That’s probably not what you would expect from someone who has made books her profession, but there you have it. I hear so many stories from readers about how when they were a kid, they would hide under their covers with a flashlight to read at night when they were supposed to be sleeping. That was not me.
Around third grade, the idea of reading books became overwhelming for me. I loved all the picture books we had at home, but I didn’t want to start a chapter book because the sheer size of them felt like something I wouldn’t be able to accomplish.
So I just…didn’t. In third grade, we had reading time once a week. It was half an hour of quiet time in class when we could read whatever book we wanted. I distinctly remember finding a comfy spot in the classroom, opening a book, and NOT READING IT. I seriously just stared at the pages, and turned them once in a while to give the appearance of reading. I even remember one of the books—Bed Knobs and Broomsticks.
It’s so strange to remember that so distinctly, because I can’t figure out why I didn’t TRY. I had nothing else to do. Why not give it a shot, Nen?
But I didn’t.
I enjoyed books. Any book the teacher would read out loud was fabulous. I was happy to pay attention and get sucked into the story. Yet that didn’t translate to me reading on my own.
Was I not a good reader? No, that wasn’t it. I wan’t even shy about reading out loud in class when the teacher asked for a volunteer to read a textbook paragraph aloud. But the responsibility of reading a whole book by myself was somehow insurmountable to my adolescent self.
I wanted to be a reader. I did. We read Little House on the Prairie in fourth grade, and I loved it, so I went to the school library and checked out the next five books in the series, and I carried them around in my backpack until it was time to return them. Because I wanted to read them. I wanted to be the girl that read books. But I didn’t ever manage it.
So, what changed?
Part of it was maturity and self-discipline. Part of it was finding the right genre. In eighth grade, my history teacher asked us all to select a historical fiction book about the civil war and read it.
I found one. I started reading. I finished it (It was called Listen for Rachel). I found another one and read that as well. Then another one. The same thing happened when I had to choose a novel about WWII. Instead of reading one, I read multiple. At that point, I was hooked. Suddenly reading wasn’t a chore, but a joy. It wasn’t something someone was making me do, it was something I was choosing to do.
That summer, between eighth and ninth grade, I moved to a different state. That gave me a whole summer with no school and no friends, so I spent a good portion of each day reading. And I haven’t stopped since.
In high school, I was the girl with the book hidden under her desk, reading while the teacher lectured. I had a job serving food at a nursing home and during my downtime, I would pull a book from my apron pocket and read. I’d become the kid reading under the covers, I just did it later than most.
Reminder
I’ll be at StoryCon Feb 21-22 at the Salt Palace Convention Center in Salt Lake City, UT. I’ll be in the exhibit hall which is free to the public and open from 10 AM to 6 PM. And I’ll be sharing a booth with my sister and fellow author, Kimberly Pearl, author of the Alayan Series.
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