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  • I must have been about eight years old the year I received my first library card. I remember how proud I was going to the bookmobile every two weeks throughout the summer to exchange my books. At first it was The Hardy Boy series and then the Rick Brandt books. Adventures at my fingertips. I learned to disappear for hours in other worlds. Edgar Rice Burroughs created other planets for me to explore.

    My brother can and has attested to the cries of “turn that light out and go to sleep” from our mom. And my answer was always, “one more chapter”. There was always one more chapter to be read. It was like a drug, this reading of books. I couldn’t get enough of it. I would lose sleep and skip going out with friends just so I could stay in those wonderful worlds on the page.

    And, when I was in the Navy, I often spent the entire weekends in port with my nose shoved into a book. John D. MacDonald, Helen McGinnis, Alistair MacLean, the adventures were never ending. And that was just in the M section of the library shelves. Everywhere I’ve ever lived, even temporarily duty stations, I had a local library card. So it should come as no surprise that my addiction has stepped up a notch.

    The creating of stories has me in its grip. I find that not only do my characters want to stay alive, but I want to stay with them. I almost get the shakes if I can’t get back to my story. The world I have created is the world I chose to live in…the only one I come alive in. The rest of the time is spent wishing I could return to that world. My mundane existence has become flatter by comparison.

    I think I may need a twelve step program for storytellers.
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