All my life I have wanted to write a book. Okay, maybe not ALL my life, but at least since I was in elementary school. As life goes on, the margin of not-caring-about-booksness slims. Soon I will be at 100% wanting-to-write-a-book plus or minus a 5% margin for error.
Except now I'm not so sure. There are just so darn many of them out there already. I went to Barnes and Noble to buy a birthday present (Mollie Katzen's Pretend Soup - fab cookbook for kids) and was overwhelmed by all the interesting-looking new releases. I have been trying to stay out of bookstores lately and honestly it was a little like going back on real coffee after a few years of decaf. Holy mackerel.
Also, we have been excavating the house. Chris just emptied the hall closet and guess what? It was floor-to-ceiling full of boxed books. Floor to ceiling. When he emptied the closet, the boxes stretched all the way down the hall.
And that's not including the books on the bookshelves. The bookshelves which, by the way, cover an entire wall in the livingroom. It is also not including the books that are in boxes in Ruth's bedroom. Remember how I told you that Ruth is blind? Yeah, it's not right. I think it's like the feng shui equivalent of making her sleep on nails.
These, by the way, are all Ruth's books. Ours are still upstairs, quaking with fear as they watch their compatriots get carted off. We love our books, here at Trout Towers. We have a little hoarding problem.
Many of them we do want to keep, but many can go to good homes. Then there's the pile of comicly outdated self-help books. They are all mixed together downstairs, making it a little like panning for gold as we sift. T.S.Eliott sits next to "Healing Your Hamster's Psychic Distress," or some such nonsense. There are probably a number of first editions in there. There are probably a number of first, only and one-too-many editions in there. We are culling the herd.
And as I walk by these piles of dusty volumes, I think "do I really want to add my two cents to this pile?"
Maybe that's what I like about blogging right now. As much as I love books, it's nice to just put it out there and not take up any physical space.
Music has gotten to be that way. It kept shrinking until finally - poof! It physically vanished. Many books have gotten that way. I look at our dictionaries and encyclopedias and realize that I don't use them anymore because I look everything up right here. Which is good and bad. It's a tactile loss, but oh, the space to breathe in my home is remarkable.
At the rate things are going - technology zipping along, and me carrying on like a tortoise who thought the nap looked like a good idea - the books we read, maybe ALL the books we read, will be released in a digital format.
And my own story will be ready to enter the fray.