I'm going on an adventure!
That's to say, I hope we all are!
Who here doesn't like books? If you said me, well my friend, you will learn. I don't say that to be mean or creepy, no no no! I say it to say, you don't know what it is you are missing.
My love of books began before I could even read. But the day that I learned how, though, I remember that vividly. I was three years old, and I remember the book that my mom used to teach me how to read. Thus, the family's next bookworm was born. (Have you ever heard the term bookdragon instead of bookworm? It's kind of interesting, but I do love a good classic.)
Books ever since then have accompanied me through time. Good times, bad times, fast times, slow times, busy times and quiet times. All of this, and still it can happen that one can either A) Continue searching for more books, or B) Run out of books that fill you up inside.
'A' happened for a long time, but gradually it seemed that no matter what I looked for or pulled off the library shelves I struck out. Thus, the past year and a half or so of my life have been spent in a nearly bookless void.
Until recently that is.
I was given the option to spend several hours alone at a library to look for a few specific books for the family. Now, despite loving books, it can be a bit tedious when you've been continuously struck out on books for what feels like ages, sometimes you don't even want to look for more books, you might not even feel like going to the library! *gasp* what is this horror that had overtaken me?
I begrudgingly agreed to go. Me! The girl that used to sit inside for hours on a sunny day until I needed to turn on the lights in order to see clearly. How I managed to reach a point to begrudgingly go to the library, I must sadly say I don't fully know.
But there was a cure.
And it lay inside the library.
Having been left alone for those two hours proved to be the most fruitful two hours I had spent in a library in months, if not longer.
I checked out a pile of books so tall and so heavy that even with half of the stack in my duffle bag that I still had to carry the rest in my arms with a whole lot of vigor. (The vigor being 'no, I already said I didn't need a bag to carry all my books at the counter and there's no way I'm going back now to admit that I, the bookworm of my age needed help carrying my haul of knowledge.)
As a result of that, I probably strained a muscle or three in my neck, as well as reading too much in the car ride on the way home, but, it reawakened an ancient passion deep within me.
Out of the fifteen books I borrowed, ranging from novels to art to business management, I have read six of them, as well as having embarked onto the local bookstore.
The bookstore alone is another story, but I will say that the book series I found there managed to breath a breath of life giving air into that already stirred ember of passion that had been lit once again in me. That breath of air was finding the first three books of the series known as 'The Guardians of Childhood' by William Joyce. They hit me with a triple whammy, one for each book as it were. 1) I fell in love with the movie that they had based off the books. 2) I had wanted to read them ever since, having not known beforehand that there were books. 3) I had no idea until I got home that they were written by the man who had unknowingly brought me in with pure imagination into the world of books.
The Guardians of Childhood were written by the same man who wrote my favorite bedtime story, 'A Day with Wilbur Robinson'.
Let's say this as a momentary ending thought; before The Guardians of Childhood had been written, William Joyce was unknowingly the Guardian of mine.
Thank you, Mr. Joyce, for opening the door.
Who here doesn't like books? If you said me, well my friend, you will learn. I don't say that to be mean or creepy, no no no! I say it to say, you don't know what it is you are missing.
My love of books began before I could even read. But the day that I learned how, though, I remember that vividly. I was three years old, and I remember the book that my mom used to teach me how to read. Thus, the family's next bookworm was born. (Have you ever heard the term bookdragon instead of bookworm? It's kind of interesting, but I do love a good classic.)
Books ever since then have accompanied me through time. Good times, bad times, fast times, slow times, busy times and quiet times. All of this, and still it can happen that one can either A) Continue searching for more books, or B) Run out of books that fill you up inside.
'A' happened for a long time, but gradually it seemed that no matter what I looked for or pulled off the library shelves I struck out. Thus, the past year and a half or so of my life have been spent in a nearly bookless void.
Until recently that is.
I was given the option to spend several hours alone at a library to look for a few specific books for the family. Now, despite loving books, it can be a bit tedious when you've been continuously struck out on books for what feels like ages, sometimes you don't even want to look for more books, you might not even feel like going to the library! *gasp* what is this horror that had overtaken me?
I begrudgingly agreed to go. Me! The girl that used to sit inside for hours on a sunny day until I needed to turn on the lights in order to see clearly. How I managed to reach a point to begrudgingly go to the library, I must sadly say I don't fully know.
But there was a cure.
And it lay inside the library.
Having been left alone for those two hours proved to be the most fruitful two hours I had spent in a library in months, if not longer.
I checked out a pile of books so tall and so heavy that even with half of the stack in my duffle bag that I still had to carry the rest in my arms with a whole lot of vigor. (The vigor being 'no, I already said I didn't need a bag to carry all my books at the counter and there's no way I'm going back now to admit that I, the bookworm of my age needed help carrying my haul of knowledge.)
As a result of that, I probably strained a muscle or three in my neck, as well as reading too much in the car ride on the way home, but, it reawakened an ancient passion deep within me.
Out of the fifteen books I borrowed, ranging from novels to art to business management, I have read six of them, as well as having embarked onto the local bookstore.
The bookstore alone is another story, but I will say that the book series I found there managed to breath a breath of life giving air into that already stirred ember of passion that had been lit once again in me. That breath of air was finding the first three books of the series known as 'The Guardians of Childhood' by William Joyce. They hit me with a triple whammy, one for each book as it were. 1) I fell in love with the movie that they had based off the books. 2) I had wanted to read them ever since, having not known beforehand that there were books. 3) I had no idea until I got home that they were written by the man who had unknowingly brought me in with pure imagination into the world of books.
The Guardians of Childhood were written by the same man who wrote my favorite bedtime story, 'A Day with Wilbur Robinson'.
Let's say this as a momentary ending thought; before The Guardians of Childhood had been written, William Joyce was unknowingly the Guardian of mine.
Thank you, Mr. Joyce, for opening the door.
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