I have a sickness. In
late July 2010, I blogged about its beginnings when I wrote about the addiction
I acquired at a very early age - specifically, reading and the books of my childhood. What was true then is still true with my ever
growing love for the books of my youth.
Like macaroni and cheese, and mashed potatoes and gravy, certain stories
will always be the comfort food of my life, even at my ripe old age of nearing
64. The happy farmer letting the pigs slide in his dump truck still gives me the giggles, and Dav Pilkey books I purchased years ago for my son about Kat Kong, and Dogzilla are still
favorites to give to friend’s children and grands. Nothing can make me smile like those books.
Over these many years, my adult reading has had wild swings to it. The first reading passion of my twenties was
science fiction. I consumed everything I
could, especially if it had the name Isaac Asimov or Robert Heinlein attached
to it. Then I discovered Asimov branched
way outside science fiction and started consuming those offerings, some of
which came from the library and I wish I could remember titles – especially the
book of short stories that all ended in puns. (One was about a snail named
Teddy owned by Mr. Sloan. It won a race,
and the last sentence, was “Sloan’s Teddy wins the race.”) He was truly a genius. The wide variety of topics on which he wrote (all very eloquently) is astounding.
Creeping into the end of my science fiction phase, I
discovered horror. Stephen King. Dean Koontz.
Peter Straub. H.P.
Lovecraft. That era ended during the reading of King’s “The Stand.” On the same day, I purchased the book
as well as a new clock radio - one of those newfangled ones with LED digits
instead of flip-over numbers with a backlight. I can’t remember if it was neon
green or red, but after staying up half the first night, reading the book, I
removed my glasses (without them I am blind), turned off the light and fell
asleep. Waking up a few hours later, I
was frozen to my bed in fright, because Randall Flagg’s glowing eyes were there
in my apartment. The sheer terror was
overwhelming, even after I turned on the bedside lamp grabbed my glasses and
saw it was the new clock. Didn't touch
horror stories for another 30 years or more.
Now I am getting back into them with the old standards, plus J.A.
Konrath and Jim Butcher (who both inject a fair amount of humor.) With the exception of Butcher’s Harry
Dresden, I can’t get into vampires, shape shifters, werewolves, and the paranormal
stuff. Maybe someday.
Somewhere in there, I started reading, enjoying, and
collecting the classics and the poetry assigned in high school and college, and
early on I developed an affinity for reading plays. Each year, I go to the reps website, see what
new plays they are performing and order the interesting ones. I will never see 99.9% of them performed, but
I can still cast them in my head and enjoy them.Tennesse Williams, Christopher Durang, David Mamet, George Feydeau, Noel Coward, David Ives....there are far too many to list. If you don't read plays, you are missing some of the best literature out there.
I spend a lot of time reading American history. At one point, I wanted to read a bio of every
president, but after several very dry books, I have decided to only read the
ones that seem interesting to me. Love
the old west, especially as it pertains to Kansas and Missouri (as well as any local history, from the earliest days to the mob.) Always had an affinity for cowboys and
westerns (thank you Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, and Jingles), but after moving in
1998 to what was once a township where 140 years prior, James Butler Hickok was
elected constable, I cannot describe the thrill I get knowing that Wild Bill
may have once ridden across the land that is now my yard. I can spend days
reading about the border war between Kansas and Missouri during the War Between
the States. Don’t even get me started on
Lewis and Clark. I own a copy of the
journals, which I have not only read daily (corresponding with their daily entries),
but have actually used the internet and its fine mapping features to following
their path along the rivers. Gives me
the chills to be in a place where I know for a fact they have been and
described. Back in the mid 90’s a
traveling Smithsonian exhibit came to town and the two biggest draws for me
were Abraham Lincoln’s top hat and Lewis and Clark’s compass. If I could have a do-over of professions, I
would definitely pick being a historian instead of an accountant. Most definitely. Hi. my name is Sue and I am a proud geek.
Somewhere in my high school years, I developed a love of
mysteries, especially the old film noir type played by Bogie in the movies. Raymond Chandler, Erle Stanley Gardner,
Dashiell Hammett, Rex Stout, and of course Agatha Christie. There are now a wonderful set of new style
writers from whom I eagerly await the newest release, but honestly, you cannot
improve on Hammett’s beginning lines of “Red Harvest”, “I first heard Personville called Poisonville by a red-haired mucker
named Hickey Dewey in the Big Ship in Butte.
He also called his shirt a shoit.”
Best book beginning ever.
The past five or six years, I finally got into the category of writing referred to as women’s fiction, chick lit, and/or romance. For years, I avoided it like the plague,
thinking (mistakenly) that it wasn't legitimate fiction. Ha! The joke was on me. I have read some of the
most insightful, poignant, and off the charts funniest literature since I ‘lowered’
myself to read the first one. I am proud to say that a book coming out in August will have my name in the acknowledgements for aiding in creating a character - and it's not the first time my name has been listed, either. The on-line friendships I have formed with authors are some of my most treasured. I now have
a list of tried and true women’s fiction authors that I make sure to follow and
pre-order their works. They can lift me
up on the worst of days and turn blizzards into a day at the beach.
I have a basement full of books in boxes and on shelves, three
bookcases of them in the home office, stacked in various places in the house,
and well over 1,000 books on my Kindle.
I still continue to buy them. I
am like an alcoholic or drug addict, constantly needing another fix of new
words. I could live to be 100 without ever purchasing another book, and still
not read all that I have.
What a joy it is to have a sickness like this.
