i grew up in libraries, consuming a steady diet of ink and paper, and was always that girl sitting against the wall reading during gym. suffice to say, i was in love with words, and i am without a doubt that many of you could say the same.
i was that girl who was enrolled in a separate afterschool program in elementary school, but instead of boarding the bus, i stayed in the library (and was sent to the principal’s office once the program reported me “missing”. this happened four times before the school librarian figured that whenever i walked in after school, it was best to shoo me out).
the nancy drew section in the library was the most familiar environment–the yellow spines, some old some new, staring out at me, blue words printed down the spine detailing every one of a redhead’s misadventures. if my mom ever lost my in the library, she knew where to find me.
i fell in love with stories before i knew how to read. i would flip through picture books, point at each drawing, and create my own made up fantasies. the ugly duckling was a particular favorite.
i created a book blog when i was 12 years old on a whim. and i thought “wow, imagine me doing this until i’m 20”. and while it occurred to me that maybe one day i would stop blogging as so many before me had, i never thought about the possibiity that maybe books would become no longer precious. i never thought that i would choose a different pastime over reading. i never realized i could fall out of love with reading–despite the thousands of people who had laughed and told me that they had been readers once upon a time, that they hadn’t touched a book that wasn’t required since high school.
i thought “never. not me.” because books had always been dear to me. they had always been more than just words. they had raised me, they had shown me the best and worst the world had to offer (young adult is good with that–showing the best and the worst). unfathomable, impossible, ridiculous, the idea of not reading every weekdayhourminute.
but high school happened and with high school not only came a mountain of work, but there was interact, there was art, there was national art honor society, there was student council, there was international club. there was me realizing that oh. this hanging-out-with-friends-thing is pretty nice. and even though i realized what was happening, i started to pull away from books.
in 2014 i read 250-300 books. in 2015? about 100. and in 2016? less than 30.
this is the part where you’re like nicole what the heck why are you on a book blog talking about how you don’t like reading anymore?.
okay, let me explain.
there’s this thing about books. they’re kind of addicting. and though my reading slowed, it never really stopped. i still devoured stories–sometimes i did it in one sitting, but far and in between, other times it took me a month to read one book. but if there’s anything young adult has taught me especially is that a great love doesn’t disappear. and my love for stories is most definitely a great love. and now it’s the summer before senior year, and time is aplenty, and i’ve drifted towards these stories of great adventures and tragic romances once again. i almost forgot how emotional one can get while reading. i almost forgot how real these characters are and how deeply you feel every heartbreak and triumph etched into these papers.
so here i am, starting to get back into the groove of reading, of blogging, of feeling ALL THE EMOTIONS and loving ALL THE CHARACTERS and shipping ALL THE ROMANCES. books just kind of have that way of reeling you back in again.
(also pls rec me more books ty)