Babblative

When I was younger my parents would read to me every night before bed, ten or so books then they’d leave them with me so that I could look at the pictures. I’d try my damnedest every night to squeeze as many readings as possible, but in spite of my very determined 3 year old self they resisted. The solution was clear: Learn to read.

I was one weird kid, I dreamed of being able to read to myself. Books opened up a whole new world where you could go anywhere and do anything. It might sound corny, but it’s true. Goofy, Pooh and Cinderella lived on in books past their movies and television shows. It was, and still is to some degree, a magical world and all I wanted was to be a part of it.

Of course, it’s easier said than done. So I’d pretend to read books, just holding them and looking at them, occasionally turning the page so that I’d look like a sophisticated young lady of the world. That wore thin pretty quickly, though, so I settled in and with my parent’s help I learned how to read.

By the time I entered puberty I had amassed a collection of around three thousand books. That’s not counting the ones in boxes and piles in my room, the basement and scattered around the house. I was fortunate enough to have the exclusive use of a small coat closet in the hall as my personal library. My father built the shelves out of skids and didn’t sand them. I got many a splinter from those shelves. And you know what the crazy part is? I miss them and that little coat closet.

It truly was an awesome feeling having your own library. You can organize them however you want, read them whenever you want and… well that’s it.

Back then I’d burn through huge amounts of books, one was never quite enough. The same is true of today, I’ll check five or six books from the library and finish them all to the tune of a book a day. Of course, they aren’t exactly what you’d call heavy reading, they’re romance novels.

(That’s not saying they aren’t any good, they are good! They’re the chick flicks of the literary world.)

I think that my problem is that I have a safe zone. I like romance, it’s happy and safe and familiar. Give me a nice HEA (Happily Ever After) and I’m in bliss. However, the sad truth is that I’m not really learning anything from these books and even though I love them, it’s time to branch out and explore other interests.

So I’m turning to you guys, what would you recommend?