Time for a quick calculation.
By my rough estimate I must have read around 4,000 books in my lifetime so far. If I’m mumblemumble40something and I’ve been reading on average 2 books a week for the past 40 years (and that’s a low estimate) then to keep the maths simple 40x2x50 weeks a year is 4000. That’s a heck of a lot of books, but this quote by one of my (newly discovered) favourite authors sums it up perfectly for me…
“Few things leave a deeper mark on the reader, than the first book that finds its way to his heart.” Carlos Ruiz Zafón
So what was the first book that found its way into my heart? Well I really can’t say actually. Not that I won’t say, but I can’t say. I have read so many books that when finished leave me happy, sad, frustrated, upbeat, emotionally exhausted. There’s just something about getting to the end of a book you’re in love with and not wanting for it to ever end. You want to read the ending obviously but it’s like losing a best friend.
Also the act of losing myself in a book is just wonderful. There can be chaos going on around me – the dawg is ripping up his blankets, the kids are starting World War III, the dinner is burning but do I care – no, because I’m escaping from reality into my fantasy worlds.
Is this just me or do all readers feel this way?
As a p.s. my husband often asks me why I can’t write a book myself – I’ve read enough of them and surely can manage to write one, as he heads off to the golf course…. I guess I just don’t have the imagination to come up with a completly original idea or story. I’ll leave that to others who do it so well.
Although ‘Murder on the Golf Course’ has a certain ring about it…. hmmmm.