I got a Kindle for Christmas. Removing the wrapping paper to reveal that black box had me regressing to the age of eight. (…yes I know, I know, I often act around the age of 8 anyway…) I was so excited I couldn’t wait to open the box to remove the prize inside.
I have always been torn in my feelings about ebooks and ereaders. Being a long time science fiction fan and writer, the idea of sitting back with a hot cup of Earl Grey and a small black electronic tablet makes my little geeky heart skip a beat. On the other hand there is also nothing like the feel or smell of an honest to goodness paper book. Especially an old one, where the paper is slightly yellow around the edges and the smell of time lifts from the pages as you turn them.
I love books, electronic, print, scribbled by my own hand…it doesn’t matter. I love the written word and promises of communicating an idea or emotion via letters lined up in rows. I love how just a few sentences can touch someone else, someone the author of those lines doesn’t even know. I love to read. I love to write. I devour sentences and phrases like a starving animal devours food.
The thing about having a Kindle is that it’s like constantly being at a buffet. There is so much to choose from where to you start? I have downloaded enough free books to rival one of my bookshelves. The thing is that I don’t feel the same sense of satisfaction from finishing an electronic book verses a paper book. Maybe I am reading them wrong, but there isn’t that moment of contented silence where I return back to the regular world and adjust to my surroundings. The book is done but I can’t close it.
It seems silly that I miss closing the cover of a book but I do. Maybe I need one of those little covers that you slide your ereader into. It is amusing to me that to be happy with electronic books, I need a regular book to fit over it.