A Historical Book Lover (Part 1)

I realized the other day that I've been working at the bookstore for over three years, which means I've done 4 onething conferences. That's right count them: 4. One as a cashier, one as a conference manager, and two as the gen. manager, or I as prefer "queen b".

I grew up loving to read books. Oddly I used to cry as a small child thinking I would never be able to read on my own. My mother recalls with some amount of humor my anxiety over the prospect of illiteracy. I wasn't slow, I was just consumed with needing to read all my own. It was unnatural. I did read all on my own starting in kindergarten. I think that's pretty normal.

I became obsessed with reading. I would pour through books at a rate that astounded my parents; who to this day hate reading. I would read my favorite books over and over again. I began to read large novels in fifth grade and became obsessed with various historical fiction series that my fifth grade teacher was also reading. My parents would punish me by making me go outside and playing with the neighborhood kids. They couldn't banish me to my room, because I would read for days without leaving. I hated playing outside. I would cry and cry and cry.

So all throughout my childhood everyone joked that I should work at a bookstore or that one day I would run my own book emporium.

So ends part one. Hold on to your pants kids, this story is "to be continued".