I don’t consider myself much of a writer, at least not in terms of an author of books or a journalist on the hunt for an exposé. Rather, I’m a believer in writing to make oneself happy, to reconnect with the more tactile pleasures in the world. To send snail mail and handwritten notes, those little pieces of love, to friends and family from one part of the world to another. Who doesn’t love opening their mailbox and seeing among the never ending bills and junk mail an envelope with a familiar name on it? I certainly do. In fact, that has been known to brighten an entire week for me, especially if it’s been a particularly rotten one.
Anyways, moving on from writing. While creating a story from my imagination isn’t my forte, reading others’ stories most certainly is. “Bookworm” is a rather common descriptor for me – and not just from myself. Most everyone who has known me across the years, from a little tike to an young adult trying to navigate the real world of bills and student loans, would describe me as a voracious reader. No matter where I go, I usually have a book nearby. I have library cards from everywhere I’ve lived (and some places I haven’t), it’s a point of pride, really. Libraries, used bookstores, and coffee shops are usually the first places I scope out when I move somewhere new.
Now that you’ve gotten a little glimpse of who I am, I’d like to bring us to the main point – why we’re here. Reading makes me happy. Writing letters makes me happy. So why not try combining the two and seeing if that too makes me happy. It’s worth a shot, right? Maybe this whole endeavor will be book reviews, my explorations of my new(ish) city, and/or local gems I find. Perhaps it’ll be a hit. More than likely it’ll just be me writing for the sake of enjoyment and you know what? That’s fine by me. No matter how this turns out, it’s an attempt at seeing if blogging is something I’ll enjoy. If it is, excellent! If it’s not, no harm, no foul. Never hurt anyone to try something new.