Today is one of those wonderful days when I face one of my favorite reader moments—that brief interlude between books that is filled with anticipation. What book comes next? Which will I pull from the shelves?
I finished my book last night and chose to wait until tonight to pick a new one so I could live in anticipation. All day I have mentally listed the books on my bedside table and crammed onto my bedroom shelves. I thought about the books in my office library, which total nearly 7,000. I considered going new school and reading one of the several hundred on my Nook, which is not my favorite way to read. Heck, I even considered buying a new book to add to the masses. So many choices.
It is the choice of what comes next that makes me happy. It’s that potential of unraveling a new story and falling into a new world that keeps me moving from one book to the next.
I love wallowing in that anticipation, which is what made me put the bulk of my library in my office. I get inspired seeing the stories surrounding me. I also admit some part of me hopes that some of that writing genius will be conveyed to me by osmosis. It never worked in school, but I live in hope. Besides there is no better decorating scheme than books, in my opinion. I have books in practically every room in my house, except bathrooms where the moisture would damage the books.
As a writer, I cannot imagine not hoarding books or reading voraciously. One of my biggest pet peeves is to run into someone who tells me they are a writer or want to be a writer but they don’t like to read. What?! What is this blasphemy? I do not understand. I will never understand. If you love words enough to want to court them on the page, how can you not want to follow them when they fall from another’s pen?
I can’t imagine turning away from stories. I collect them no matter their source or medium—novel, nonfiction, television, film, stage, poem, I don’t care. I love them all. Yes, even opera. Give me a story and I will sit and listen, read, or watch. Give me origin stories, back stories, front stories. Just tell me a tale.
(Yes, I may be a bit obsessive. Too bad. I don’t care.)
Tonight I plan to spend precious time going over my choices, reading book blurbs, holding books in my hand until I can pick the next tome for me. It is a sacred time for a reader because I will be holding more than pages in my hand—I will be holding possibilities.
What do you love most about being a reader?