Notes from An Alien

~ Explorations In Writing { and reading and publishing } ~

Myself on the Shelf by Robb Pearlman

A writer of children’s (and adult) books pens an essay about his early reading days :-)

Nerdy Book Club

The library was an eleven-minute walk from my house. I know this because I just Googlemapped it and the Internet doesn’t lie about my childhood. Much. But to my kindergarten-aged self, it felt like an eleven-hour walk. Eleven days in the summer, which was when my mother and I walked it most often. Eleven months if you count carrying the bags overflowing with books to and from home. So basically it took well over a year to walk to and from the library. But I didn’t mind. Much.

Back then (like now), I was what you’d call “indoorsy;” and also back then, Brooklyn summers (like Brooklyn winters now) were blisteringly hot. Rather than frolic in the park, I much preferred whiling away the hours of my summer vacations lounging on the floor directly in front of the air conditioner, pouring over anything and everything I could read. Mom and Dad…

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