Every blog needs a first post. Over the years, I've written more than I could attempt to count. Really, it's a bit ridiculous. Still, here I am, beginning a new blog (again).
Why make another blog, if I'm so clearly a blog-abandoner? You see, this one is different (although I've said that before). This one is different, though. Why? Because it's not for me. This one is for others out there, looking for justification for their somewhat embarrassing reliance upon the best of the best - children's literature.
There's a magic in books for children and adolescents that simply cannot be found in books written for those beyond the age of oh, say, fifteen. Whether it's a change in the reader, the writer, or both, I'm not sure. Something ceases to exist.
That's where I come in. Call it silly, call it honorable, call it a waste of time - all the same, here I am. At nearly 23 years of age, I have hundreds of books. Far more than any of my friends, who tease me about it (as do my parents). I can't help it.
Having a personal library of such great size is nothing to scoff at. It's an accomplishment, or so I tell myself each time I add to the collection. What might be scoff-able though, is my continuously growing collection of children's books. First editions, cheap paperbacks, unopened copies, cracked spines and loose pages - they all find a home on my cramped shelves.
For now, I'll leave you with a few fun sites. Play with them.
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