I like to think that the only constant in life is change. That’s why I’ve decided to allow space in this section where the words can be expected to change and evolve over time…just like people. Just like me. For now, let’s start with why I love words.
One of my earliest memories is being sandwiched in bed between my two older brothers listening to stories. Most were appropriately-aged fairy tales read by our mom such as Don Freeman’s Corduroy, Ezra Jack Keats’ The Snowy Day, and our favorite, The Wolf’s Chicken Stew by Keiko Kasza. Not so many years later, the oldest of us four, my big sister, would read the younger three of us goosebump-inducing tales from Scary Stories to Read in the Dark by Alvin Schwartz as if we were camped by firelight, under a canopy of stars, smoke weaving its tendrils through our hair and searing memories into our minds.
In kindergarten, – or perhaps it was first grade? Well, a very long time ago now, my class had a party where our parents could visit during lunch. My father showed up, sat with me, and we read rhymes by some doctor or other about rotten breakfast food, and the rest of the class faded as I folded into the rhythm of the words on the page.
When I was about six or seven, I spent a month in the hospital. If you ask my mother, however, she’ll say it was only a couple of nights. The question is whose memory can you rely on: a pediatric nurse always on top of her game, or a precocious kid that hates hospitals? While I was lying atop what was surely to be my deathbed, my favorite aunt visited, a many-paged gift in hand. She sat with me awhile and read me the beginning chapters of a lesser known book about young wizards at a magical academy, battling forces of prejudice and evil. You probably wouldn’t have heard of it. The magic became real, quieting the beeps and chatter of a busy hospital and transporting me to another world.
The story is the thing.
They make us feel… everything. They stick with us.
For me, stories are a love affair for the ages.
And I intend to fall in love as often as I can.
A Written Wood 