Lately I’ve been trying to make a dent in the towering stack of books beside my bed. This pile consists of new books that I’ve set aside “to be read” and also some old “keepers” that I’m reevaluating to see if I still want to keep them (or make shelf-space for new ones). Unfortunately, my husband gets upset if I suggest simply buying more bookcases:)
So last night I found myself reading a book I’ve had sitting by the bed for a year, and I got to the part where the hero and heroine meet and he is intensely attracted to her. And suddenly, I felt that excitement, the knowledge that I LOVED these characters and wanted to keep reading all night and stay in this world. I wanted to vicariously experience this love affair and couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
Of course, I eventually had to sleep, but when I woke up this morning and saw the book on my bedside table, I found myself wishing I could spend the day reading. I’m now completely caught up in the story and can’t wait to get back to it – I even find myself rationalizing why I can put off writing my own book to read that one... And every once in a while I catch myself thinking about the book and get that jolt of anticipation and excitement that I have a great book to read tonight. It is exactly this feeling that makes us love reading – and writing. It makes me wonder how people can not like reading. Haven’t they ever experienced this?