You are now a middle-age baby boomer, an empty-nester perhaps, and established in your professional career or work. But something's missing. There's a gnawing at the soul. Your creative first love was not criminal defense lawyer, judge, package deliverer, security guard or head of a nonprofit.
Reading was my first love. In the interim between my fifth birthday and the day I discovered alcohol and boys (discoveries that, as I remember it, both occurred on the same thrilling day) I was a bona fide bookworm. I was the sort of child who jumped feet first into a book, much like those chirpy souls leaping into that street painting in Mary Poppins . Reading wasn’t just a cerebral activity: on opening a novel I experienced the sort of adrenaline rush and stomach butterflies that others might
