My father likes to tell stories about how he and I used to read together when I was little. I remember none of them. For whatever it’s worth, I also don’t remember what month the New Hampshire Renaissance Fest was in last year, so I’m not great with memories sometimes. Despite my lack of specific thoughts, I do remember quite a bit about books growing up.
As a child, I was lucky enough to live in a beautiful, rural area that I did not appreciate. We had acres of woods behind us and marshlands and a small pond. We were close to a playground and a state park. If you are an outdoorsy person, this is paradise.
I am not, and have never been, an outdoorsy person.
In an attempt to remedy this, our parents would strongly encourage we spend time outside. We were taken camping! Given decent bikes and fishing poles. Encouraged to wander on our own and stay clear of black bears. My brother delighted in this freedom. I wanted to go back inside.
So I did the next best thing – I accepted the world I was thrust into, and brought another world with me… a book. I don’t remember the first book I read, or even the second, but I have incredible memories of sitting in the quiet of the forest behind my home, reading Tamora Pierce novels. It was like stepping through the wardrobe and into a magical place.
It was these quiet moments that grew into my passion for books, one of the few things I haven’t given up on since I was little. It was Tamora Pierce herself in these wooded reading sessions that inspired me to write (my earliest stories are basically The Circle of Magic fanfiction). There’s really nothing like sitting perched on a tree branch, listening to squirrels jump from tree to tree, and losing yourself in an adventure.
Today’s Book Blogger Hop question was:
Do you remember the first book you read by yourself?
Short answer: I have no idea what the first book was, but I have fond memories of reading as a child and recommend it to all younglings.