I’m a read-a-holic and proud of it

I love books. I love how they can transport me to another world, can make me feel and laugh and cry. I love being swept away, not noticing the rumble and screech of the subway train, or the heat of the day as I turn the pages. I love how I can sit down, all stressed out or worried or upset, pick up a book, and get some relief.

I love how fantasy books, especially, can make me feel a sense of wonder and anticipation and hope, how they can seem to open my mind and imagination up to doorways and possibilities, and bolster my own dreams. And I love how gritty fiction can help me feel less alone, or feel validated, understood, yes, it’s really like that.

A good book–a well-written book–feels like an incredible gift to me. More than a gift, it feels like soul food–something that feeds me, that I can’t live without. Books helped me survive a childhood of abuse and torture–they gave me escape, freedom, and showed me worlds, people, and ways of being that I didn’t know anything about.

Books are powerful. They’re entertainment, escape, release, and connection. And they’re so much more.

I love books. So it’s no surprise that I write them.