Where the Red Fern Grows, which makes me cry every time, but is so good I can’t stop reading it. The Cay, Call of the Wild, all sorts of childhood books. They’re fun to go back and revisit. My dad has loaned me several books that I really should get started on. Lately it seems I don’t have much time for reading at home. I read some at work, when things are slow.

The thing about being a voracious reader is that, I tend to struggle to find writing that challenges me. I’m currently reading some Sherlock Holmes and I love that there are words that I have to look up. I love the style of writing, the way people spoke back then. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle does an excellent job of providing the reader with details enough to imagine the place he describes. I can see the steamy ports and grimy streets and hear the clip-clop of hooves as horses travel through Tottenham Court Road. He, describes in detail things people are wearing and how they’re sitting because, by definition, the character Sherlock Holmes is a man who deduces much from little. Ah man, I love books!