“Why do you read so much?”

I may be paraphrasing, but it’s the basic question I hear all the time. “Why does your nose appear to be permanently glued to the inside of a book (or a Nook?)” And the answer isn’t glamorous, or exciting, or even educational. Sometimes the answer is actually sort of sad, but the truth often is. Sometimes I simply read to escape. In books, I can go somewhere safe. To a place where nothing can hurt me.

As a child, I would lock myself in my room for hours on end reading adventures, one after the other, for no other reason than to experience the magic of reading. To spend time in a world I could never go to in reality. And don’t we all need that from time to time? I find I need it more, now that I’m grown. When the stress of the real world weighs heavy on me I can disappear without leaving my jammies. I don’t have to pack a lunch, or leave the house. I don’t have to let the sadness take me when I have the perfect place to hide.

And sometimes I just need to hide for a while.

I have no idea why I’ve been an emotional basket case for the past several weeks (possibly months). I can’t exactly blame PMS for everything (although I do try). I suppose I could analyze it, and I probably wouldn’t like what I found, but instead I choose to disappear into the pages of a book. Yesterday, I found the inspiration to disappear into one of my own books…to work on a project I’d put down for too long. But today, it was back to the escapism of someone else’s words. I’m ok with that…for now. I know I can’t continue to wallow here for all eternity, but maybe I just need to wallow for a little while longer.

Besides, I have writer friends who would like me to read their books, and now I have the perfect excuse to dive in. I’m all about finding the positive in everything.

And I’m positive there’s a book calling my name at this very minute.

Until the next time…I’ll be catching up with a few of my favorite vampires.