Before all this quarantine began, a group of writers gathered together at a coffee house for a rare morning gabfest about books, magazines, journals, and writing in particular and in general.
One of the questions always asked when wordsmiths get together is the usual but always interesting query of “what is your earliest memory of when you became aware of reading being something special to you?”
Ahhh, an easy one for me, i spoke up quickly without even having to think about it since it hangs close to my heart where i can touch it if need be.
“In first grade of grammar school i recall once a week a reading lady came into our classroom and while standing in front of us, she would thumb through a large size magazine to find a story in it that she read to us.
While we had library books and 10 cent comic books that were traded back, forth and back again, there was no room in Mom’s budget to have magazines mailed to our home.”
What is it about memories of reading and writing that create such exciting energy to fill any room where scribblers congregate?