I’ve come to the conclusion that in every book I’ll ever read, there is more of me to be found.

A piece is waiting to be unveiled, discovered, understood.

A word wants to join my vocabulary.

A character longs to offer me emotions I’ve never felt quite this way before.

The story invites me to live through an experience, live in a city, explore a world or an imagination or a worldview that I wouldn’t have otherwise known.

Principles are lining up, in bulleted points, to guide my decisions.

Quotes are waiting to leap off the pages, onto a notecard or the lines of my journal or a note to a friend.

These opportunities are too rich to pass up.

It’s all very selfish, really.  I just want to know myself better, this girl who follows me everywhere I go.

She’s a work in process, with a little more in the next book.

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