Will there finally be a generation not enamored of paper? Will books feel unreal if they’re not spread upon a shiny screen instead of laid out on dull matte pages?
I’m addicted to paper. I love notebooks, journals, sketch pads, and books. Few things cheer me up like a blank piece of paper and a pen. Preferably ink that bleeds into the page. Ballpoint pens, you see, lead to frustration. When I voted in the caucus here the other day, the ball point I had to sign in with almost made me change my mind about the whole process–what? I wait for too long in the cold with a disgruntled child and you give me this pen? But I voted anyway, and afterwards regretted that I didn’t take the time to dig my pen from the bottom of my purse.
But I digress.
Paper! Forget diamonds, gold, and silk, and give me paper. Last night I printed my novel out, and this is when I fall in love with the story. I sit with my feeble efforts etched on the page and it all seems possible, like I can make this work, like it may be awful but it’s mine and I’m holding it in my hand. The feel of a computer screen does not suffice.
Now I hope that reading the beast from beginning to almost end will give me the ending I’ve been looking for. Here’s wishing paper may always work its magic!