I love to read. I wasn't always a reader. My parents were, that's for sure.
I wasn't interested - at all. Remember when you had to read a book in school? And then write a book report???
I remember as a teen when I found out about those abridged things that you thought you could use to fake your way through the whole book.
What were they called? Was it Cliff Notes or something like that?
Well, that was me. All the way.
Then I got married and soon afterward my new husband left for basic training in the Coast Guard.
I don't remember the first book I picked up in his absence but it was "love at first read."
I've been at it ever since.
I've read many genres but the last 20 years or so I've been looking for murder on every page.
Set in current times and in this country. Hardly ever varied from that narrow scope.
Recently I decided enough of that and started looking for just a plain old good story. Still preferring a current setting and happening in this country.
The first two picks were enjoyable and by authors that were known to me but the one I finished yesterday was a new guy.
It swept me away. I was totally engrossed and couldn't wait to pick it back up when I was called away by laundry or kitchen stuff. Yuck.
It was the kind of story you can actually visualize. Most of it took place on Ocracoke Island which I visited many years ago with Petey and my sister, Lisa, so that made it extra easier to "see" as I read along.
I loved the characters and really enjoyed watching their relationships develop.
Then it got emotional. I teared up a few times which was annoying because I had to keep blinking and dabbing in order to continue reading.
I was so wrung out when I came to the end yesterday afternoon I had to take a nap. My eyes really hate crying. They don't have the stamina they used to have. I was a mess.
I was going to send the author an email but when I looked him up, his site didn't have a "contact me" on it. So I decided I'd check out his other books even though I knew I'd have to have some recuperation time before I tackled him again.
Well . . . . he wrote "The Notebook." Nicholas Sparks.
I never read that book and refused to see the movie because I know myself well enough to know I wouldn't survive the story.
Lesson learned.
I'll continue on in this vein for who knows how long and try to avoid the tear-jerkers.
