by Kewanna Cigales
My love of literature began with a collection of Little Golden Books I received shortly after I learned to read. Initially, it was the vivid illustrations that captured my attention but as I read stories like The Little Engine that Could, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Three Little Pigs, and The Ugly Duckling, I learned about the value of optimism, the importance of following directions, the consequences of being lazy, and the long-term benefits of being different.
Somewhere around third grade, my interest in reading shifted from pleasure to sport. I competed against my classmates to read short passages as quickly as possible in order to answer a series of comprehension questions that followed in a thick workbook. This trend of academic reading continued throughout most of middle and high school, when the only literature I read was assigned. As much as I enjoyed The Catcher in the Rye and To Kill A Mockingbird, Holden and Scout felt like hurdles I had to jump in order to earn course credit.
It wasn't until I was years removed from assigned reading that my passion for fiction returned. I was busy with my career, married, and a new mother, when I began to crave the sort of stimulation only literature can provide. I headed to the public library, short on time and energy, where I was drawn to the 1992 edition of The Best American Short Stories. This was my introduction to Alice Munro, Lorrie Moore, and Joyce Carol Oates. I sat in awe of their ability to articulate the everyday perils women face as they walked me through some of the most harrowing situations I could imagine—the death of loved ones, sickness, loneliness, and betrayal. I began to think of these writers as wise aunts who spilled their heartache on the page as they navigated the dense, mysterious forest of marriage and motherhood. I followed them, like markings on trees, and let them guide me through uncharted terrain. Sometimes, as I turned pages in the quiet hours of the night, I would say out loud, "I wish I could do that."
Shortly thereafter I began purchasing annual copies of The Best American Short Stories, eager to see what would happen when master storytellers threw their characters into the frying pan of life. The stories reinforced lessons I had learned as a child: clean up after yourself, control your impulses, avoid excess, help others, and most importantly, never give up. Today, short story anthologies dominate my bookshelves just as my collection of Little Golden Books once did. I reach for the brightly colored anthologies with the same anticipation I felt when I opened the golden-spined storybooks of my childhood. I know now as I suspected then, that stories do more than entertain. They are guides, like road maps and microscope, mirrors and telescopes, that help me understand myself and my world.
This post is part of our annual Lit Matters series, in which writers and readers express why supporting and elevating literary arts—the mission of Lighthouse Writers Workshop— is important to them. If you agree, consider supporting Lighthouse on Colorado Gives Day. Mark your calendar for December 8 or schedule your gift now. Thank you!
Kewanna Cigales reads and writes short fiction in Silverthorne, Colorado, where she lives with her husband, son, and amazingly photogenic chocolate lab. After years of trying on her own without success, she wrote her first short story in a Lighthouse workshop in 2013. Currently, the 2015 edition of The Best American Short Stories occupies the top spot on the stack of books on her nightstand.
