Wednesday, August 25, 2010


Certain things in this world bring me calm and peace. Water. Sand. Books. If the three are combined, just doesn't get much better than that. At least not for me.

I did something I haven't done in a very long time today. I walked into a bookstore. I haven't done it in a very long time for many reasons.

One, I haven't had a little boy who asked to go in a while. When Aidan was little, we'd go to the bookstore all the time to play with the train sets in the children's area. But since he'd long ago outgrown that, and the girls never cared, we stopped going.

Two, I respect that bookstores are for many other people what they are for me. Calm and peace. I have kids, and kids don't much do quiet.

Three, I have been borrowing books from the library for years rather than buying them in an effort to save money.

Today, though, I walked in. I figured AJ would give me a few minutes at least of the energy I needed from the pages. The toys in the children's area held his interest just long enough for me to find about a million things I wanted to grab from the shelves and read from cover to cover.

I would love nothing more than to have a day to myself to peruse the aisles. The stumble upon something new. To read the summaries. To immerse myself in the deepest thoughts of someone else.

I have always loved to read, but I think that since I have begun writing this, I've learned to love it in a whole new way. I have a far greater appreciation of the time and thought that goes into putting words together. I have a deeper understanding of what I can communicate. I know how hard it is to avoid writing about what I feel sometimes, as well as how hard it is sometimes to find anything to write about.

Having a blog is terribly selfish in some ways. I am a writer, at least in my eyes. But who do I write for? Mostly for myself, I suppose. As of today, I write for money. I write for those of you out there who read what I write. I write because I love it, though, more than anything else.

In our day and age, someone like me, an ordinary someone, can write and be read. The internet had allowed me to have this medium, this creative outlet, this forum, and yes, sometimes this soapbox.

I hope someday to be a truly published author. I've written for trade journals in school and been published, but that simply is not the same. I've written here, obviously, and self published. One day, my dream is to really be published. To be taken seriously.

As I stood in the bookstore this morning, breathing in the smell of fresh pages, unread and untouched, I was inspired. Then, suddenly, I was a little sad. For this medium I have now, as well as all digital formats for writing, are increasing with every second. And with that increase, inevitably, is a decrease in printing.

For every book sold on Kindle, one less is printed. For every online edition of the news, one less paper comes off the presses. Nothing can replace holding the pages in your hands.

And this, this right here, will never be better than that.

1 comment:

  1. Lovely. I envy those who enjoy reading, as I do not. Except your Blog! I'm trying to get through my Paranormal books, but the sentences mostly are gone over at least twice. This causes head pain. I, however, also love to write.
    Perhaps if I'm published again I'll enjoy reading. For now, my life has room for you.

    Keep it up :)


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