I am, of course, grateful *to be* a reader. My mom claims I learned to read when I was three, and books have saved me since then. As I said previously, there were times I was reading stuff I shouldn’t have been reading, for better or for worse. But books have rescued me, educated me (I had no idea what a hard-on was previous to this), and sustained me. I believe books are holy. How’s that for a huge misconception? But I don’t care.
And without readers, there wouldn’t be writers. And just maybe, somebody somewhere out there is reading my book, and enjoying it, maybe even laughing out loud (!). That’s the best part, for me: knowing that my book has been good for someone else. I loved creating it, and I love knowing someone else might love it, too.
This isn’t even scratching the surface of my gratitude for books. That’s another post. But hallelujah chunky peanut butter for readers (I stole that phrase from this guy. I told you he was influential.)