A few weeks ago, I took a few weeks off from writing to do something I haven’t done in quite some time.
I read a book.
Not a blog. Not fanfiction online. Not an eBook.
But an actual book: a shiny, hard-copy of a novel with tangible pages printed with black ink.
And I know eBooks are books too, so please don’t misunderstand me. But I didn’t grow up in the digital era, and as a reader, my heart prefers the book I can touch to the one on a touchscreen.
(Though as an author, I look forward to seeing my name on both)
Anyway, I read not only a novel but a memoir as well. And I relished them both. They somehow knew what I needed and satisfied my soul in a most delicious way. I could not wait to tell you about the insights and life-changing nuggets I derived from them.
But I did wait.
And wait and wait and wait.
And now I have a problem.
I’ve lost the magic.