Pick up a book and hold it in the palm of your hand.
Now, turn it over.
I ask you. “What is it?”
“It’s a book,” you answer. “It’s just a book.”
No. It’s not.
It’s a dream, a dream that you are holding in the palm of your hand.
I’ll admit that for a long time growing up, I never really gave the author much thought when I read their book. Sure, I knew their name. Sure, I knew they wrote the novel. But, never, did I think about how much sweat, tears, anger, and joy went into each and every single word typed upon the printed pages.
The book in the palm of my hand is someone’s dream, and it wasn’t until I started writing and signed my first book contract that I really started to think about such a notion.
I am one of what seems to be the few people left in this world who would rather pick up a book than a Kindle. Yes, I have a Kindle. Yes, I enjoy reading books on it. I mean, it’s the only link to my own titles that I’ve had for almost a year now. But, while I like my Kindle, I love print books. The smell, the feel, turning the pages with my fingers, all emotional senses from a book that are unmatched by a computer tablet. Do I know the benefits of tablets? Yes, going on vacation with over one thousand titles at your fingertips certainly is a find selling feature. Not to mention, the savings in cost can’t be denied. *Sigh* Still with all the positive, I still just enjoy holding a good book.
And, I can’t wait to hold my own.
However, cirumstances beyond my control, and more corrections that I wanted to fix before it went to print has left the release delayed. I hope to have them soon, hope to finally be able to hold one in the palm of my hands, and hope to finally hold what has been and always will be…
my first dream.