I wish I could remember the book.
The book that transformed me from someone who knew how to read into a READER.
My definition of a READER is someone who must read, and often.
I wish I could point to one title and say, “That was it. That was the doorway.”
But I cannot.
Looking back, it feels like one minute I was yawning over “Run, Dick, run,” and the next I was getting in trouble for reading behind textbooks and under the covers with a flashlight.
Somewhere in between, reading stopped being something I could do and became something I needed to do.
The Moment Reading Changes
I do not remember the exact moment reading changed for me.
I only know that it did.
The fictional worlds created by amazing authors were sometimes more real to me than my real world. I can remember more about the plot of a novel my third-grade teacher read to us after lunch than I can remember about most of third grade.
This may suggest I have always had an uncertain relationship with reality.
I am fine with that.
By at least third grade, I had learned that fiction could take me far beyond the bounds of my real life.
I could travel without leaving my chair.
I could meet people I would never meet otherwise.
I could face danger without actually being in danger.
I could fall in love, solve mysteries, cross oceans, travel through time, explore strange planets, and come home again.
All while sitting snugly in a comfortable armchair.
Or hiding under the covers with a flashlight.
Why Readers Love Books
I still love the comfort of reading.
The chair.
The blanket.
The quiet.
The sense of stepping out of my own day and into someone else’s adventure.
But my love of reading is not only about comfort.
The biggest attraction for me is the magic.
When I connect with the words an author uses, I am swept into a new place with interesting people having amazing adventures.
Sometimes those people are brave.
Sometimes they are funny.
Sometimes they make terrible decisions and I have to keep turning pages to see if they survive themselves.
Sometimes I want to shake them.
Sometimes I want to hug them.
Sometimes both.
That is part of the magic of reading.
Words become people.
Places.
Weather.
Danger.
Hope.
A room you can almost smell.
A laugh you did not expect.
A heartbreak you feel in your chest, even though everyone involved is made of ink, pixels, and imagination.
The Magic of Words
I have written about books I love before, but this may be the first time I have written about my passion for reading itself.
Yes, I checked.
Which feels like a very reader thing to do.
I love words.
I love words grouped together in magical ways.
I love what I learn from them.
I love meeting new words.
I love getting reacquainted with old words used in new ways.
I love the sound and shape and weight of them.
I love words going into my head.
I love words flowing out of my head and onto the page.
Words are how I travel.
Words are how I wonder.
Words are how I understand things I have never lived and remember things I have never done.
The Bookstore Shock
One of the most shocking moments of my life happened in a bookstore.
A bookstore.
A place filled with doors.
A place packed with adventures.
A place that smells like possibility.
I was sitting there a long time ago, but not that far away, when someone told me they “don’t read.”
In a bookstore.
That may have been the only time I did not have words.
They might as well have said they did not eat, sleep, or breathe.
What Makes a Reader?
I know not everyone reads the same way.
Some people read slowly.
Some people listen to audiobooks.
Some people read only nonfiction.
Some read romance, mystery, history, science fiction, fantasy, thrillers, biographies, cookbooks, or the back of cereal boxes.
I am not judging.
Well, maybe a little if you say you do not read in a bookstore.
But mostly, I am curious.
Because readers fascinate me.
We all enter the magic from different doors.
Maybe one book changed everything for you.
Maybe you remember the title.
Maybe you can still see the cover.
Maybe you still remember what it felt like to become a reader.
Or maybe, like me, you cannot remember the exact moment.
Maybe one day words were words, and then somehow they were a world.
Why Do You Read?
So yes, I have to ask.
Why do you read?
I know you do, because you are here reading these words, so do not give me that “I don’t read” line.
Though you can tell me what you do not read, if you feel you must.
I would rather hear what you do read.
I would love to know if you feel the magic, too.
And if you remember the book, I will be very impressed.