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.