I have loved to read for as long as I can remember.  I don’t remember learning how to read.  It’s as if I learned to walk, talk and read all at the same time.  I don’t remember struggling to sound words out or hating it when the teacher called on me in class to read out loud.

I do remember hiding under my covers with a flash light as I read about “Mistress Mary” from India learning all about the Moor and a lovely boy named Dickens who I was half in love with and half wanted to be.  I remember cheering Ramona on as she took a single bite out of each apple in a case of apples because “The first bite is always the best”.  I remember solving mysteries with Nancy Drew and discovering magic in Narnia.

I never felt as if I missed out on anything, although my family rarely traveled further than the camp ground an hour a way from our home.  I traveled to England with M. Hercule Poirot and Ms. Marple.  I saw the south and east coasts with Trixie Belden.  I never felt as if I was missing out on anything.

I remember when I found a copy of the “Clan of the Cave Bear” in Junior High.  I felt as if I was reading and discovering some secret adult world.   Books have always been an important part of my life.

And now I have discovered a new hunger.  I don’t simply wish to consume books.  I want to create them.  I have always hungered for the written word.  But of late, my desire is not to dine upon rich stories of fantasy, but to create them.

Like a master chef, I carefully craft my stories and present them to my family and friends.  I hold my breath and wait for them to take that first bite.  I linger as they digest what I have created.  I cross my fingers and wait for them to push away their plate and say “well done”.

I hunger to write.  I long to see my name on the spine of a book, side by side with the other master craftsmen.  Writing is a need that growls inside my belly when I do not fulfill it.  Writing is not just a drug that I can detox from. It is something I will need to do for the rest of my life.

Someday, I will see my name on the spine of a book.  Someday I will share my carefully crafted feast of words with the world.  When that happens I wonder, what will I do next.


One thought on “Hunger

  1. This one could have been written about me. I too have been able to read for as long as I can remember. Books were my escape……my place to hide….my connection to the outside world……and I can think of nothing that would be better than seeing my name on the spine of a book.

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