I can't remember a time when I didn't love words. As much as I loved running around and riding my bike when I was younger, you'd be as likely to find me curled up behind a beloved book - I was probably the first child in the history of ever (okay, maybe not) whose parents actually had to tell the librarians to DISCOURAGE me from borrowing so much.
When I was a child, even before I understood what all the black squiggly lines meant, my mother would read to me. When we'd exhausted all the stories at home, she'd make up new ones - lots and lots of exciting stories, with me (not knowing this) as the protagonist more often than not.
Is it any wonder that I grew up to be such a lover of words? I remember reading Robin Cooks (random, yes), and the Lord of the Rings (now there's another timeless love affair) all before I turned 10, and always being left with this bittersweet feeling whenever the books ended.
It has always fascinated me how I can live many lives, be many people, visit many places, learn many things - all within the span of a few short hours and inches. If anything, everything that I read inspires me to experience life even MORE - pages serve as inspiration more than retreat.
Similarly, I cannot remember a time where writing was not a part of me. Not that I did it very neatly (or very well, much to the dismay of many English teachers who shook their heads at my fantastical ideas more than I'd care to admit). I do remember, in the fifth grade, when I went to a new school, I proudly took with me a book I had written, as much as any fifth grader could write a book - and read out a chapter to the entire grade. Crazy at the time, I know, but I'm glad I did!
I love meeting people who have an elaborate mastery of language, and can twist and turn words to create realities as I sit with them.
Small wonder that I ended up blogging, right?
As my blog turns five today, a huge thank you to ALL of you for being such great supporters of my love of words!
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