No, I'm not talking about men, I'm talking about books. Recently the divine Anna Campbell was clearing out her bookshelves and posted a photo of one of her old Trixie Belden books. Just seeing the cover took me straight back to when I was ten. Someone had given me the first two books as a birthday present and I immediately fell in love (and by falling in love I mean that I used all of my pocket money to buy every Trixie Belden book in existence). And I read those books over and over again because they just made me so happy.
After Trixie, I won’t deny that I flirted with many other books but my next true love didn’t come until I was nineteen and I discovered Jane Austen. I was doing an English major at the time and had forced myself to read (and hate) all of the classics so when my dad put Pride and Prejudice into my hands, I didn’t hold out much hope. Oh, how wrong I was! It ended up being love at first sight but the only problem was that after two weeks I'd read all of her works and realized that my chances of ever getting another Jane book were non-existent. Step in a friend who casually suggested that if I liked Jane, I might like an author called Georgette Heyer. Let's just say that this was a huge turning point in my life. Since then Georgette Heyer has given me so much joy that I get scared to think of what my life would be like if she hadn't written her gorgeous books.
There have been other loves since then. Raymond E Feist, Jilly Cooper, Jill Mansell and Janet Evanovich. These are the authors who never fail to make me happy when I pick up their books. So my question is what was your first book love and does your heart still pound with excitement every time you pick them up?