Books

I love books, words, paper, pens, sharpies and anything associated with writing and reading.  Kindles are nice, but the smell of a book moves me, worn pages and illustrations and page numbers and those shiny slick glossy book covers are the best.  There is no computer screen that will ever compare to the feel of turning a paper page. 

Children’s books are so fabulous, pictures far out number words and the artist in me loves that.  Illustrators of these little peoples pages are so underrated, good grief some are mini masterpieces! Mom tells me this intense love of books began when I was a toddler, I even took my books to the bathtub with me!  Later, I discovered reading transplanted me into other worlds with such realism I sometimes wished I could join them in the pages of the words I absorbed.

Escaping a tumultuous life with words felt safe to me. The library was a quiet respite where shelf after shelf of non-verbal books comforted me without any confrontation. Millions of words, but none were critical, hurtful, judgemental or angry, at least not directly at me. 

I think the words themselves intrigued me, poetry, novels, textbooks even lyrics of songs, just letters making meaning- they stole my heart.

Writing allowed me to build a bridge between my world and book-world, my words the steps. I could record pain with no consequences, miracle.

I just love books, plain and simple.