Hello fellow word-lovers, keepers of quotes, collectors of quirky bookmarks, and late-night flashlight wielders – welcome!
In conjunction with my website, this is the very first exploration of my blog “voice”. I hope you find it engaging and clever. I hope you consider returning to the page, this page that is, again and again. And so it begins…
Long ago in a galaxy far, far away in a place called New Jersey, there was a closet. Inside that closet was a little girl and a wall of shelves lined with books. The residents of the modest home in which the closet was located referred to it as a bedroom, my bedroom. In reality, it was a converted closet – no larger than 6 feet wide by 10 feet long. So I felt akin to Harry Potter right out of the gate even though I would not discover him until many years later.
I also felt akin to the Book Mobile. It made yearly stops at my elementary school and the thought of its magical contents drove me wild with anticipation. My parents would check and recheck their checkbook to make sure they could afford all the selections I circled on the worksheet, but they always made sure they could. Books piled high from waist to chin, I would step out of the traveling bookstore with delight. I had to promise I would read them all and my parents would quiz me on the contents. Sure enough, I had read them all.
I cannot recall the first book I ever read, but I do recall consuming words like it was the air I breathed. My tote bag was always so heavy leaving the county library. So many nights I would be told my eyes would fail in the dim light under the covers and to go to bed. Yet, I couldn’t ever break away from stories. They fed me, they shaped me, they comforted me.
I loved stories so much, I made them up whenever I could. My storytelling got out of hand a few times in school, resulting in me often being held after school in detention. It was never any real trouble, but my stories kept my focus and the attention of my classmates more often than not.
As an adult, there was a long period of time though, when I left my story on the shelf. A long time passed where I did not read or write or create anything. I was extremely unhappy and unfulfilled – I was a shell of the self I was supposed to be. That version of my life had to completely shatter before I could turn the page and begin again, anew. After much internal revelation and hard work, and many quiet moments alone with my heart, I returned to myself. I even tattooed “words” on my wrist, so that I would be reminded to always reach for what I love, what is important to me.
My journey to be the person I was meant to be, the whole me, has already begun. As part of that journey, I have finally completed my first work of fiction. A children’s book. A nod to my younger self and a gift to my new, adult self. So please join me in celebration of all those words that have ever made you who you are and me who I am. Read on, my friends, read on.
Originally posted 11.2014