I am an avid reader. I always have been, and I probably always will be. Ever since I was a child, I have been passionate about literature – setting, storylines, characters, relationships.
My favorite part of elementary school was when the teacher spent a half hour each day reading to the class. In middle school I loved literature circles and book reports. In high school, I always had a book with me and I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say I read a book a week, sometimes even more. In college, it was much of the same.
I love everything about reading. I love being immersed in a new world or time period, taking on the characteristics of the protagonist (and sometimes antagonist), and imagining myself in their shoes. I love the different forms of writing, the different styles each author brings to the page. I love the structure (or lack thereof) and the flow of the words. I love the feel of a book in my hands, the sound of the pages turning. I even love the smell of the paper and the glue.
So it was an interesting moment this morning when I received a Facebook message from an old family friend. The message simply read: