Jul. 8, 2012

For the Love of Fiction

Ray Bradbury was the beginning of my loving all thing’s fiction.

 

I was in seventh grade when we had to read Something Wicked This Way Comes. I loved that book from beginning to end. I’d sit there and listen to my grandmother read it to me, close my eyes and imagine the boys in their houses, and the crazy carnival that came to town.  

 

Then I found Sharon Creech. Boy, by the end of that year, my teacher was so tired of me doing book reports on her that he actually asked me to pick another author. I just had so much fun with her characters, and you think that a teacher would see the passion I had for her and encourage it. Instead, he just got mad and demanded that I do something else.

 

Next, it was high school. And the first couple of years I lost my passion for fiction. The only book that I liked was Flowers for Algernon, and it was so depressing. That’s when I began to resent reading altogether, until I reached eleventh grade, and found The Catcher in the Rye. It was like the author was reading my mind. All those phonies in the world and I was the only genuine phony out there. Then we read The Metamorphosis, and I was in love again. And finally, there was Frankenstein, one of my absolute favorite books, and really the beginning of my love for reading supernatural fiction.

 

In twelfth grade, I started reading by myself. Wicked was the first book I read on my own, and it took me three years to finish it. I know it’s a long time, but I had other things to do. Like go off to college, and then transfer out.

 

After that, it was just an explosion of fiction... mysteries, supernatural, science fiction, romance and even graphic novels.

 

I love it all, and I think I’ll love it until the day I die.

 

So, what was the very first book that started your love of reading?

 

Tell me.

 

Signed,

The Fiction Writer