It was about four months ago when I ran away with the YA Indie Carnival. The other day, as I was making lunch for the bearded woman, I started thinking about what set me on this path.
As a kid, I liked stories, but I never liked reading. By that I mean that I loved TV and movies, listening to someone tell a story, and even telling my own stories. However, every time I picked up a book to read I would either get distracted within my own head or fall asleep before I turned the first page.
I just wasn’t a reader.
I continued to believe this into adulthood, always scanning, but never really reading anything more substantial than a magazine article unless I was forced to and then it was out of necessity, definitely nothing that I enjoyed.
Things changed after
I had my first son. I always worked. Always. Even in college, I carried a full-time schedule and two part-time jobs. Justin was born in November 2001 (yeah, very pregnant on 9/11 – absolutely terrifying). At the time, I was a career professional in a business office often working 50+ hours a week because I’m one of those weirdos with an unquenchable work ethic.
And then I was on maternity leave. Suddenly, I found myself alone at home with an infant that slept 22 hours a day. No TV because that would wake the baby and no projects that created noise of any kind, which I quickly discovered discounted anything fun. I was going nuts from boredom when my mother recommended a series of books that she had been reading.
“Harry isn’t a very cool name,” I remember telling her, but she was so excited about it and she had the first book with her, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, so I decided to humor her and crack it open.
After she left, I started reading because I just knew she would call me later and harass me about it anyway. I was through the first three chapters before I realized that I was actually reading. When Justin woke up to be fed, I started reading it to him and even after he fell back asleep, I continued to read to him. It never once broke his peaceful slumber. I devoured the first book and moved onto the others. In fact, I remember lying on the floor reading aloud in his nursery after a late night feeding with tears streaming down my cheeks because I had just read the part where Cedric died and the realization of it hit me like a freight train.
Goblet of Fire had just come out and when I finished it, I couldn’t wait for the others. So to pass the time, I picked up another series, then another and another. And the rest, is history, film at 11:00.
P.S. Also grateful for Dead Until Dark. Because of it, Alexander Skarsgard and his awesomeness now graces my TV all summer! Thanks Charlaine!
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