Well . . . um . . . what do you want to know? My name is Colleen Connolly, and I’m a bookoholic, which is a crazy thing to be since I used to detest reading when I was young. If you believe my family lore, you might be tempted to ask, “So, Colleen, when did you stop throwing your books at your dad during mass?” And I’d reply, “In my late twenties.”
I didn’t have any kind of epiphany that opened the heavens, baptizing me with an understanding of all that I was missing by not reading. Nor did I have a sudden desire to plow my way through the local library. I wish that were true. It’d be kind of cool to say that I was struck dumb with a love of a particular novel or a poem or that I was moved when I felt the heft of the literary world. What I can say, however, is I remember a time when I was living with my brother John, who’s kind of a brainiac, and saw him reading Billy Bathgate. When I asked him why he was reading the book when he could watch the movie instead, he said, “This writing is fantastic. Listen to this.” I listened, but I didn’t share his enthusiasm. I stared at the dust bunnies hopping across the hardwood floor, envious they found an escape route out of the room.
Inspired by what he had just read, John threw the book on the coffee table and locked himself in his room for two days to write bad poetry. Curious about John’s muse, I picked up the book and began reading. But, once again, nothing happened. No spontaneous aspiration to hole myself up for two days to write equally bad poetry (we’re a highly competitive clan). Refusing to believe I wasn’t John’s intellectual equal (again: we’re a highly competitive clan), I headed to the local library to find something that would stir me. Eventually, over the course of the next two years, I did. I also found my life’s ambition: reading and writing.
Though limited, I do have other interests: I’m slowly teaching myself to play the clarinet, an activity heartened by Joe’s jazz. On nice, warm, sunny days, I run. So, yeah, not too often. Then there’s my obsession with the TCM channel late at night. I can’t get enough of the 1940′s Hollywood glam and stilted dialogue.
