For the Love of Reading

In my busy world of working, marketing, writing, rewriting, Things One and Two, etc, etc, the one thing I abandoned was a good book.  Every year I tell myself, I'll read more, and I really don't. I think I read about 5-7 books last year. I'd like to read at least one a month, and that's pathetic I know, two a month would be better.

This year I'm up to four, which I suppose, isn't too far behind my goal, but still feels like it's not enough. I miss getting lost in a good book. I love the feeling of not wanting to put the book down, of can't waiting to pick it back up.

I finished a book Monday night, Velveteen by my friend Danny Marks. It felt so good to finish a book again. I picked another one up last night, Love and Leftovers by Sarah Tregay. I devoured that one in one sitting. I forgot how much I love to read, and of all things in my life to push aside in favor of others, reading should not be one of them. It's one of the only things I do for me.

Lately, I've been feeling the need for a little escape--to forget about where I am, who I am. To forget or not care what time it is. To travel to a place outside my own reality, be it Purgatory, New Hampshire, or Vietnam (one of the books I read this year was Inside Out and Back Again, by Thanhaa Lai).

I am going to read more this year. I'm up to four books. I'm starting another one today. I'm not going to push aside my means of escape, my free therapy, my only thing for me, anymore.