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