Heyo! Sorry this is late. I actually got into a really great conversation about identity and representation in fiction and I swear it was 10pm, like, five minutes ago.
Hahaha! You thought I had a life for a minute, didn’t you? Like… “Aw, C. She must have actually gone out for once! Good for her!” Nope. I was just being one of those intellectual elites that’s destroying the country, or something…
I’ve been thinking lately about the books that got me into history and writing. You know, the two things that are pretty much my whole genetic make-up. And, though I can’t go back to the very beginnings, I can safely say that the first book I can remember reading and loving to obsessive levels was this one:
I remember I read this because I loved the game Oregon Trail (which just goes to show you: video games can be used for good). And then I had to go and buy every. single. one. I could find. The American Revolution, the Quakers, the Transcontinental Railroad… if I found one, I got it. I couldn’t get enough. And I was no more than 9/10 years old at the height of my Dear America obsession, so I know these were absolutely fundamental to my earliest writing self. Not to mention that old adage of “do what you wanted to do when you were ten”. And since professional “Oregon Trail reenactor” isn’t a thing (is it? IS IT A THING, PEOPLE?!), I figured historian would do.
So, what am I recommending this week, then? After all, this is a recommendation piece. Well… I’m recommending your childhood favorites. The ones that go way back. The Prydain Chronicles, maybe? Or Dr. Seuss? Or perhaps Alanna is your girl? Whatever. Go and get them. Dust them off. Enjoy them. Remember why it is that you loved them so much.
And then drink chocolate milk. If you want to be a grown-up about it, mix equal parts milk, chocolate liqueur, Kahlua, and Irish Cream with a half part of Vodka and pour over ice. Throw some ice-cream on that shit if you want. You do you. We’re adults now.
Even if we are reliving our childhood.