Welcome to Book-a-holic Anonymous.

Hi, I’m Jazz and I am addicted to the written word. I love the smell of the blackest ink sliding across texture paper. My eyes squint against the loss of time within the pages of story. I don’t think there’s a cure for my compulsion to lose myself within life and times of those characters bound between the covers.

Are we not all books waiting for someone to pick us up and read the pages that people missed?