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One of my bookshelves |
When I moved in December, the first boxes I brought to the new place were full of books. Pounds and pounds of lovely books. Before we decided where the dishes went, or who slept in which room, the books all had a home on their shelves around the fireplace. I love my books. I love the way they smell. I love the way they feel. I love they way they look.
My friend gave me a Nook for Christmas. I accepted the gift gratefully, downloaded a bunch of free e-books and took it to the gym with me. Admittedly, it's easier to take on a plane than the hardcopy version of Duma Key, and easier to tote around the gym than Shogun, but I still wasn't sold.
published some day--that someone somewhere would hold my book in their hands and be as intrigued by it as I was by A Wrinkle in Time or The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Someone would dog-ear my pages and lovingly place my book back on their shelf when they were done. Someone would loan my book to their friends. My book.

Still I wonder. Am I evolving or giving in?

The future is now!
ReplyDeleteI'll take that as a vote for "evolving."
ReplyDelete