I love to write and always have for as long as I can remember. I wrote a story in a book when I was about 10 or 11 and I remember my mum telling me she thought it was brilliant. I loved English at school and writing composition assignments. I managed an O level grade B in it which enabled me to become a multi millionaire. Ok maybe not but I have had a lifelong passion for books and paper.
My pocket money was spent after several hours perusing the books in Smiths at Harrogate. I can conjure up that feeling still just by thinking about it. The smell of paper and printing ink and the perfectly aligned pages of an unread book. All those stories inside and all those worlds to escape to as scrumptious as thick toasted white bread with dripping lurpak.
I loved the library too. I remember the kid’s downstairs part where I was obsessed with big fat tomes like the Dr Syn books by Russell Thorndike. I don’t know if I ever finished one but I loved the feel of them in my hands. Someone had put a lot of words inside those books and I liked to hold them and imagine what was inside.
I read on a kindle these days because I need good light but I buy books on art and journals to write in and mixed media pads to do my art in and to do lists jotters and handmade Khadi paper from India to make my own journals.
Even writing about it makes my mouth water: words and paper are one of my passions.
