Why Reading a Good Book is Like Falling in Love
by Wendy Lou Jones
You walk into the room and look around. There are so many in there, your eyes quickly sweep the room to see which one catches your eye. You’re looking for a certain type. One that has the kind of style you’re accustomed to. That sense of drama or romance that draws you in, or maybe something a bit mysterious that promises danger beneath the surface.
You focus in on one of them.
You approach, a little excited.
You take them by the hand.
You feel the welcome of their greeting in that first touch and you start to communicate. Unspoken at first. Body language. Silent signs.
But then they open up to you and at first their voice might sound completely wrong to your ears. You’re put off and walk away. But maybe you think there’s potential, that you might grow to like them, so you stay a little longer. Or perhaps you feel your insides shiver as their words drift silently across your skin.
So this is the one.
You take them home. You want to spend time with them. Find out more about them. Learn their secrets. What makes them happy or sad.
As the excitement grows you blow off your friends just to spend time with them. At work you look forward to the moment you can see them again.
But soon these brief liaisons are no longer enough. You need more.
You curl up together on the settee. You take them to your bed. Just you and the one.
You start to think about them night and day. While you’re making the tea. At night as you’re drifting slowly off to sleep. Sometimes it’s a struggle to remember their world isn’t yours too. And perhaps you really want it to be.
You care what happens to them.
And then that moment arrives when you cannot contain it any longer. You could almost devour them. Your eyes rove over their body like a starving wolf. You give your all to them and ride the crest of the wave until you’re left breathless and exhausted, replete on the other side, and all you want to do is discover them all over again. To feel that heady, dizzy state of excitement of 10 chapters ago. But you can’t. Not any time soon.
Time to get yourself back to that book shop and see if he’s got a hot friend you could introduce yourself to.
It’s time for another book.
About Wendy Lou Jones
I spent a happy childhood in West Sussex, where I avoided reading at all costs, so much so that my English teacher fell off her perch when I told her I got an A in my English lit. O-level (showing my age there!) “How did YOU get an A?” she was heard to exclaim.
I studied the sciences at A-level and managed to get through the university years without so much as a peek at a library (not entirely true, but pretty much.)
I worked as a doctor in my twenties and then dropped out to have kids. Having read about only one book a year through my teens, I was, by then, up to the dizzy heights of perhaps three? How on Earth did I end up here? Did I take a wrong turning somewhere in life? You might well think so. But what really happened was, one night, in my late 30s, I had a dream. As simple as that. A dream that inspired me. And I’ve been reading and writing ever since.
Books by Wendy Lou Jones