Confessions of a Reader

I am not the kind of reader that you think I am.

I am a librarian and I see so many good books that I think I’ve tried most every genre.  Even if I decide something isn’t for me, I’ll try again if a book tickles my fancy.

I have so many books that I actually have boxes staked in my closet.  I want bigger bookshelves but I don’t even know if it will help.

Nothing excited me so much as new donations to the library book sale.  Second is a used book store.

I take reading seriously.  I have expectations on how much I should read a day and how much I should read a year and I hardly ever make those goals.  I have lists of books read and books to read and books by certain authors and on certain topics.  All of my lists are also digitized.  I cannot resist a new list of books.

I like to read books about reading books.

My to be read list is a large part of my fear of death.  I will obviously never get through all of the books I would like to.

I was a slow reader.  I was in phonics at school until fourth grade.  In sixth grade I was reading Shakespeare for the hell of it.  In seventh grade I had a mean English teacher that nearly killed my love of books.  In eighth grade my English teacher encouraged me to read funny books and books that interested me instead of limiting myself to what I thought was “good for me.”  By the time high school rolled around, I had the reputation of a reader.  I started working at the library my junior year and have been here over 13 years now.

I don’t really think that I was slow, though.  I think that I was like most kids: over ambitions.  I didn’t want to read some stupid kids book.  I wanted to read the big, thick magical ones, ones I knew would transport me past the first grade.

I live in a reading rainbow and I am damn proud of it.


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