Conversations with Marva

I purchased a book shelf a while ago, and just put it together this weekend. I have about 9 boxes of books in my office closet, waiting to be lined up on the shelves and perhaps, plucked from their comfortable spot and cracked open. In every room of my home, and even in my car, you will find a book.

I love books.

I remember as early back as Judy Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. This book opened up a world to me that I was unaware of. I thought, You mean to tell me that other 12-year-old girls are going through the same thing as me? It was incredible, and I was hooked. When I started thinking about romance, Forever was there. It was the book that let me know that what I was holding was a treasure not to be shared with just anyone. Judy Blume can probably be credited to opening my eyes to writing, and reading, and loving them both.

As a teenager I read Roots and another door was opened. Reading it from cover to cover, before the benefit of the much-watched television miniseries, helped to bring me closer to my blackness. I remember thinking that I was such a big deal because I was reading it, what with it being a huge book that spanned generations and generations. What I learned was that I could not go where I was going, unless I knew where I came from. I was the child of warriors and strong matriarchs, and I was also a Queen.

Then I became fascinated with the world of The Chronicles of Narnia, the series by C S Lewis. You could not tell me that a world existed on the other side of my own closet, because I frequently went there when my head was in these books. I saw things differently, I felt things differently, and I realized that I loved books that told me a story, real or unimaginable or downright delusional. It was the words within that I sought; I craved to be able to string the words together and have them mean something to me.

I found meaning in The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I was handed this book by my English teacher in high school, Ms. Mallory. Ms. Mallory gave this book to me and told me that it was going to change my life. See, she knew how much I loved reading, but from her point of view, I had an unrealistic expectation that everything would work out in the end. She saw that I needed the fairy tale, and this book would provide me with a reality. And reality is exactly what I got. I learned that life is not about the destination, but about the journey. This book set me on a course of discovering my purpose.

There were others that rocked my world. Waiting to Exhale was my introduction to the mirror image of my own life. It was about friendships and love, and the fact that sometimes people fail and make wrong choices. Temple of My Familiar helped me jump, fully clothed and open, into being a woman. Hot Johnny (And The Women Who Loved Him) was hotness incarnate; the words and images leaped off the pages into my head and heart. And Sugar took me back in time, to a place that I didn’t understand but wanted to learn more about.

There are so many more titles and authors. There are so many other stories that have shaped me into who I am today. What I ultimately discovered about myself, in reading all of these books, is that I love the craft of writing. I’ve read countless things over the years that have told me that of course, I can write a book. Anyone can write a book; but can I tell a story? Can I hold the attention of the readers who, like me, are looking for a definition or epiphany?

It is this thought that pops into my head when I sit down and write my own novel. I don’t want it to be something that is read and forgotten; I want it to breathe and live and attach itself to the hearts and minds of everyone who reads a single word. Reading is my salvation; I know that that is also the truth for so many others. All of the books that I have waiting on me to put them into the emptiness of my new book shelf have affected me in some way. There are promises, secrets, joy, sadness, and disgust left by my fingerprints on the pages.

Most of all, there is love there. And that love demands to be let out of the boxes that have kept it hidden for too long. So here at 2:40 in the AM, I am off to gently organize those books on my book shelf.

And be reminded once again of my love for each and every one of these books.

Tags: Are You There God? It's Me Margaret, Hot Johnny, Roots, Sugar, Temple of My Familiar, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, Waiting to Exhale