I’m going to choose my words very carefully. Because for as long as I can remember, I have loved words. Words convey meaning, and I can’t help but think that a search for meaning is what the whole human experience is about.
I didn’t think about this meaning stuff when I was eight years old in the summertime, riding a bus back from downtown at my grandma’s side. She always bought me at least two books when we would go to the bookstore downtown – one for the bus, one for the evening, and then we would go to the library to check out more books the next day. I would hear her brag to friends on the phone that I’d finished one of the paperbacks before the bus reached home. I would feel proud.
I devoured books as a kid, and I write this so you know that I…
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