For every op-ed piece such as this one as reported in The Nation, I find solace in the independent publishers who beat back against the tide, including Winston Salem's own Press 53 (which I highly recommend you click over and check out this very moment).
Still, having been a professional working writer for - my god - twenty years this June, I've lived through so many permutations to smash into the venues in which I've toiled (newspapers, comics, children's stories, paperback originals, coloring and activity books, newsletters, etc. ) that the one constant I can attest to when it comes to publishing is this:
For all of the constant visual and aural noise we are consumed by daily, the written word will always have value, and books will always have the power to move the mind, body and soul.
If the delivery method changes, then so be it - but I'm going on record now to say the sheer tactile pleasure of the printed word vastly outweighs the electronic screen. If that makes me a book snob, so be it - lord knows as a collector I do so love to cling to physical objects (he says without a shred of intentional irony).
Okay, enough literary musings ... next entry will be more whimsical (I promise)!
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Nothing is more sensual than the smell of a new paperback, or the musty smell of an older, much beloved, book. The crack of the spine, the rough pages to tantalize the fingertips still thrill me. Books are so incredible. They have been my best friends and have never failed me, even the ones whose stories let me down.
As a newbie to comics and graphic novels, I can attest to the fact that I still get a shiver up my spine from reading. This pleasure can never be supplanted by video games, for who wants to smell and caress a cold TV screen?
With novels, I can lick the words from the pages, suck out all the allusions, allegories, metaphors and innuendoes. Books give and give and give and never ask for anything...except to be read.
Shouldn't we all comply?
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