The problem with ... being a bookworm

One of my earliest childhood memories is sitting with a yellow hardcover book, pretending to read.  I was five, not able to recognise one letter or number, but knowing without a doubt that I wanted to read.  Once I started school I thrived at reading.  I just loved it then, and I still love it today.

The problem with being a bookwork is that you can get into trouble with other people (Non book worms).  I was about ten years old when we went on a family holiday  in the Game Reserve.  My dad was excitedly turning around to show us some wild animal to only find me sitting in the back of the car reading a book.  He was furious, made me put the book down and look out the window to see if I can spot a antelope.  Frankly , I couldn't see the excitement in that, seen one, seen them all, isn't it?  Apologies to all the animal lovers out there!

Another time I was supposed to help my mom clean up the kitchen but because a family favourite TV show was on she gave me off - only to walk into the TV room and find me reading, not watching TV.  Needles to say, I was summoned to the kitchen immediately!

These little setbacks  didn't kill my love for reading.  Over the years I have come to love and respect books more and more.  I am in awe of writers, I envy them and I want to be them. 

It is now twenty five years since I have graduated from University, and I still have all my text books.  Somehow, I feel like those books have been instrumental in shaping who I am now, and I find it impossible to get rid of them.  They are outdated and there is very slim change of anyone ever reading them again, but those books opened my future when I was young and full of dreams - I can't turn my back on them now.

Many other books have found their way into my home over the years.  Fiction, non fiction, spiritual, self help, medical, new age, books about food, books about children, about life and about death, about heartache and some comedies.  Books by famous authors and books by first time writers.  My only regret:  so many books, so little time!

Just when I thought I will eventually be buried under all my books, the wonderful world of e-reading opened up to me.  Now the possibilities are endless.  Only a true bookworm will understand the feeling of complete satisfaction when you lie in bed late at night, switch on the e-reader and find  a zillion books at your fingertips.  The privilege of browsing through samples, reading fellow bookworm's comments, and finally deciding on your own sweet time whether you want to download the book or not - it is pure bliss.

However, the magic of a bookshop has not faded.  It is still a privilege known only to a true bookworm to enter a bookshop, glance at he different departments and decide what you feel like today.  The quiet ambiance of a bookshop is second to none.  The fellow bookworms, people you have never met and most likely never will, yet there is a mutual feeling, a mutual respect and understanding.

I have spent this afternoon in a beautiful bookshop.  I browsed, I searched, I paged, I chose and I realised how blessed I am for being a bookworm.  Only a few other people had the same quality Sunday afternoon I had today. Our beautiful bookshops won't lose their attraction, even in todays world of  e-readers.  As I sat in a wingback chair with my choice out of thousands of books, sipping a steaming cuppa chino, I couldn't help but noticing my fellow bookworms.  Close to me sat a couple, probably in their mid thirties.  Both reading, sharing a pot of tea and a sandwich, and the contentment from their relationship clearly visible.  Just behind them two friends, discussing their purchases, clearly excited to get home and start reading.  A few more lone bookworms like myself, alone but not lonely.  One of the many good things about being a bookworm is that you hardly ever feel lonely, the whole world is out there for the taking, or the reading.

Another good thing about being a bookworm is that inevitably, for at least once in your lifetime, you will belong to a book club. Now a book club, as any true book clubber will tell you, is not always as it seems.  There are books, and there is definitely a communal love for books, but there is much more. There is lots of laughter, a few tears, lots of support, new and old friendships, and there is almost always a glass of wine.  Blessed is the book worm who first thought of a book club!

Another problem of being a bookworm is the difficulty to understand how non bookworms can function in life.  How does a human being not have the desire to open a book and get lost in it?  When my mind struggles to comprehend that, I do what any respectable bookworm do - I look for a book about people who don't read - someone must have written about it.

Has it ever been easy?

Was there ever a writer that became one instantly?  I am hoping not.  While that may sound cruel and selfish, I would like to think I am not alone in my desperate attempt to become a writer, even a part time writer for now.

I know how I want to write, I know why I want to write. I even know what I want to write. What I don't really know is how to get going.  That will be the reason why I am up and awake now, at 03:00, forcing myself to start this blog and get some words out there. 

I am inviting, (or more begging)  other part time writers out there to motivate me, challenge me, advise me, guide me, even shout at me and threaten me to allow my creative juices to start flowing.

I do find the late hour enchanting.  The quiet fills my head with thoughts, memories, dreams.  I wonder if there is any significance in the fact that tonight of all nights is the one that I finally start to write down words and open my blog.  Tonight, twenty years ago I was also awake - awaiting the birth of my daughter.  I clearly remember that feeling of anticipation, waiting for this little miracle to enter my life.  At the time I didn't know whether it would be a boy or girl, during the night my thoughts wandered from what will it be, to who will the baby look after, what personality traits would she have, and the most difficult question of all, will I be a good mother. 

I can almost still smell that night twenty years ago, the memories are so clear.  What I could not comprehend that night was how much I would love her.  I thought I was prepared for loving her to the full, but nothing can prepare a expecting parent for the magnitude of love once you hold your baby in your arms.  Earlier tonight I stared at a recent picture of my daughter, and once again my heart overflowed with love. In twenty short, short years, she has changed from a tiny pink bundle into a beautiful young woman.  I am so blessed!

And I am thinking now - on that night I was also scared and fearful, full of doubt about my capabilities.  Yet if I look back now I didn't do too bad.  I made it over highs and lows, tears and laughter. If I could do that, surely I can do this?  Surely I can write and actually publish a short story, a traveling anecdote, share an experience?

And I decide - I will do it1