I used to be an avid reader – always reading, interested in books and authors, and a frequent visitor to bookshops and the library. But a couple of years ago something made me stop; at the time I wasn’t sure why, but on reflection, it was a combination of way too much going on in my working life and an unsuccessful attempt at being in a book group – I discovered I don’t like reading to deadlines, it takes all the enjoyment out of the printed word for me. My head felt too cluttered for all those words and thoughts. Something had to go and reading was the casualty. I didn’t stop completely but I’ve probably read 5 books in the last 2 and a half years – I was a pale imitation of my long-lost bookworm self.
But – this week I started reading again. A conversation with a friend about books was the trigger; I realised I missed the feel of the pages between my fingers and losing myself in a good story. Escaping into someone else’s words. All those great works of literature waiting to be read and re-read. All those books on the shelves I spent time choosing to buy. Prose and poetry, fact and fiction. We’re friends again, books and me.These are just for starters.
Happy to be a reader again.