Devouring the printed word.
Necklace I am coveting, from Tilly BloomBooks and reading are some of my favourite things.
I could read all day if possible. Pre-TSB, I used to do that. Whole days spent laying indulgently in bed, reading voraciously. Devouring word after word.
These days, I still manage to find time to read. Sometimes this is online, where I'll spend vast and unspecified (because I may incriminate myself) amounts of time perusing blogs and forums, just reading, not often commenting or replying. Not totally sure why, as I am very opinionated in real life, but I think it is because the time I spend typing responses could be better spent reading something new.
But I do find time each day to read the printed word too. Nothing compares to bound pages of magical letters creating words and worlds. The pleasure I derive from holding a book is immense. I don't understand people who say they don't have time to read. I shake my head at them, and furrow my brow, wrinkle my nose whilst thinking that housework can't be more important than reading.
I'll read trash. I'll read literature. I'll read textbooks for fun, and brochures, and street signs. I'll read a story that affects me profoundly, and follow it up with a fashion magazine.
I'm the first to admit I'm a Word Whore. And I'm cool with that.
The most obvious sign of my commitment to words is The Small Boy. He reads. Constantly. Ok, so he can't actually read, but he is often found sitting with a book, doing his own version of reading. Story books, picture books, magazines, novels, he's not fussy either.
Children learn by example, and this is an example I am so proud my son is learning from me.
I remember times spent in other worlds, through the medium of books, growing up and I can only hope for and encourage The Small Boy to experience this also.
I could read all day if possible. Pre-TSB, I used to do that. Whole days spent laying indulgently in bed, reading voraciously. Devouring word after word.
These days, I still manage to find time to read. Sometimes this is online, where I'll spend vast and unspecified (because I may incriminate myself) amounts of time perusing blogs and forums, just reading, not often commenting or replying. Not totally sure why, as I am very opinionated in real life, but I think it is because the time I spend typing responses could be better spent reading something new.
But I do find time each day to read the printed word too. Nothing compares to bound pages of magical letters creating words and worlds. The pleasure I derive from holding a book is immense. I don't understand people who say they don't have time to read. I shake my head at them, and furrow my brow, wrinkle my nose whilst thinking that housework can't be more important than reading.
I'll read trash. I'll read literature. I'll read textbooks for fun, and brochures, and street signs. I'll read a story that affects me profoundly, and follow it up with a fashion magazine.
I'm the first to admit I'm a Word Whore. And I'm cool with that.
The most obvious sign of my commitment to words is The Small Boy. He reads. Constantly. Ok, so he can't actually read, but he is often found sitting with a book, doing his own version of reading. Story books, picture books, magazines, novels, he's not fussy either.
Children learn by example, and this is an example I am so proud my son is learning from me.
I remember times spent in other worlds, through the medium of books, growing up and I can only hope for and encourage The Small Boy to experience this also.
Labels: covet, pleasure, The Small Boy
Al at 8:01 PM