When my sister and I were in grade school our parents had our cable t.v. disconnected for nearly a year. Why? Evidently we were not showing any interest in cultivating a love of literature. Our after-school schedule had turned into a 4-hour long marathon of televised drama, comedy or action-adventure.
Our parents, who were both very avid readers had repeatedly tried, unsuccessfully, several creative means to instill us with an interest in reading. Then one night we obviously dished out the last straw. Our Dad was reading us our bedtime story ( a selection from The Song of Hiawatha) and we were being particularly bratty. (read as plugging our ears to keep from listening)
I'm not sure whether we truly didn't like the poem (which I have since re-read and it really is beautiful) or we were just trying to be obnoxious, or if (most likely) we were only stalling about going to bed. Anyhow, I can not recall exactly what was said or how it all went down. I only know that one of those life-altering parental discussions immediately took place. That was closely followed by decisive parental action to have our cable t.v. turned off.
Evidently the plan was to starve us for entertainment. If we became bored enough then we might reach for one of the gazillion books lying about our home. Then hopefully we would find that we actually enjoyed it.
Well it worked. Although I am sure it wasn't the first book I picked up, I can remember the first book which unlocked my passion for a good story. It was
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle.
After that I was hooked. I had become completely engulfed by the characters and their adventures. I was so sucked in that as I read, I felt compelled to keep reading. To keep turning the pages. I needed to see what was happening next and yet at the same time I was experiencing fear. I was afraid that each page would be the last. I wanted soooo badly to know how the story would end, all while secretly hoping it never would.
So that my friends is the story of my fiction addiction.
