Raised a reader

It started as a tug at my heart on the way home, one wishing for more time with my mom.  That was answered by a gentle nudge as I remembered the question at #CCIRA18 about the experience that turned me into a reader. That was echoed in a friend’s “A reader is who I am” blog series.

You see, to my mom, raising a reader is familiar territory.  She read all the time. Danielle Steele. Sydney Sheldon. Jane M. Auel. And she rocked me to bed at night on the gentle waves of her queen-sized waterbed.  We’d help each other hold a Laura Ingalls Wilder book open above us.  We’d trade pages and read left to right and back again.  My sister completed the mom-and-book sandwich; she preferred to listen.

It was on those page-swept shores that I became a reader, too.  I read all the time.  Pokey Little Puppy.  There’s a Monster at the End of this Book.  The BFG. Even when I was in college, I’d sit on the back porch while she tended her garden and she’d let me read chapters from Harry Potter to her.

We read all the time.

Time to find a book that will span the distance and the minutes so that we can slice this life together more often.  What do you say, mama?  What’s on top of your “to be read” pile?

---

I am participating in the 11th annual Slice of Life Story Challenge (#SOLSC18) hosted by Two Writing Teachers.  We write each day in March as part of an international writing community.  I appreciate any comments, especially those that

• reinforce writing decisions that work and
• coach into those that don’t.

Think of each comment you leave as a little writing conference we are having together. Come on, make me a better writer today! Thank you!