There are few things in life that can top the feeling one gets from a good story. Most of the time it’s not just one feeling, but many. Oftentimes those feelings stay with you long after the story has ended, long after the book is back on the shelf. Years later you may revisit said story and find those same feelings elicited once again, the memory of them still encompassed in the words and characters who live within the pages. Well-told stories are truly timeless.
Reading has never been a chore for me. Books have been the number one item on my Christmas list since I was seven years old, and my fantasy dream house includes plans for a double-decker library with a spiral staircase and ladder on wheels. I cannot remember a period of time in my life where I quit reading and didn’t have at least one book in-progress that wasn’t required reading for school. In college I expanded my reading pedigree by studying Shakespeare, Milton, Chaucer, and the writings of more modern authors that were discussed fervently in my creative writing workshops.
Suffice to say, I love books. I love reading them, talking about them, and writing about them. One of the beautiful things about this world is all the remarkable stories that exist, just waiting to be discovered.
I only wish I had time to read them all.