hungry book worm

I love books. Almost as much as I love books, I would love to tell some tale of how I always loved and devoured books. I would love to reminisce about the time I was young and had some sentimental attachment to The Cat and the Hat. I would love to appear scholarly and claim that literature was my hiding place from trials and bad days. No. This is not that story.

I should start from the beginning. I am a procrastinator. I was just born that way. It is not my best quality. If there is ever a deadline, due date, or time limit, a procrastinator will wait until the final hour to begin thinking. Being an AP high school student, I put off reading a lot of books.

Don’t get me wrong. Some of my finest work is completed under pressure. It’s as if the stress and anxiety of that last bit of crunch time ignites the creative half of my brain. And when you procrastinate, you must get creative. But it is unpleasant and as you watch the hands of the clock start to speed up, you know there is no escape. There is no bathroom break, no snack time, no chance to power nap. There is just no time out.

I had to read Jane Eyre the night before the first day of high school. As I closed the back cover at 4 AM, I threw the book against the wall and left it hidden under the bed for a week. When you’re forced to read a classic overnight it’s like swallowing a lobster whole. You’re too busy choking on the shell to notice the succulent meat inside.

The first time I truly discovered a book was at the end of high school. I was up late one night and couldn’t sleep. Frantic to get some rest and desperately bored, I looked for a book, hoping it would force me to sleep.

I picked 1984. Within the first pages of the Orwell classic, I was in trouble. My heart was racing, my hands shaking, and my mind entrenched in the story of “Big Brother.” I was up half the night, turning page after page, anxious to reach the conclusion. The next day, I thought of poor Winston and Julia, struggling to find love in a cold and mechanical world.

I’ll stop. It would be tragic to spoil the ending of my favorite book.

I was shocked to be not only entertained but moved by a book. When the characters triumphed, I celebrated. When they lost, my heart ached.

From that dark night, I have loved books. It pains me to think of the time wasted and opportunity lost in high school when some of the finest pieces of literature were set in front of me and ignored. I spend summers and free time making up for the ignorance of my teenage years. Along the way, I have discovered some favorite stories.

Today, I'm in the library searching for more favorites and treasures. I'll leave with with my list of literary gems. It's not a very comprehensive list. I wouldn't want to ruin the search. Part of the joy of reading is to discover a classic on your own but for what it's worth, books I would re - read.

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
My Antonia by Willa Cather
Cold, Sassy, Tree by Olive Ann Burns
Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
Peony in Love by Lisa See