Read Your Way Into My Heart

My To Do list this summer was not a hefty one to accomplish.  Sure, I wanted to work and hang out with my friends, but all in all, what I wanted more than anything else was just to read.

I find that I enjoy myself the most when I am immersed in literature.  I let the stories play themselves out in my mind and in my dreams.  I read and I read and I read.  Some days, it is all that I do.  I do not let the length of the work deter me: if it has the promise of teaching me something, I dive right in.  It does not matter if I have read the work before, or if I have seemingly nothing in common with the story line.

I love to read.

One of my dreams for my future home is to have a bookshelf that rivals this one:

A lot of people my age do not find the same thrill out of this past time.  For some people, reading is a chore.  It is something that they have to endure.  The terrible means to a passing end in some class or another.  I could never be that person.

I get emotionally attached to the characters in my books.  I love with them, laugh with them, cry when their lives turn a wrong corner, celebrate their successes, and am there for them page after page.

The people that I love in my life and the people that I love in my books are what I write about.  They inspire me.  Whether they are good examples or bad, they change my outlook on life.  They make me a better person.

So as long as I keep reading, I will keep writing.

And loving, learning, and living...