My literary life seemed to happen almost organically. I remember my mother buying books for me when I was younger. We’d go the store and pass by the rack of books with the ‘gold’ spine. I can even recall my mom asking me to go get the TV Guide and tell her what’s coming on next. Was it a sneaky mom tactic or was she really too tired to get up and the TV Guide herself. Eh, who knows, but it was little things like that which kept me reading. There were always books available. I didn’t think much of it; what kid really does?

My love for reading isn’t something I can pinpoint but I’ve always read. I do recall that it was in 10^th grade that I had a teacher who pushed me to not just read but also write. I began to use my reading as a source for my writing. I’d rewrite ending to books that I’d read. My imagination could make anything happen and reading (along with a protective mother who didn’t want me hanging out all the time) helped me understand that. That development of my writing helped me write a screen play during college.

I don’t read or write as much now as I’d like to now. It is something that I regret. Instead, I have my children tell me about their books. My daughter found a Dork Diaries audiobook and now she has me listening to it with her. I also bring my oldest son books that my 8^th grade students have read. Sometime if I can find two copies we set a number of pages to read and talk about it. I have a few sneaky mom tactics that I use too. Somehow, someway I’m reading.