I had been a member of goodreads for a few years, enjoying the reviews and recommendation of strangers over there, but not really willing to add my voice to the fray...right up until the day I regretted not having kept track of every book I've ever read, for my own purposes if no other. I challenged myself to read and review 100 books in 2013 — and even in the beginning I knew that was a big goal, more than I would read in a year if it wasn't a challenge. Once I started those reviews, I realised that the books I was reading were dredging up memories — too personal for a goodreads audience, but sometimes they were things that I wanted to make a record of. After a few months, once I realised that I could probably reach that 100 book goal, I decided to finally figure out how to make a book blog and it was pretty easy to copy/paste those reviews over here.
More than just duplicating my reviews, though, I began to think: What if I did this for 10 years? What if I reviewed a thousand books? Wouldn't that be an excellent record of who I am, or for future generations, who I was? This really got me thinking: We didn't live near my grandparents or aunts and uncles and cousins when I was growing up — I don't know those people at all, and that's a regret of mine. I certainly wish I knew my grandparents better, and especially now that they're all gone, and I realised that maybe someday I will have grandchildren who might like an intimate glimpse into my mind. I know that's a bit of wishful thinking, perhaps, but here was my secondary purpose: As a stay-at-home Mom, I haven't done much to make a mark on this world (and I say that with the full knowledge that "it's the hardest job you'll ever love" and "the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world", blah blah, but a permanent niche carved out in the wilderness motherhood is not) and I'm partly writing this blog to leave that mark.
A year in and I haven't said anything I'm embarrassed about, and I suppose it should be said that this isn't a record of my secret and twisted thoughts, ha ha, but it is a glimpse at what's going on in my brain. If, somehow, this is read someday by my beautiful children or their families, I hope you find some insight into where you came from. Like an ochre painting on a damp cave wall, I am simply trying to affirm I was here, adding my mark — even if somewhat anonymously — to the collective marks of all human experience.
