When I was 10 my father came home with three particularly thick books and left them on his desk.
They caught my eye because they each had a skull on them and since I didn’t have anything better to do I read them.
It was the first real fantasy books that I read and since then I have waited year after year for the next one to be published.
It is the books that got me into reading and reading in turn was what got me into writing.
Today I finished reading the newest and and unfortunately the last book of the series and two realizations hit me.
There is no next one for me to wait for.
I will never be able to read this series for the first time again.
I’m going to miss the wait and constant unanswered questions but at the same time I feel inspired for this is the kind of book I want to write.
One that can get someone to read and keep reading even if they have never opened a book before in their whole life.