The very first book I ever read was by Enyd Blyton and it got me hooked on reading. I finished it the day I got it. The book was a series about a young girl who went away to a boarding school and I absolutely loved it. It was called First term at Malory Towers. I’m forever grateful for that book because without it, I might have never started reading. Before it came along, I didn’t read. I thought I wasn’t a reader. Boy, did it change my mind.
The very first romance book I read was Twilight. A friend had it and was reading it and she showed it to me. I told her, in no uncertain terms, that I didn’t read about vampires. I remember saying it with more than a little attitude. Unperturbed, she shrugged and left the book on a table.
I read the jacket. Then, I was curious and had to read the beginning…One paragraph later and I asked my friend to borrow the book. I read the entire thing that afternoon, ignoring everyone around me. Then headed home and bought the series.
Twilight might not be everyone’s cup of tea but, for me, it was addictive. I couldn’t stop reading the books over and over. To break my habit, I tried to find something else to read. Desperate, I went to the nearby library and, as luck would have it, I found Nora Roberts. The rest, as they say, is history.
So, my personal story with books is rather filled with misbeliefs. I thought I wasn’t a reader until Enid Blyton appeared. I thought I didn’t read about vampires, until Stephenie Meyer came along…
Isn’t it lovely to be wrong?