As a preteen I began to fall in love with the notion of writing my own story. I had always loved reading and I guarded my collection of books with as much ferocity as I could. Everytime my mother got an itch to clean out the house I knew it was a matter of time before she made it to my bookshelf. We would argue endlessly about what I had to donate and what I could keep. She actually thought I could choose which books to give up!
“What about giving up the ones you read a long time ago?” she’d prompt.
“I re-read all of them though… a lot,” I’d sigh, knowing she wouldn’t understand.