About me, and about this blog

Books have been a big part of my life for as long as I can remember. Some of my strongest childhood memories are of story-time before bed. It was a special time; my mom, as a single parent, worked long hours and it was guaranteed quality time for us. Most of you probably have similar memories of bedtime stories: excitedly picking out the night's book, having mom or dad sit in bed next to you with the book propped open, pointing to all the different pictures, and of course, asking over and over for one more page (or chapter, or book) before finally dropping off to sleep. As soon as I was able to, there was a role reversal in our household and it became my responsibility to read the night's tale to my mom. Every night I would proudly stammer my way through my Seuss collection; I felt cool when I'd brag to my friends about how I got to read the bedtime story. 


It wasn't until I was a little older that I understood the real reason my mom made me read at night. My mom is dyslexic. After a 12 hour work day, reading anything was hard work for her, not to mention reading aloud. It wasn't just that she wanted me to read because she didn't want to anymore; she wanted me to master a skill that would always be difficult for her; wanted me to really love the written word in ways that she just can't. Don't get me wrong, my mom likes to read, but for her it's not the relaxing pastime it is for so many; for my mom, and many others with this disorder, it takes conscience effort to translate all those letters into words, words into sentences, and sentences into something that makes sense. So, earlier than most, I learned to appreciate reading. I viewed each book I read as a gift. I read a lot, and enjoyed doing so. 


I was age 10 or 11 when I really started to love reading. I was a weird kid and as an only child I spent a lot of time around adults that spoke to me as an adult, cousins that I annoyed the heck out of, or other only-children who were equally strange and lacking in social skills. When we moved away to another state, going from coastal VA to Nashville, I went from kinda weird kid who hangs with other weird kids but is kind of tolerable to really strange new girl who talks kinda funny and acts kinda different, and of course this is right in time for middle school. The few friends I did make (very good friends, I might add) were in different schools or classes and I was lonely. Well, I was lonely until my wonderful aunt gave me something that changed my life. She gave me a book, and not just any book either; she gave me Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire. Since I already liked reading, and there was nothing else for me to do, I read it. Then I read the next book in the series, then the next and so on. Most of the books I'd read before had come from the school library and reading her work was an eyeopening experience. I didn't know books could be so beautiful, that authors could create worlds so real you feel you've been there and characters you feel you've known your whole life. I had never seen the English language to powerfully used and I came to view writing as the art it truly is.  Reading became a passion an addiction for me, and my books became my friends. They were friends that took me to different places, times, and worlds where everything was possible. They made me laugh, cry, and fall in love.They kept me company, and they kept me sane, letting me escape the world that my tween self felt so alone in, their worlds becoming more real than my own. 


Eventually I got a little less awkward and made actual human friends, a group of people who thought my social ineptitude was quirky and fun. I started writing a little, encouraged by a couple teachers who recognized my wild imagination as a blessing rather than an annoyance, though I have yet to finish any of the multitude of stories that I have started. Now I can say real life has made me laugh, and cry, and fall in love. I still read, in fact books have been my one constant interest in my rather flighty life. I love reading books and learning about the authors who wrote them. I'm always interested in articles that discuss literacy, or have book reviews, or questions the quality of today's writing. I'm passionate about fairy tales and fables and the lessons they provide, and about the evolution of folklore into New York Times  bestsellers. I'm always interested in movies based on books, often reading the book right before so I can do a better mental compare and contrast, which I usually end up doing in the theater out loud (much to the chagrin of my husband).


And you know what?
I'm not the only one. 


What better way to succumb to my obsession than to start a blog about it? A blog that other people like me can come to and, hopefully, enjoy. I won't just be writing book review after book review like so many other blogs (not that there is anything wrong with that; I really like some of those blogs!). I want to tell you about my favorite authors, books, and movies based on books; share my thoughts on childhood reading, the terrible role-models that are so prevalent in YA fiction, and anything else that I might find relevant or interesting. 


I want to create a new niche for others like me; people who have found solace on a printed page, made friends with imaginary people, and believed in impossible things while reading. A place where (courteous) debates and suggestions are welcome, and comments and conversations are encouraged. A place where no one is alone in their love of books and everything they entail.


So welcome, and enjoy.


Regan Claire