I love books.
Books take me to places I’ve never dreamed of. Books expose me to new ideas. Books entertain and excite me. Books give me knowledge and understanding. Books, well books are let’s face it treasures in a hard (or soft) cover. They glow in the subconscious. Find a comfy chair, open a book and enjoy a chemical-free tonic for the knock-downs of life.
Yep, I love books and the people who write them.
I met a lot of folk at our sales booth at a Christmas Marketplace last November that was visited by more than 60,000 over three three-day weekends. Sadly, in discussion over my novel Finding Dermot I made the comment in a post at the time “…interesting to chat with the number of people who said they did not read, those who preferred ebooks, and the number who said they did not read fiction.” I can now add to that the people who have told me they do not have time to read.
So you can see I was totally blown away in the spend-up to Christmas when I visited (several times) my favourite bookstore here in Calgary to find extra long lineups at the checkouts. Books were literally flying off the shelves at a rate I’ve not noticed in the past.
As an author, this was so very encouraging. It means I keep going, start that new book, bring a fresh story to print, paint the pictures with words, allow the characters to speak for themselves and in doing so allow life to breathe a new perspective.