They say that reading is a child’s way to escape and that writing is an adults. ‘They’ must have been a fly on the wall and have seen me buried in novels as a young girl. As soon as I knew how to speak and read English, I was raping the library shelves at breakneck speed.
I’m still reading far more than I have time for. The writing came as naturally as the reading did, and escaping into the world of my novel has become nothing short of an obsession.
They’re under my skin. These characters who fill my thoughts and my heart, are with me as I plod through my daily chores, when I’m standing in line at the grocery store, as soon as I wake and before I lay my head down to sleep.
To say that they speak to me is an understatement. they whisper, they prod, they cajole, they take me back several centuries and remind me of medieval life.
I’m in love. There is no doubt or escape. They demand that their story be told. And I fall under their spell every time.