There is a certain feeling when I have a book in my hand. The feel of it, the mystery that it carries, ready to be unravelled when I open it. The smell of old books and yellowed pages like the wrinkles on old people’s faces a display of wisdom and endurance. I am old school when it comes to books , I do not like the electronic version of it . Every book is a present . Whenever I visit a Book store I come out with a book in my hand . I am an impulsive book buyer , I can’t help it ! Coffee , bed , book and rain .. what can I say? These are a match made in heaven. I like the bliss that I get when I plunge head first into the story and become one with the characters. Maybe that’s the reason which led me to writing .
Books were my friends when I was a child . Being an only child ,I found a comrade in books. This bond still lasts despite the fact that I now have great human friends. Seeing the number of books that keep increasing on my book shelf fills me with a belief that I have actually achieved something priceless. .I have lot of books to read and this year I have taken a vow to finish as many as I can .But I’ll never swear to stop buying books even if I can’t finish reading them. 😉
When ever I go for some book fair I tell myself that one day book fairs will have books written by me for sale . I look forward for that day when I fill that void in someone’s life and enrich their imagination. I understand that the life of a writer is unpredictable sometimes you click other times it doesn’t. It is a long haul, the view is worth it and I am ready to climb the mountain and plant my flag on the peak of Mount Literature.