Growing up in a second-hand bookseller’s family, I’ve always had access to a ton of great literature from earliest childhood. I know I was already a big fan of the Bobbsey Twins mystery stories by the time I was five, as I remember being irritated that Freddie and Flossie were older than I (they were six). And all that reading did a lot of stuff to my mind…
- #1: WRITING
Having been an obsessed reader since prehistorical times, it’s small surprise that I turned to writing my own stories. And the genres I’ve written in have always been a reflection of my current reading preferences: when I was a kid, I liked to write about blind children (thanks to Helen Keller and Little House on the Prairie); when I got a little older I started writing historical fiction (again, blame Little House); a few years later on and I was writing historical fiction in diary format (the Dear Canada series being responsible for this). Then I got into Lord of the Rings and haven’t stopped writing fantasy since.
So, everything you read on this blog is the fault of the books.
- #2: Logic, etc.
A couple years ago I came across a book that was basically Catholic apologetics (a.k.a. defending the Faith) in the form of a novel. It was absolutely fascinating; the logic of it all was exceedingly attractive to my orderly mind. That plunged me into a reading diet of theology and philosophy, which is yet ongoing.
- #3: British-isms
I love British literature, especially P.G. Wodehouse, whose Jeeves stories I should’ve mentioned together with my favourite books in this post (my memory shouldn’t be disappearing this fast). Wodehouse’s comedies, set circa the 1920’s, provided a lot of early- to mid-20th-century British expressions which found their way into my daily speech. I now say, without thinking about it, things like:
-“That’s simply horrid!”
-“What beastly weather!”
Etc., etc. I also watch far too many English films, which have vastly improved my vulgar Canadian diction.
For the record, the books plead guilty as charged.