a scribbling on books and writing
I read a lot. I always have. But I'm not an especially fast reader. I prefer to take my time, rereading passages so I become immersered in the descriptions, finding myself in the world between the words. My sister on the other hand has always devoured books. She swallows them in long sessions of rapid page turning. As a little girl I was sometimes envious of this. She is my little sister, yet she would get ahead of me, reading things I hadn't yet gotten to and sometimes waiting for me to finish a book she wanted to consume. Yet I learned to become happy with my pace. Some books are easy to fly through, but others I think should be savored. I prefer the savoring.
When I was little my Mom would read aloud to my siblings and I. I grew up hearing and reading such fare as The Little House books, The Chronicles Of Narnia, The Borrowers, The Betsy-Tacy Books, and loving authors such as Lloyd Alexander, Frances Hodgson Burnett, J.R.R. Tolkien, Patricia McLauchlan and many others. Often though my Mom would read to us books that went along with what we were studying in school. We didn't just read fiction; I thrilled at hearing Endurance, the story of Shackleton and his crew's incredible voyage and survival in the atlantic, Carry On Mr. Bowditch, and others which, when I see them on the shelves, are like dear friends; much loved, and with much more love to give when I sit down to reread them as I surely plan to do.
On time I was told that I was like the Meg Ryan character in the movie "You've Got Mail". I was told that I tended to dress somewhat like her, say things like her, and read like her. I laughed at this, then realized, and said out loud, "Actually, I have read The Shoe Books." If you know the movie you will understand. I am also happy to say that Skating Shoes is now back in print.
Reading is a love of mine. Some of my favorite conversations center around books. Writing is inexplicably linked to my being (see? I say and write strange things like that, but I mean it and can't help it); I'll be going along, doing normal everything things, and in my head I'm writing an account of what is going on, narrating it as if I were trying to make it come alive on a page, making it interesting for some unknown reader. I love descriptions and am probably too flowery at times. I tend to be poetic, but I think it comes with the territory of having a name like Sonnet, so what can I say? I was born to be this way.
I so hope that my future husband shares this love with me. More than someone who can perhaps appreciate books and writing, I quietly long for someone who also writes, who also savors books, and with whom I can share the narratives playing inside my head, and be given something similar in return.
I'm not sure how this scribbling on books and writing came around to end with thoughts on my as-yet-unknown future husband. I guess it all plays into the narrative in my head, and how one thing connects to another in subtle and curious ways. If it's only interesting for me to read, I'm fine with that. Writing is an outlet as much as it is an expression. What about for you?
When I was little my Mom would read aloud to my siblings and I. I grew up hearing and reading such fare as The Little House books, The Chronicles Of Narnia, The Borrowers, The Betsy-Tacy Books, and loving authors such as Lloyd Alexander, Frances Hodgson Burnett, J.R.R. Tolkien, Patricia McLauchlan and many others. Often though my Mom would read to us books that went along with what we were studying in school. We didn't just read fiction; I thrilled at hearing Endurance, the story of Shackleton and his crew's incredible voyage and survival in the atlantic, Carry On Mr. Bowditch, and others which, when I see them on the shelves, are like dear friends; much loved, and with much more love to give when I sit down to reread them as I surely plan to do.
On time I was told that I was like the Meg Ryan character in the movie "You've Got Mail". I was told that I tended to dress somewhat like her, say things like her, and read like her. I laughed at this, then realized, and said out loud, "Actually, I have read The Shoe Books." If you know the movie you will understand. I am also happy to say that Skating Shoes is now back in print.
Reading is a love of mine. Some of my favorite conversations center around books. Writing is inexplicably linked to my being (see? I say and write strange things like that, but I mean it and can't help it); I'll be going along, doing normal everything things, and in my head I'm writing an account of what is going on, narrating it as if I were trying to make it come alive on a page, making it interesting for some unknown reader. I love descriptions and am probably too flowery at times. I tend to be poetic, but I think it comes with the territory of having a name like Sonnet, so what can I say? I was born to be this way.
I so hope that my future husband shares this love with me. More than someone who can perhaps appreciate books and writing, I quietly long for someone who also writes, who also savors books, and with whom I can share the narratives playing inside my head, and be given something similar in return.
I'm not sure how this scribbling on books and writing came around to end with thoughts on my as-yet-unknown future husband. I guess it all plays into the narrative in my head, and how one thing connects to another in subtle and curious ways. If it's only interesting for me to read, I'm fine with that. Writing is an outlet as much as it is an expression. What about for you?
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