“Independent publishers may well be saving literary fiction in this country; they are certainly helping to save it. As commercial concerns increasingly dominate the New York publishing world, large houses abandon their midlist writers, and university presses back away from publishing new fiction, these publishers’ colophons are the ones that many writers and readers of literary fiction—both within the academy and outside of it—seek out.”—
I wasn't going to follow you, but then I saw your post about loving libraries. You are probably the only person on this planet that understands my obsession with libraries. You rock. Hhaha okay, I'll stop being creepy.
I also smell books. Does that make me creepy?
Sidebar: I wonder how many unfollows I’ll get from this answer…
“And then… my heart broke into a million pieces. Seriously? My students didn’t like the library? I feel like who I am today, is because of a few things, two of them being the library and Judy Blume. Not that everyone has to love what I love, but to not even like the library a little? Shame of shames.”—
“Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business, as the day
Would quake to look on.”—Hamlet
“Everybody has a secret world inside of them. All of the people of the world, I mean everybody. No matter how dull and boring they are on the outside, inside them they’ve all got unimaginable, magnificent, wonderful, stupid, amazing worlds. Not just one world. Hundreds of them. Thousands maybe.”—Neil Gaiman (A Game of You)
dear ebooks, i know you're compact. i know you're handy. i know you're light. but you are nothing compared to the snap fresh smell of a crisp white wonder. you are nothing compared to the sound of eager little hands flicking desperately to the next page to find out what happens next. you are nothing compared to the lovely musky, ever so slightly sweet, vanilla roasted second hand treasure. you are nothing compared to the splinter of light that comes through the bottom of bedroom doors at night. you are nothing compared to the feel of that ever so slightly coarse paper that sends magical tingles up my spine.
“You have my permission to explore literature. Don’t know how? You can’t walk your ass down to an indie bookstore and ask what you should read? Try it. Walk into Three Lives if you’re in NY or to any other indie bookstore you can find. Stand in the center of the store and cry out in a loud voice: “I don’t know what to read!!!” I assure you, you’ll get good service.”—