I remember being so in love with books when I was younger that I’d hide under my blanket covers to read.
Fairytales and Sweet Valley Twins, Enid Blyton and Nancy Drew.
I loved stories about Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield. Having a twin sister sounded like the best thing ever, a best friend I could depend on.
My brain doesn’t hold many memories of my childhood, but one good memory I have is one of my brother bringing me to the large Borders bookstore at Wheelock and then telling me to pick one book as a Christmas gift.
I was spoilt for choice.
The one I finally picked was Christmas themed, to go along with the spirit of the December season.
I must have read this about twenty times (or more).
You might also be surprised to find out that I still have this book with me.
I realise now that it’s not the coolest thing to talk about, but I was never exposed to Roald Dahl. I think I was probably turned off by the illustration style on the Roald Dahl books, which would have been unappealing to me as a kid.
And as much as I’d like to think I was a bookworm, I was never the Rory Gilmore-type who’d read Moby Dick or Pride and Prejudice.
Trust me, I tried with Anna Karenina.
Wheelock no longer holds a bookstore, and now, I get my books off booksdepository.com.
Latest novels to arrive are the second and third books of Miss Peregine’s Home for Peculiar Children.