jenniferbrown09

I don't know why I suddenly and randomly start thinking about things like this, but sometimes I just do. Maybe it's because I stayed up late last night to see the Perseid meteor shower (And you know what I saw? You know what I saw? You know what? You know what? ...Neither do I. What? I'm a writer, not an astrologist.) and my usually very thin thought-filter is sleeping it off and unavailable at the moment. Whatever. That has absolutely nothing to do with what I'm blogging about.

So I was thinking I'm probably the definition of Booknerd. And always have been. And I totally identify with it and think it's cool. So just in case you feel all booknerdy and your booknerdiness, for some strange reason, makes you feel bad about yourself (It shouldn't; constant readers are smart.), I'm going to offer up a confession of my own booknerdiness, in hopes that you will see that you are not alone.

Are you ready? Here goes.

When I was in 6th grade, I picked up a copy of Pet Sematary by Stephen King. Whoa. This book rocked my world. It was creepy and engaging and haunting and edgy and...

...had a whole bunch of words in it I didn't understand.

Thus began my years-long habit of always carrying with me a dictionary (I don't do it anymore... but I would if I needed to... and I would do it unabashedly). I would literally read my Stephen King books (I have officially read them all. Okay, I'd officially read them all years ago, and gone on the Yearly Maintenance Plan, otherwise known as the You-WILL-Get-Me-the-New-SK-Book-for-Christmas-or-Else plan), with said Stephen King book open on one knee, and a dictionary open on the other. Every so often, I'd mark my spot in the book with my finger, and turn to the dictionary to look up whatever word was tripping me up. Back and forth like that I'd go.

My brother heard about this and called me a nerd.

Yeah. So?