I love to read. Don’t you? Isn’t there something magical in the way that the words seem to leap off the page and into your mind? How the characters become something more; something real to you?
That’s the way it is for me.
I started off many years ago with an empty bookcase.
It was nearly a decade ago that I started to add titles to these barren shelves—poetry, biographies, nonfiction, fantasies, quite a few myths and fables, and even some realistic fiction. However, amongst all of these different groupings, I’d come to realize that my favorites were the mysteries.
Far be it for me to not enjoy all the genres—for I do—but there is just something about this particular assemblage; these characters whose stories I am invited into—the individuals who always are put up against seemingly insurmountable problems which need to be solved.
Of course these mysteries are not without clues the author has left the reader with; in fact, these stories are literally riddled with them all throughout the chapters. It is these pages I eagerly read through, looking for the hints which will help me to figure out just what is going on; many times before the characters themselves know.
The mysteries are wonderful. Frustrating? Yes. But I find myself caught up in the story being told; those parts which are sad, the storms which must be endured, and the sunny days of little victories which make the reader long for more.
I’ve read many of these mysteries over the past nine years, but for each of these manuscripts I’ve read, I have never read the ending of any of them.
Not even one.
It’s been impossible, for each of these books was unfinished at the time—incomplete—a partial account which was still in the process of being authored.
As I look up at my bookshelf, now containing hundreds of volumes, I smile; remembering some of my favorite adventures. Every now and again, one of those old novels again comes to life when someone from years before walks through that classroom door. I find myself grateful that I had been included in a chapter or two of these unfinished chronicles.
This year, I add 24 new titles to my bookcase…
And every one of them is a mystery.
image garnered from: http://condalmo.files.wordpress.com/2008/12/infinity.jpg