Growing up I loved to read. I didn’t read because books were shoved in my face, in fact, reading a novel was my mom’s greatest worry.
She had this career plan for me that the existence of novels in my life were a huge distraction. I remember several novels that were seized by my mom, some were torn on sight, and mind you, most of these novels were not mine so imagine my frustration when those novels were destroyed and having to explain to their owners how their books came about such fate.
Every bibliophile knows how precious books are, especially hard copies. If you did that to my book, you would never get another book from me. So I started the bad habit of placing my novels in the middle of science textbooks just so I could read in peace. I also discovered the super power of reading in the dark. I’d strain my eyes for hours because a torchlight meant discovery by my mom. But it was worth it.
With books, I could dream and picture places I’d never been to. It opened up my imaginations and gave me impossible standards, my world view took on a different angle, I couldn’t wait to fly and do all the things I read about. I had conversations with book characters, I even dreamt of them.
A memory stands out for me; my mom shaking me awake because I’d been screaming a bad name in my sleep. The bad name was actually the name of a pet in the book I was reading, but my mom wasn’t having it.
Is this how you want to become possessed?
She asked me to bring the book and that was the end. Few days later, I found the torn pieces of the book in her wardrobe, I glued it back and returned it to the owner, apologising once again for my carelessness.
That’s another thing books taught me; words. I built my vocabulary by reading novels. I had a dictionary with me for words I didn’t understand and if I didn’t have one close by, I would note them down in my jotter to be searched later.
Reading books was how I discovered writing. All those stories in my head, I would write them down, fillling an entire jotter. I never completed those stories. Another time, it was my dad’s A4 paper and I told myself it was my manuscript 😂.
I was such a dreamer. I miss the girl I was. I had a character for every occasion. If I had to be Miss prim and proper, I knew a character whose experience I could use. If I had to be a tomboy, I knew just how to act because I’d read about them.
I didn’t have close friends growing up, my books were my friends and I interacted with people just so I could borrow their books.
Books taught me to be smart, to be bold, to be a good researcher, to be different and embrace my difference.
Before I end this, my favourite author is Nora Roberts and the first book I read by her was Irish Rose. My mom bought that book for me after disturbing her endlessly. This was way before the art world threatened the science career she had in mind for me.
She bought Irish Rose, alongside Cassie Edwards’s Savage Obsession and A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Sparks. I remember reading Irish Rose all through the night and completing it the next day with a lantern by my bedside.
Here are some books from my childhood:
Patricia Rice – Must be Magic series
Deborah Simmons – Maiden bride
Katherine Stone – Twins
Roz Denny Fox – Who is Emerald Monday?
Remembrance; this novel had a significant impact in me at the time. I cried when it came to an end and I read the last page over and over again, it was so poetic. I’m sorry I can’t remember the author, it was a book about true loves meeting in three lifetimes each one ending tragically so when they had their final lifetime and they remembered each other, I cried. My heart still hurts for them.
Honorable mentions include: Sandra Brown, Jane Austen, Danielle Steel, John Grisham and my historical romance authors…I love you all. Thank you for making my childhood memorable.
Cheers to good books! 🥂
PS: If anyone remembers the author of Remembrance, please mention it in the comment section. 😘
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Brazen with Vanessa 