“So it goes”Slaughterhouse Five

My love for writing has been greater than reading. And that’s saying something because for me, a piece of literature in hand is heaven found. Words save me from the mundane and stagger me with enlightenment.  Literature speaks to me, educates me, surprises me, keeps me awake at night and sometimes make me cry. A hushed love affair of verses with my sentiment. My finest comrade and essential kin. 

Television while not entirely obsolete was not the fondest of entertainment influence at my house, while I was growing up. My mother’s stories were what piqued the interest. I would exasperate her to tell me more and she would tirelessly come up with new ones. I reckon, that is when I fell in love with words. 

I had a vivid imagination and could spin fresh stories in my head at quite a young age, even though I couldn’t weave them into a white sheet yet. I finally started writing when I was seven years old with halting grammar and clichéd texts. In time, my sister introduced me to the world of books and there was no going back. I stayed awake night after night, stopped reading textbooks to the utter disappointment of my parents and emerged myself in classics, crime, romance, suspense and drama. I learnt the art of writing from the writers who stole my heart. Books became my refuge in terrible nights, companion in happier times and writing became my solace. Writing was my hiding spot and I could conjure up anything and everything.  Today, all I am is what I have read and all I desire is to write.

Ergo, sit tight with a warm cup in hand, take in the emotions I bring you, feel heady and keep on reading.