I’m looking over my bookshelf, thinking about what kind of book I want to write for November. A good book is like a good friend. You meet for the first time, there’s the rush of novelty (pun apology), the immediate enthusiasm of finding a new personality you mesh with so easily.

Your relationship lasts until the last page is turned. Then, suddenly, it’s over. The book goes back on the shelf… patiently waiting for you to remember that friendship.

I found one of those friends tonight. Going through my shelves, it was sitting on top of something else, half-fallen behind the others. I picked it up, held it in my hands for a moment… and for no reason at all, I began to cry.

Like finding a forgotten friend from childhood, I held the book close to me. I opened to my favorite chapter and began reading, remembering the joy, fear, sadness, and triumph this friend had given me.

It was because of that I first read this book. For that, and many other things, I owe her so much.

(The devestating line: “Hazel… I’ve come to ask you to join my owsla…”)

NaNoWriMo Planning
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