Confession; I Sniff Books

Yep! You heard it here first. I sniff books. I do! Nothing is more pleasing to me than walking into a library, a book vault, a used book store, a new book store, or my own collection and smelling the printed word. There is just something so amazing about all those words shoved together to bring joy to my world.

Then I start dreaming. How can I one day add to this vast storage of knowledge and entertainment? How can I help my readers dream? When is it my turn to see my name on the book under the title, not someone else? All these questions and no answers. (Meanwhile others spot the girl in the isles sniffing each book instead of reading the titles).

Next the urge hits me to own all of it! YES! All of it. I want to buy it, own it, collect it. (Add maniacal laughter in here). In an age where everything is digital, even my own works, I want the printed word. To feel it and smell it. (Back to the sniffing books habit). And I wonder if in a few more decades if the printed word will be dead. I wonder if like the rotary phone of my childhood, books will be a story told to our grandchildren of ‘Back in my day…’.

I think the oldest book in my collection is from 1890. And it LOOKS like it is from 1890. There was no love (or too much love) for this book and I now keep it in a sealed bag in order to keep it all together. That poor book. My next is from 1915, and that one I sniff whenever I pick it up to read.

Again nothing profound to say this morning as I finish my hot chocolate. Just a musing of what the world would be like if I were a part of it in print. Maybe one day I can be Jane Austin, only a little naughty. Or a lot naughty.