All of you that probably read this blog are avid readers in general, known to plow through books on vacation more than margaritas, and known to shut out the world when the perfect read lands in your lap; ignoring the whining of your loved ones (cats, dog or people, doesn’t matter). So what made you this way? When did you get sparked into reading? What kept you? Who kept you? Or were you the weird Matilda in your family?
My story is all very typical. My childhood home simply overflowed with books. My dad was a history buff and his books spilled from table tops and bookshleves to make a carpet of pictures and diagrams on the floor by his his side of the bed. My mother devoured modern fiction and literature in neat stacks on her side of the bed, nestled kindly among little books of poetry and tea…
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