It’s Week #42 of the #MFRWauthor Blog Challenge! Before I go any further, I’m going to interrupt your regularly scheduled blog post for this public service announcement… Hey, fellow challenge participants – start thinking of weekly topics so we can continue this challenge in 2018! #MFRW is willing to keep it going if someone will provide topics. I figure if we each come up with half a dozen, we’ll have more than we need! Think of some, write them down somewhere (or send them to me and I’ll hang on to them). I/we can submit them in mid-November so they have time to coordinate next year’s challenge. *Readers – is there something about me/writing/my books/life/whatever that you’re dying to read about? Please let me know in the comments below!
Okay, back to this week’s topic…my first love. Hmm, this prompt could be taken so many different ways….
Are they referring to my first crush?
No question – it’s David Cassidy. I never missed an episode of The Partridge Family TV show and I bought every record of David’s upon release. My bedroom was covered in his posters. I had notebooks with his picture on them for school. I had a Partridge Family purse. Heck, I even had a Partridge Family lunchbox (yes, that was a thing back then). When David Cassidy came to Miami to do a concert, I BEGGED for tickets for weeks (in fact, I’m still fulfilling all the promises I made to my parents if only they would “just let me – please!! – go to his concert!”). One evening, I sat down to dinner, opened my napkin and – OMG!! – my coveted tickets were sandwiched between the napkin folds. The neighborhood is still echoing with my screams of joy (I may have cried a little, too). My VERY easy-going, long-suffering father toted my neighbor and I an hour to the concert (one way), then sat – uncomplaining – through the show while every other person in the entire auditorium stood on their seats and shrieked through the whole concert. David was the size of an ant on that far, far, very far-off stage, gyrating in his white leisure suit. We all hollered so loudly, you couldn’t hear a note he sang. I remember looking down at my father – he was huddled in his seat in the darkness, fingers in his ears, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else but there. But he never complained (as if I’d have heard him through all the screaming). It. Was. Awesome.
Anyhow, after I stopped thinking about Dreamboat David, I pondered the other possibilities for this weeks’ topic and the meaning of “my first love”. Do they mean boyfriends? Pets?? Chocolate???
Then, it hit me. In fact, it literally hit me when a book fell off my desk and bruised my toe (damn you, you five-pound Roget’s Thesaurus!).
Reading is my first love.
I’ve been reading since kindergarten, at least. Maybe before then, but I’m not sure. Back in the caveman days (as my kids like to call them), children didn’t learn to read until they went to kindergarten (or it might have been first grade). But, once I learned, reading opened a whole new world for me.
I am never alone when I am reading. I am never bored when I’m reading. I can visit any country, any time in history, any planet – even when I’m standing in line at the DMV (or somewhere equally mind-numbing). Books are teachers, dreamers, world-builders. They are magic carpets waiting to whisk you into another life or into another dimension. They allow you to try on a new persona and live in other realms when you become immersed in their tales.
I shudder to think of the emptiness of a life in which I couldn’t read. Perhaps that’s why I’m an author – I like to think I’m spreading the joy.
Click here to find out about the first loves of the other authors on the blog. And, don’t forget to leave a comment below if you have a topic you’re just dying to read about. Thanks!