The question came up in an online group the other day: Why do you write book reviews?
About ten years ago, my then-young-adolescent sons had read everything I knew of that was worthwhile and appropriate for them to read at that age, and several other homeschooling moms of my acquaintance were in the same predicament. The idea was born that each of us would share information about the books we knew in order to help the others find wholesome reading material for their kids.
Six or seven years ago, a general call was sent out to members of the church I attend, asking for reviews of Christian classics to generate interest in reading them.
A little over two years ago, I was part of a group of who had lunch one Sunday afternoon with a scholar who had spoken at our church that day. It was a turning point in my career, though I didn’t know it at the time. Through him, I began to be introduced into a literary community that is now more home to me than any other place I’ve known.
Last year, after several months of creeping through the blackest depression of my life, I began to articulate my feelings and beliefs about the power of words, the strength of story. I started writing again, with more purpose than before, but also with a growing realization that my vocation may not be to write a book myself, but to connect people with the books they need.
That’s why I do what I do.