Bookworms do it better!
People who tell me they love my writing, and that they want to write make me happy. People who tell me that they love my writing, and that they want to write before admitting that um, they just don’t have the time to read, make me wanna holler. You have time to Instagram approximately 6,345 photos of your cat/boyfriend/same difference but not to read one good book, eh? Okey-dokey. Tell me how your writing career shapes up, Mr. Nabokov. Spoiler alert: IT WON’T!
Just came from visiting my parents who have two (!) bookcases in their kitchen. Both bookcases are filled. Here’s a link to one of my favorite books as a child, Tikki Tikki Tembo (http://amzn.com/0312367481), and when I say “favorite,” I forced my mother to read it to me every night for years. (I also corrected her when she got a plot device wrong. I’m still not a 100% sure why my mother didn’t sell me to the gypsies, or “forget” me on the cross-town bus. Probably something about being her one and only child. Listen: whatever it takes, right?) I’ve forgotten the names of some men whom I loved for years, but I could probably recite that entire book to you, from memory. (I also memorized Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Evita, btw, should you need to hear an excellent rendition of “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina.” #suckitMadonna)
I’ve given up suggesting I’m an “expert,” on anything, but if you tell me you want to write books, yet meanwhile you don’t love books, you don’t need an expert to tell you that you’re skating on veeery thin ice, Kid. #goodluckwiththat
In the meantime, I’d love to hear what your favorite books were when you were pint-sized! Tell me in the comments or, if you’re feeling shy, you can always email me at carlotazee@gmail.com! Besos, C.
