I’m the girl who shouts at people for saying Harry Potter is fictional (he isn’t!). I’m the one who, after reading Harriet the Spy, hid in bushes wearing green and brown and spied on my neighbors. I want to be Peter Pan, but I wouldn’t mind settling for Robin Hood. At night, I dream about riding dragons and saving the world. Mr. Darcy is my husband, except when I’m an elf.
I “blame” this imagination on too many books. As a child, I just sat in a corner and read…all the time. I couldn’t ever fall asleep during nap time, so while my mom thought I was asleep I’d read all the storybooks in my room. I read every Peter Rabbit book known to man, memorized Uncle Remus stories, and begged my father to read The Three Little Pigs just one more time (with voices). Every Christmas my dad would read A Christmas Carol to me while we sat in front of a fire, and I’ve got it so engrained in my mind that every time I say “come along,” I mentally follow it with “Ebenezer.”
I like that my mind is constantly somewhere else. I like that no matter where I am, I feel happy because of the stories I carry inside myself. People get frustrated sometimes because they think I’m not paying attention (and sometimes I’m not), but I don’t mind because I’d rather be making up adventures than talking to them anyway. My life is extended into stories others have written (and some I’ve created myself), and I think that makes my life richer. There’s no point in living if life doesn’t feel magical.
I like that every Christmas I read Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. I’m glad that if I have children, I know I’ll be able to pass on some amazing adventures in story form. I want to read them all my favorite books, even if they don’t understand them just yet. And I want to be able to write amazing stories that other people will read and think about the way I think about The Scarlet Pimpernel.
I got accepted to my first choice college the other day, and in between jumping up and down excitedly and crying with my mother I thought, “What am I going to do without all my books?” I don’t want to leave them all behind; they’re my security blanket. But I doubt I’ll have room for twenty books in college, so I’m attempting to stay in a dorm close to the library. Libraries, by the way, are Buddah’s gift to mankind…really.
Because it’s Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for the snow and I’m thankful for the books I’ve read, the books I’ll read in the future, and the books I’ll someday write.