So I want to talk about where it all started, how I fell in love with reading, how my favorite genre became my favorite genre… and to do that, we have to take it all the way back to ten years old.

It was the year 2001, and I was in the fifth grade. And I don’t think there’s anyone who doesn’t remember how we were all required to read a certain number of books every year, but the more you read, the more prizes you earned. The programs were probably called different things at different schools, but I’m sure it was the same general principle, and it was a huge part of elementary and middle school. I feel like most kids dreaded it, and I think, to some degree, so did I.

But I still went down to the library, I still checked out books, I still read them, even if I wasn’t all that enthusiastic about it.

I also remember the day that changed.

It was the day I checked out a Hardy Boys book, opened it up, and then, for the life of me, couldn’t put it down.

I can’t tell you why, I can’t tell you what it was; all I know is that I was hooked.

After that, I read one after the other in rapid-fire succession. I had so many accelerated reader points that I was, while not even trying, racking up all the little prizes. Even the big prize, which was a day trip to the beach—where another kid got stung by a jellyfish, something that, I’m not going to lie, I still find traumatizing. I’m terrified of jellyfish to this day, and it’s all Mark’s fault! And I don’t know what happened to Mark, or where he ended up in the world, but he’s probably out there swimming with the jellyfish, not traumatized at all, while it takes all my courage just to dip a toe in the ocean.

But I digress, I’m getting off topic here. Although, technically, I guess it’s all part of the journey.

Anyhow, moving on…

There’s another moment that really stands out in my mind, just this vivid memory that has stayed with me all these years. I look back now, and I can see the clear foreshadowing of what was to come, of who I would become.

I remember my mom telling me to go to sleep, but also remember not doing what she told me to do… because, well… kids, amiright? (I don’t even have kids at this stage in my life, but I was a kid, so I know. We’re a whole handful!)

So anyway, while I was supposed to be sleeping that night, I was snuggled up under a cozy heap of blankets, a little headboard light shining down on me and the Hardy Boys book I was devouring instead of sleeping.

And what I remember so vividly was that Joe Hardy had a girlfriend, and that night I was absolutely obsessed with their little relationship. — It wasn’t the mystery, the sleuthing, or the case… oh, no… it was the very G-rated romance arc that wasn’t even really a romance arc, but I was about eleven by that time, and it was enough for my little eleven-year-old, romantic-at-heart self.

And looking back, I swear that was just some serious foreshadowing. I wouldn’t put the book down because I wanted romance, dang it, and I wanted it more than I wanted to go to bed. The future little romance reader and writer in me was already making herself known, and I didn’t even know it.

And so now this is where the story takes a bit of an unexpected turn.

I quit reading.

Somewhere after that fifth-grade year, for a reason I can’t even name because it wasn’t a conscious decision that I made, I simply quit reading. No rhyme or reason. It just happened. (It’s probably Mark’s fault, honestly. Him and his stupid jellyfish, but once again, I digress…)

Fast forward a few years, and I was fourteen; it was the summer before I would start high school, and everything changed again.

Every Thursday night, my mom would go grocery shopping, and I always tagged along. My dad and my brother didn’t really care to go, so it was more of a mother/daughter thing. But my mom was particular about her grocery shopping. She had a list, she had a calculator, and she didn’t want me talking her ears off while she was trying to focus.

Now you might be wondering why that’s relevant to this story, but it’s relevant because, on the night in question, I was talking her ears off, and she told me to get lost. Cause, once again… kids, amiright?

So I made myself scarce, and eventually I was bored out of my mind and wandered over to the books and magazines. I was just killing time.

So I browsed the books, read all the back covers, and by the time my mom made her way over to me, I’d picked one out.

I asked if I could have it, if she’d buy it for me. I was fourteen, after all. That was the only way I was going to get it.

I don’t remember the conversation that transpired, just that she didn’t really seem to mind, and so she said yes, and I got to take it home. (Although, looking back, she might should have minded, maybe cracked it open and skimmed around a bit, cause woo boy! It contained some particularly spicy midnight shenanigans in the kitchen that involved naughty things with ice cream and chocolate syrup, and my fourteen-year-old self was fascinated, I tell you! Like, people do this on the kitchen counter with their ice cream? Fascinating! Also a little kinky, but okay. Cool. However you want to eat your ice cream, go for it! 😉)

And anyhow, I went home with my new—somewhat spicy—book, expecting to crack it open and maybe read a page or two, only to find myself, once again, unable to put a book down.

I was all in after that, and I was all about the romance. You couldn’t pry the romance novels out of my hands.

And don’t get me wrong, while I don’t read them as often, I do read books in other genres, too. I enjoy a good suspense novel, a good thriller, a sci-fi; especially if it’s reminiscent of something like Stargate, or a post-apocalyptic, dystopian novel. — I do enjoy other things occasionally, when I’m in the mood for them. Things that don’t involve romance. Although if you write those things and give me a romantic subplot as well… that’s it. You got me. A zombie novel with a side of romance? I’ll read it! Let’s get our zombie-fighting gear on and let’s go! — Or the characters can go, and I’ll read about it, cause… hard pass on surviving a zombie apocalypse. I’m not built for that! Zombies are kind of disgusting, and I’d probably trip and get turned into one, and I don’t want to go out like that, so I’ll just read about it.

… Yes, I realize I’ve lost the thread again, and that I am now discussing my odds of surviving a zombie apocalypse. — My bad! 😉

Anyway, that’s pretty much how it happened, and while I had a few years there where I somehow lost my love for reading, I eventually found it again, and I haven’t stopped reading since the day I asked my mom to buy me a book on a whim.

And now I’m an author, out here writing my very own romance novels. — Even got one with a character that’s terrified of jellyfish. Mark really left his mark, no? (I’m sorry. I apologize. I couldn’t help it. I will take my lame jokes somewhere else now.)

So if you’ve got a minute, and you managed to read all of this, drop a comment and tell me where it all started for you. Because you don’t just fall in love with reading… well, you do. But it starts somewhere, and I would love to know where it started for you.

-heather.