For as long as I can remember, I’ve adored books. I vividly remember getting my first library card when I was so young I could barely write my own name. This was far from my first introduction to books, but it marked the time when I took a more active role in selecting and reading them. By the time I was nine I knew that reading wasn’t enough; I had to be a writer. My first attempts were little more than (awful) fanfiction based off of Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings, but I think it’s safe to say that I’ve improved since then, even if I haven’t gotten so far as to be publishable yet.
My favourite genre has always been fantasy, for the way it can transport you to another world that is at once alien and wonderful and at the same time a haunting reflection of our own. Yet even non-fantastical works, set in the present on our own planet, invite you to enter another’s life, for 300, 600, 1000 pages. The best books force you to reconsider everything you ever thought you knew, they burrow deep down inside of your heart and stay there, so that even after you’ve closed the book you’ve never left the world.
© Nicola Hastings, 2011-2015.