in love with books (and record albums too...)

Old-school, what will be on my tombstone, maybe a small carved novel and an album in the corners; no way to shake those items loose.  I release my tales as ebooks, listen to digital tunes more often than not.  But those relics still make me shiver, bringing pleasure that future generations won't comprehend.  During the day I've been reading books, actual paperback novels.  Evenings see me sitting on the sofa, music wafting from the turntable, thick heavy vinyl spinning at thirty-three revolutions per minutes; Kate Bush, Moby, Patsy Cline, J.J. Johnson and Kai Winding.  Kate sings "Misty" as I type, but it's from my machine, still lush and haunting, gorgeous and thrilling, but...

As Neil Young says, "So digitally clean..."  Never scratched, always perfect.  But not fat, real, true...  Or maybe I am a dinosaur.  Does it really matter between what the hands hold either in flipping pages or a large record sleeve?  Do the words change whether read from an ereader, are the notes altered within our ears?

On Saturday I received in the post two authentic, bound books; Oleanna by Julie K. Rose and The Soldier of Raetia by Heather Domin.  The box from Lulu was enormous for just two six by nine inch trade paperbacks, each wrapped in plastic against large cardboard, to assure no damage.  I was still working, so I didn't get to Domin's novel until later, then couldn't tear myself away.  Bob planted the peach tree we bought on Friday night, but the gladioli bulbs I was to stick into the ground waited.   And still are; I finished The Soldier of Raetia on Sunday as he pottered around, no football to watch.  Well, there was the Pro Bowl that afternoon, but that's about as interesting as watching a peach tree grow.  Instead I kept thinking about Dardanus and Valerian, about Rome, about the forests of Raetia, of a place so far in the past but brought to bright life by Domin's incredible prose, also how I've been lifted at night by those notes wafting from the speakers, small hints of dust on the record, the fat truth of my favorite music hitting my ears by a needle touching the album.  Words do that, stirring our brains into action, but are they better via paper or an electronic screen?

Ahem...  Don't tell anyone, but I think they're better from a real book.

Now, if Neil Young was here, would he slap my face?  I'm an author who releases nearly all my novels by digital file.  Yet, I can't lie; I enjoy reading print versions more.  How do I know this for sure?  Well, I read a sample of The Soldier of Raetia via Smashwords, and while I loved it, spurring me to buy the paperback, as I reread those initial chapters, I found details I'd missed, nuances undiscovered.  The same with Oleanna; Rose sent me a file, which I devoured.  But I'm rereading the actual paperback during lunchtime, and I just get more out of it.  The same with music; am I prejudiced?  Am I deliberately not paying enough attention when I read from a device or listen from one?

If I'm going to pay money for a novel, it's from our beloved Recycle Bookstore, or a similar fashion.  Yes Bob and I get books from Amazon; usually from used sellers, or new for the nieces and nephew.  Here's a plug for the young sport fan; Green Bay Packer Donald Driver has written children's books, beautiful hardcover tales with great illustrations.  We sent one each to Bea and C.J., probably irking my brother Patrick, a big Raiders fan.  (Sis and Tre didn't have any issues, bless them!)  This year I'm spending more time reading indie authors, but like myself, not many have print versions.  Which makes me itchy to put out another print novel, but it's so labor intensive compared to ebook formatting.

Anyways, as I held Heather and Julie's novels over the last few days, I was in love with the stories and their presentation, just like setting a flat, black disc on the turntable.  Real, meaningful, stunning; I can't say it any other way.  When Thea was little, she was leery of all our records.  But she loved The Go-Go's, and finally she gathered the courage to put one of their records on, letting the beauty of tunes fill the air.  My eldest recalls how music used to be enjoyed, and she's a voracious reader, but not of ebooks.  Maybe her generation will be the last to know that deep, lasting, hands-on connection to art.  As an artist (of sorts) I need to be aware of those manners of enjoyment; two nights ago I was taking one of the discs from the gatefold sleeve of Kate Bush's 50 Words For Snow, when out slipped a small white envelope; it was the compact disc of the same album!!

Bob and I had gone through the sleeves, admired the thick booklet included in the album, but missed this, a free CD of the very music in my hand.  Recent albums have provided a coupon for a free download, while Moby included the CD with his last release, 2011's Destroyed.  I had thought it odd Kate didn't do something similar, but Bob and I had just overlooked it.  That CD sits here on my desk, waiting to go to my car, where the Moby CD lives.  Maybe one of these days I'll make a print version for a novel or two; maybe when I'm full out of writing ideas, that's how I'll spend my retirement, formatting paperbacks while Bob plays Blast-Through, albums spinning in the background....