A little taste

So I've started writing "it". Here's a small taste. I've set up a separate blog to house my work in progress. Let me know if you'd like to read it and help with my progress and I'll add you to my list of private readers. :-)

Her Grandmother often told her that she was an old soul in an young body—she just wasn’t into the typical activities of the other girls her age. She didn’t care too much about how she looked—going instead for comfort and ease when it came to her clothing style. She usually ended up wearing a t-shirt and jeans with a sweater in the winter and trading the jeans for shorts in the summer. She wore little makeup—but she didn’t really need it, her olive complexion was perfectly smooth and even except for a few freckles sprinkled across her nose. Her smile was soft and comforting and she smiled easily and often—she could be seen smiling as she read or even while walking down the hall at school. She had a few girlfriends, but she found it hard to be really close with anyone. She was shy and kept to herself because it was easier than putting herself out there to get close. She wasn’t sure why, but she always felt this protectiveness when it came to really opening up to anyone, so she kept it all on the surface. Between schoolwork, her hobbies of running and reading and her job, though, she didn’t have much time for friends. She spent the weekends
working in her Grandma’s bookshop in town. She loved the smell and feel of the books, old and new. There was something very comforting about it. She loved the ability to get lost in someone else’s story—which was so often more exciting and rewarding than her own—and to be able to learn something about the world without leaving the safety of her home. She read everything from fiction to biographies, it was like a hunger that she couldn’t quench. In the ten years she’d been in Sidney, she’d managed to read everything in the small town library and had taken to special ordering books from the bigger cities around them. Which was part of the reason she loved her Grandma’s shop—she was able to read when it was slow, which in a small town was quite often. Even with all the reading she did, she couldn’t shake the weird feeling that she got as she turned the last page on every book she’d read, even if she’d enjoyed the story, she felt let down, as though there was some truth or discovery she was hoping to make and hadn’t. She wasn’t sure where the feeling came from, but it is what kept her reaching for yet another book in the hopes of finally filling that hole.