Starting a blog is a bit like dating. I know eventually I’ll get use to the ebb and flow of reviews & recipes(at least, that’s the goal!), but it seems impossible to just jump right in with a review of the last book I read or some great baking recipe without some sort of introduction. So if we were sitting across from each other, I would tell you that I wanted to write a book blog, but I didn’t want to limit myself to only books. I wanted to offer something more than just a review, because there’s already several competent and wonderful people writing book reviews. I wanted to combine my interest.
My interest in baking isn’t quite up the level of my interest in books, but I want it to be, which is why I decided “Book.Blog.Bake.” was a good fit, and I even though I had been contemplating starting a book blog for awhile, I decided after a time you just have to jump right in to these kinds of things.
My history with books is a long story, but I’ll tell the tale as best as I can. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t reading, and my parents have always told me this was intentional, since my mom read to me her entire pregnancy. I remember reading was the one subject in school in which I always excelled. It wasn’t a chore for me; it was a treat—one that I got rewarded even further for. I remember loving the library at my school so much that sometimes I would frequent it twice a day, one in the morning before classes start and one during our last twenty minutes of free time before being picked up.
Besides the library at school, I often used our local library all the time throughout elementary school. My dad is a police officer, and until I was in Jr. High, he worked nights. He was always the one to pick me up from school, and at least once a week we would head over to the local library, where I would check out ten more books in a stack that was almost as tall as I was at the time. I read most of those books on my parent’s bed, because it was soft and large and had a nightstand for a headboard, which was just perfect for my stack of books.
It’s hard for me to talk about books and express just how much books mean to me. Books have been the standard by which I measure the passage of time in my life. I know some people can recall memories associated with a particular song, scent, or even dish. For me, that marker has always been books. I remember where I was the first time I read a Harry Potter book(the 4th one, to be exact), or the fact that the first time(there were more after this) I read Black Beauty was sitting at my desk in the fourth grade.
I think stories are one of the most marvelous things ever created, and I owe a lot of myself to the stories I’ve read and have been told over time. That’s why I’m in this, blog world. And I hope that you can relate to this, if you’re reading, because books are so full of potential joy in the form of strings of words. I hope you can relate, and I hope you’ll come back for seconds.