logophilia

I started reading at a really young age. Stories about Snow White, dalmatians and strawberries are some of my earliest memories when it comes to books. From there, I expanded into fairy tales- runaway princesses, mountains, outlaws and gardens, historical fiction- India, Germany and America, and mysteries - Indians, coffee and the Nile.

I've always loved a good story.

I still have a few books from my childhood that I fought for on eBay (because I didn't want the new, ugly covers - I wanted the pictures that first drew me to the story). Every now and then, I go back and pull them out and a half hour later, I am full of happy thoughts. Who says I can't ride a train to a school to learn magic? Just because I'm 21, does that mean I can no longer live with the dragons and make cherries jubilee? Will the secret garden still let me in, even if I'm tall enough to see over the locked gate?

And so I keep searching for new stories.

I recently read a series that I am only a little ashamed to admit to enjoying. My friend loaned me the first book during a bad spell, telling me it would make me happy. I started reading it, telling myself only one chapter a day (two on weekends). But four days in, I was hooked. I couldn't put it down, and then I needed the second, third and finally the fourth. Within two weeks, I had finished them all and my friend was right- I was happy.

I realized, I still love a good story.

The writing sucks. It's juvenile, the heroine is annoying, the hero is melodramatic. There are so many "gasp"s and "complain"s and "sigh"s that I want to remind her of the amazing word called "said." It's ridiculous, fanciful, cheesy. And it's one of the most captivating stories I've ever read.

I want to believe in fairy tales. I want to believe in romance, in magic, in dragons and werewolves and vampires. I want to ruminate on evil and good and the best intentions. I want love, sacrifice and danger.

If these are the stories of the childhood, I don't want to grow up.