In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Great Divide.”
up until recently, i only read fiction. it started with the boxcar children and nancy drew and slowly progressed towards those teen romance novels that are all the same and has now matured into various genres of fiction. i try my best to diversify my taste, but the farthest i’ve gone is kurt vonnegut, in contrast to the rainbow rowell and john green. my mom has always wanted me to be interested in nonfiction, and my dad hints his hopes for me by giving me books about optics or camera manuals every once in a while. but while i think knowledge is something i, personally, could always benefit from, the act of reading a book (that isn’t assigned in class) in and of itself is a break. and the contents should be make-believe, because knowing about reflections isn’t going to nullify the horrors of a bad day. obviously this makes me unrealistic, expecting the best (and most impossible) scenario. but i like my choices. they make me who i am, and i’m quite glad to say i don’t regret that.
ramblings 